Chapter VII

Hark! ’tis the thunder of the war,
They call, the trumpets shrill;
Arise, go forth. Alas! ’tis vain,--
Thy gallant heart is still!
A banner waves above thy head,
And laurels deck thy brow;
But what avails this pageantry
To the beloved one now?

I never more shall hear thy voice,
My beautiful! my brave!
Thou’rt gone in all the pride of youth
And glory to thy grave.
Oh, would that I thy fate had shared!
That I were laid with thee;
For now thou’rt gone, the peopled world
Is desolate to me!

STORY-TELLER OF CASHMERE.

The soldiers of the garrison, taking up their arms, repaired as speedily as possible to the scene of slaughter. Two or three of their officers, though fearfully wounded, bravely led them on to the conflict with the assassins, so long as the latter could be distinguished. But the moment these heard the troops coming, they proceeded to break and extinguish the lamps, and skulking away in the darkness, unfortunately effected their escape with little loss. Their confederates had already secured for them a retreat by the draw-bridge, to which, in the dreadful confusion of the hour, the usual attention had not been paid; and it was soon ascertained that the prince, who had been, in the first instance, borne away wounded on the shoulders of one of the ruffians, undoubtedly remained their captive.

Search was made, as soon as lights could be obtained, for the body of the subah, who was already known to have been the first victim of this infamous scheme of indiscriminate murder. It was found in a recess of the gallery, near the spot where he first fell, but not alone. Kneeling down by his side, and bent closely over his pallid cheek, was seen the figure of a female, whose hand, filled with hair she had torn from her head, was pressed upon Afkun’s bared breast, the hair being saturated with blood which had welled from the death-wound. Looking up at the group of soldiers who surrounded her, she beckoned them wildly to go away.

“Oh foul murderers begone! Take my life too, if ye be not content with all the blood ye have shed. Oh, my noble master! my brave warrior! where is thy voice? speak to me but once--one little word,--’tis Kanun that asks,--her whom you bade to love you!”

The men, each of whom would have sacrificed his life for his commander, thought not of brushing away from their cheeks the tears that burst forth when they beheld him there laid prostrate. Vainly hoping that he still lived, they raised his head a little from the floor. The movement seemed to increase Kanun’s distraction. Grasping a scymitar, which one of the men held in his hand, she wrested it from him by an effort of feverish strength, and repelling them from the dead body, dared them to approach one step farther at their peril. But the weapon slipped from her hold. A gush of blood from her side shewed that she, too, was soon to be numbered in the holocaust immolated on that dreadful night. Pressing her hand upon her forehead, she reeled and would have fallen, had she not been sustained by one of the soldiers.

“Ye keep me from him,” she exclaimed. “Oh, in mercy spare me at least while he breathes! Let me be near him,--let me warm him with my life! Oh, look! his hand moves! My lord! my master! they are your friends. I see they are. Their looks, their tears tell me so. They are come to receive your orders. The enemy are out! I hear their horses tramping this way! Up, before they are at the gates! Ah, you used not to be so slow when the battle raged!”

One of the soldiers fetched some water, with which he chafed her temples; while the others anxiously pressed their hands over every part of Afkun’s frame, endeavouring to find there some pulse of life. But all the veins were still. That voice, by them so much beloved, was for ever silenced. That arm, once their protection, and the terror of a thousand foes, was now laid low, never again to wield the blade that had dealt destruction wherever it gleamed.

“Go, tell my mistress that the subah is here; that he waits to see her before he goes to meet the invader. Why do you not go? you know how he adores her. But she, alas! never loved him!--never! Oh, to see how he kissed the earth on which she walked, and yet she loved him not! But she had no hand in this murder. No, no; accuse her not of that. This is all the work of that base-born Bochari. Yes, I know it. It is written here. The very walls, do they not cry out, Bochari, Bochari, the murderer!”

“She cannot be far from the truth,” said one of the soldiers. “It is certain that the assassins came from the camp; that they got admission within the gates in the palanquins which were supposed to be filled only with presents for Nourmahal; that they lay concealed until the festivities of the evening were at their height, and that they all rushed forth in a body to the saloon, where they at once gained their double object of murdering the subah, and capturing the prince. Some affirm that Bochari himself was present, and that it was he who, laying hands on the prince, bore him away.”

“Alas! it is all over!” exclaimed Kanun, taking up one of the subah’s hands, which dropped lifeless again on the floor; “but thy fall will not be unavenged. Blood will have blood. Ah! to think that thou shouldest have perished in this manner! He said,--there are those who heard him, and mind ye obey his words,--he said, that the same urn,--the same, remember,--should contain the ashes of us both. My moment is come,--it rankles here, whatever it was that the murderers discharged upon us all,--the pain,--oh, the agony!--but it is nothing. Joy! joy! that I remain not behind thee! I come, my beloved mistress! Oh, where is she? Tell me if she be safe?”

The soldiers quieted her apprehensions upon this point, assuring her that the high chancellor, his wife and daughter, had fortunately quitted the saloon a few moments before the massacre had commenced.

“Oh, thanks to Allah! She was ever to me a good and kind mistress,--to me, to all of us! May every happiness await her,--she deserves it,--although she did not love thee as she ought. Ah, the pangs that thou must have suffered on her account! Thy manly heart was indeed bruised by many a long night’s grief! None knew thy secret sorrow so well as Kanun. None lamented for thee but Kanun. The day-star of thy life was set.--Remember, the same urn.--I come; thy voice--I hear it from some other world--I come, beloved master! thy slave,--thy Kanun,--thy”--

A sob of agony told that her spirit was no more on earth. The soldiers, separating her gently from the body of the subah, upon whose knees her hands were clasped, bore her into the saloon, where they laid her upon a divan. They then conveyed the remains of the subah to his apartments in the castle, and watched by them during the remainder of the night.

