“I believe he has another woman somewhere,” she told Umm ed-Dahak in a hopeless tone.
“It is his right, by Allah,” answered the old woman; “and no slight to thee, if thou wouldst view it fairly, and throw aside the silly fiction of the Franks. It is the nature of a man to have more wives than one, and a woman should no more resent his doing so—always provided he does not defraud her—than blame a cat for having several kittens at a birth. Ibrahîm, the father of the faithful, Mûsa—all the prophets till the crown of them (God bless and save him) married more than one. Polygamy was in the customs of the Jews and Christians until they fell away from El Islâm. Nay, a remembrance of it still exists among the Franks. For do not their religious women dwell together in one house, obedient to a rule like ours, attired like us, and call themselves—I ask pardon of the Lord—Harîm Allah (the wives of God)? Rank blasphemy, by Allah! Yet it shows that the old rule is not entirely lost.”
Barakah was too disconsolate to be contentious. Let Muhammad but return to her in safety and she would not care though Yûsuf took a thousand wives; but in his absence everything seemed grievous.
A real sorrow overhung the house of Yûsuf; for the old Pasha was fast sinking to the grave. Hamdi, the hot disciple of Arâbi, the poet of rebellion, author of the famous calls to patriotism which were printed every week in the official journal, was bowed down by grief. He thought his siding with the malcontents had killed his father.
“But what was I to do?” he asked of Barakah, to whom, as an old friend, he took his troubles. “Their cries had fired my spirit. I could not keep silent. Na’imah tells me not to worry, yet I feel most guilty.”
Yûsuf, too, was downcast and repentant.
“We have been like fools,” he sighed, “wasting in vanity the precious hours we might have spent with him—as if we thought that he would live for ever. Now the end draws near, we can but beat our breasts and curse our folly.”
When Barakah went to the old palace to inquire, she was struck by the despairing looks of all the servants. A eunuch with a very woeful smile conducted her to Fitnah Khânum, who exclaimed at sight of her:
“The praise to Allah, thou art come! Our lord has asked for thee. Murjânah was just going to dispatch a messenger. Come! Come at once! There is no time to lose. He has refused to take a potion which I had prepared. He will not let a charm be hung upon him. He resigns his life to Allah. It is the end.”
Murjânah Khânum sat beside the bed, holding the old man’s hand. About the walls crouched many black-robed women, waiting in silence, like a flock of vultures.