‘Bending low, the Bokhári replied, “Your will, my Lord. May God preserve the life of the Sultan,” and retired.
‘The following Friday, as the Sultan rode back to the palace from the chief mosque, whither he had gone in state to take part in the public prayers at midday, he observed a tall Bokhári sweeping the courtyard and steps leading to the palace. Struck by his appearance, the Sultan ordered the man to approach, inquiring who he was; when, to his Majesty’s surprise, he discovered in the humble sweeper his late Master of the Horse.
‘“What do you here?” asked the Sultan.
‘Prostrating himself in the dust, the Bokhári exclaimed, “I am my Lord’s slave! Since the Sultan—whose life may God prolong!—has dismissed me from my post of honour about his person, I am only fit to undertake the duties of the lowest of my fellows.”
‘Needless to add, the wily courtier recovered the favour of the Sultan and was reinstated in his post.’
One afternoon was devoted to returning the visits of the various dignitaries, and amongst others that of the Uzir Sid Dris Ben Yamáni, a Minister without a portfolio, as Sid Musa had usurped his functions.
At the gateway of the Uzir’s house the visitors dismounted, and were conducted by a black slave through a pretty garden, by paths paved with coloured tiles and shaded by vines on trellises. At the end of a long path a scene was presented which had evidently been carefully prepared for the occasion.
In a small ‘kubba,’ seated on a chair, was the Uzir, apparently deeply engrossed in reading a pile of letters and documents which lay open on another chair before him. A female slave stood in the background, with bent head and folded hands. Sir John approached, but the Uzir continued his occupation, as if too deeply engrossed to hear or see any one. Not till the party were quite near him did he start from his seat, as if taken unawares, to receive Sir John and bid him and all welcome; then directing the slave to remove the documents with care, he led the way to a prettily furnished room looking on a small court.
The last visit was to the Governor of the city, who received Sir John at the door of his dwelling. He was a handsome young man, scarcely past boyhood, with a decided—but cruel—expression. His father, Ben Dawud, the late Governor, who had died only a few weeks previously, was detested by the populace, whom he cruelly oppressed. It was generally believed that Ben Dawud had been poisoned, by order of the Sultan.
The young Basha took Sir John by the hand and led him across the courtyard to a ‘kubba,’ furnished with tables and chairs, whence was perceived—with dismay—preparations for a feast in an opposite room. The young man, who seemed shy, was much relieved when Sir John inquired what sort of a garden he had, and immediately led the way to another very large square court. On two sides of it were rooms; the exquisitely chiselled archway of a fountain occupied the third, and the fourth contained a beautiful little alcove, where the Kaid of our guard and the escort were seated enjoying tea. The floor of this court shone like ice, and was as white, smooth, and slippery. The boy-Governor explained that it was composed of a fine white clay found near Marákesh.