"Even so, Niphrata!" responded the Laureate, passing his hand carelessly through his clustering curls—"I have been summoned thither by the Royal command. But what of that, little one? Thou knowest 'tis a common occurrence,—and that the Court is bereft of all pleasure and sweetness when Sah-luma is silent."
"My lord's guest goes with him?" pursued Niphrata gently.
"Aye, most assuredly?" and Sah-luma smiled at Theos as he spoke—"Thou wilt accompany me to the King, my friend?" he went on—"He will give thee a welcome for my sake, and though of a truth His Majesty is most potently ignorant of all things save the arts of love and warfare, nevertheless he is man as well as monarch, and thou wilt find him noble in his greeting and generous of hospitality."
"I will go with thee, Sah-luma, anywhere!" replied Theos quickly—"For in following such a guide, I follow my own most perfect pleasure."
Niphrata looked at him meditatively, with a melancholy expression in her lovely eyes.
"My lord Sah-luma's presence indeed brings joy!" she said softly and tremulously—"But the joy is too sweet and brief—for when he departs, none can fill the place he leaves vacant!"
She paused,—Sah-luma's gaze rested on her intently, a half-amused, half-tender light leaping from under the drooping shade of his long, silky black lashes,—she caught the look, and a little shiver ran through her delicate frame,—she pressed one hand on her heart, and resumed in steadier and more even tones,—"My lord has perhaps not heard of the disturbances of the early morning in the city?"—she asked—"The riotous crowd in the marketplace—the ravings of the Prophet Khosrul? … the sudden arrest and imprisonment of many,—and the consequent wrath of the King?"
"No, by my faith!" returned Sah-luma, yawning slightly and settling his head more comfortably on his pillows—"Nor do I care to heed the turbulence of a mob that cannot guide itself and yet resists all guidance. Arrests? … imprisonments? … they are common,—but why in the name of the Sacred Veil do they not arrest and imprison the actual disturbers of the peace,—the Mystics and Philosophers whose street orations filter through the mind of the disaffected, rousing them to foolish frenzy and disordered action?—Why, above all men, do they not seize Khosrul?—a veritable madman, for all his many years and seeming wisdom! Hath he not denounced the faith of Nagaya and foretold the destruction of the city times out of number? … and are we not all weary to death of his bombastic mouthing? If the King deemed a poet's counsel worth the taking, he would long ago have shut this bearded ranter within the four walls of a dungeon, where only rats and spiders would attend his lectures on approaching Doom!"
"Nay, but my lord—" Niphrata ventured to say timidly—"The King dare not lay hands on Khosrul …"
"Dare not!" laughed Sah-luma lazily stretching out his hand and helping himself to a luscious nectarine from the basket at his side—"Sweet Niphrata! … settest thou a limit to the power of the King? As well draw a boundary-line for the imagination of the poet! Khosrul may be loved and feared by a certain number of superstitious malcontents who look upon a madman as a sort of sacred wild animal,—but the actual population of Al-Kyris,—the people who are the blood, bone, and sinew of the city,—these are not in favor of change either in religion, laws, manners, or customs. But Khosrul is old,—and that the King humors his vagaries is simply out of pity for his age and infirmity, Niphrata,—not because of fear! Our Monarch knows no fear."