The dawn of the following morning displayed a melancholy spectacle in those chambers, so lately the abode of mirth in its many forms. The prospect of a speedy peace had lent wings to every body engaged in those scenes of joy. But how changed from what they had been a few hours before, were those now prostrated in every direction. Scarcely a member of the harem escaped the slaughter. Some, whose clothes took fire, were partially burnt; tresses upon which so much care had been bestowed, were consumed to their roots; cheeks and lips, which the sun of the preceding day had seen so full of health and loveliness, presented but foul masses of deformity; limbs endowed with every grace, while still moving in the circles of the cheerful dance, arrested in their gaiety, bent beneath the sylph-like burdens they could no longer bear, never to rise again. Mainuna was found with her tambourine still in her hand; the instrument was pierced by no fewer than three balls. A horrid gash on the neck disclosed the terrible destiny of that guileless and light-hearted girl. Musical instruments broken, ornaments thrown about in every part of the saloon, heaps of mangled bodies, blood trickling through the floor and clotted in vast quantities, fragments of gold and silver tissue, unbound turbans, broken scymitars, separated hands and feet, blood-stained walls and cushions, related with awful voices a tale of woe that called aloud to Heaven for vengeance upon the perpetrators of that merciless tragedy.

The survivors of the garrison lost no time in preparing funeral pyres, to which the unhappy victims were consigned. The ashes of the subah were collected with particular care, as were those also of Kanun; and, as he had directed, the relics of both were deposited in the same urn, and placed in the mausoleum of the fortress.

The soldier was rightly informed, who mentioned that Nourmahal and both her parents had retired from the saloon, but a few moments before the first fatal discharge of musquetry was heard. Kazim, taking warning, more from Zeinedeen’s alarming manner than even from the words he used, hastened to Mangeli and his daughter, whom he found together, and concealing his apprehensions as much as he could, directed them to precede him out of the saloon, as he had something to say to both of the utmost importance. They were scarcely arrived in Nourmahal’s private apartments when the firing began. The terrible cries which followed needed no interpretation. The apartments of Nourmahal offered no better chance of safety than any other part of the castle from the fury of assassins, such as those who, Kazim concluded, must by some treacherous, stratagem have found their way into the fortress.

To consult for the safety of the two beings, who were infinitely dearer to him than his own existence, was naturally his first, his only care. They could give him no assistance. Every shriek that came from the saloon, threw them both into agonies of alarm, which rendered even the mind of Nourmahal incapable of offering any suggestion for effecting their escape. Every noise they heard, they took to be the footsteps of the approaching murderers. They utterly despaired of safety, and could with difficulty clasp their trembling hands to utter a prayer to Heaven for protection. Death appeared so near them, that they waited for it to break into the chamber.

Moments passed, however, and they still lived. The tumult did not spread beyond that part of the castle where it had begun. Kazim’s presence of mind never left him for an instant. Opening the door, he advanced a few paces into the adjoining corridor, and listened until he heard footsteps. They approached him rapidly. He retreated, and, shutting the door, locked it on the inside. The trembling women hung upon his neck. He requested them to be silent, if they valued their own lives. A knock, quickly repeated, and then a voice--“It is the hermit”--hush!

Kazim having assured himself that he was not mistaken, opened the door.

“Oh! my beloved friends,” exclaimed Zeinedeen; “Allah be praised, you three are here! So far well. But no part of the castle is safe. The assassins will, doubtless, be here immediately. You have a better chance of safety without than within. I heard the draw-bridge let down. The stratagem has been too skilfully planned. Wrap shawls around you. You, Kazim, take charge of Mangeli Leave this dear one to me.”

Zeinedeen led the way, having flung a shawl over Nourmahal’s head. Kazim bore Mangeli in his arms, her limbs having refused to move. Down they stepped rapidly by a private staircase into a small court-yard--then through an archway to a passage which opened to the ramparts. The firing still continued--the shouts of the combatants came upon their ears with dreadful intensity. The hermit perceiving the grand portal, ran towards it. Kazim followed, without knowing whither he was going. A winding ladder led down to the porch. They were speedily at its foot--then on to the gate. Men were fighting on the draw-bridge--two were flung over into the water beneath--shots passed. Zeinedeen rushed on, grasping Nourmahal in his arms--they passed. Kazim with his burthen lingered. He too passed. Hastening through the plain, they ran towards the mountain, seeking the first shade, the first rock, that could shut out the view of pursuers, if any. There the breathless fugitives checked their career.

No word was said. The four clung together, in silent thanksgiving to the Omnipotent. Their palpitating hearts beat against each other. As they calmed a little, they thought they heard other persons breathing loudly near them. Zeinedeen searched anxiously around. They might be pursuers, or fugitives like themselves. He could feel, or see nobody. The breathing still went on louder than before. At length they discovered that it was but the effect of their own excitement. The hill-side on which they rested was in profound repose. Cattle were sleeping beneath them in the quiet moonlight. A stream stole softly by, glistening now and then. The hermit and Kazim presented a portion of the delicious element, in the hollow of their hands, to Mangeli and Nourmahal. It restored the exhausted spirits of the daughter at once; but the mother’s terrors were still unallayed. She held Kazim close to her--would not suffer him again to go to the brook. Nourmahal spoke to her in vain--she was cold with terror. A slight hysterical laugh was succeeded by a swoon, in which she remained for some minutes.

Nourmahal moistened her mother’s temples and her lips with water. When she recovered she still trembled. Zeinedeen, who was well acquainted with the spot where they now were, feeling that Mangeli might be in danger if they remained here longer, resolved, at all hazards, to proceed on towards his own residence.