Her Majesty The King

CHAPTER I.

He that repenteth too late may some time worry too soon.—The Kâtâmarana.

King Max, a kind and gentle ruler, sat beneath the grand silk canopy of his palace, feeling the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders. His kingdom of Ubikwi was peaceful, his people content, but today, a heavy cloud loomed over his heart. King Max, though wise and brave, had always been a man of peace, preferring the quiet comforts of home and the simple joys of family life. Yet, even the gentlest hearts may falter when their peace is disturbed.

Seven years of marriage had passed with his beloved Queen Lena, the daughter of the great Sultan of Kopaul, but today, as the sun hung low in the sky, their harmony was shaken. It began with an innocent conversation, a simple exchange of words, but as always, even the smallest spark could ignite a mighty flame.

King Max took a slow, thoughtful puff of his nargileh and exhaled, the smoke swirling like his troubled thoughts. Queen Lena, reclining on her divan, raised an eyebrow as she watched him, sensing that something was amiss.

“I think, my dear,” began King Max, carefully choosing his words, “that my parents—may their memory be blessed—made a great mistake in how they raised me. They were strict, far too strict. They sheltered me from life, and now, in my middle age, I find myself almost a stranger in my own kingdom. I have never truly experienced the world outside these walls, not as I should have. I wish to make a change, especially for little Prince Max.”

Queen Lena’s eyes narrowed as she sat up, her posture straightening with concern. “In what way?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion, the usual warmth replaced by uncertainty.

King Max looked into her eyes, his voice steady yet filled with determination. “I intend to let him see the world, to mingle with others his age, to share in their adventures, and as the Giaours say, to ‘sow his wild oats.’ I want him to grow strong and wise, not sheltered and naïve.”

Queen Lena gasped, her eyes wide with shock. “You cannot be serious!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with each word. “Little Prince Max will never leave my sight—not for a single moment! I shall not allow my son to be corrupted by the world outside. You forget, my dear husband, that he is to one day rule this mighty empire. He will be the ruler of Ubikwi, and you must not forget that!”

King Max, feeling a surge of frustration, stood from his seat. His voice softened but carried an edge of defiance. “On the contrary, my dear Queen Lena, I remember it well. But what good is it for him to rule a kingdom when he has never truly lived in it? What good is it for him to be a ruler if he does not know the people, the land, and the heart of the empire he is meant to lead?”

Queen Lena rose from her divan, her eyes flashing with anger. “Do not speak to me of his future in such a manner! He shall have no part in the ‘wild oats’ of this world! His moral compass will be guided by me and no one else. His destiny will be set by my hand, not the whims of a wandering boy who wishes to follow foolish adventures!”

King Max sighed, his heart heavy. “You forget, my dear, that I was once that boy. I wandered the fields, learned from the people, and found my strength in the world outside. I became a man through my experiences, not through the confines of royal walls.”

Queen Lena’s face turned pale with fury, and she took a step back. “Muley Mustapha, if you dare suggest such things again, I will leave this room and return to my father’s palace where I shall be safe from your misguided notions!” Her voice trembled with indignation.

King Max, taken aback by her words, bowed his head slightly in apology. “Great Allah, I did not mean to offend you, my Queen. I only wish to give our son the life I never had—the chance to see beyond the palace gates and to become the leader I know he can be.”

But Queen Lena, in a huff, turned her back to him and began pacing the room. “You are the Pasha of Ubikwi, but you are also a man of folly! Do you not see? You risk the very future of our kingdom with such reckless ideas! I will not allow our son to be swept away by the madness of youth. He will be raised with discipline, not with dreams of wildness.”

King Max sat back down, his brow furrowed. “I foresee that I shall have trouble in raising that boy,” he murmured to himself, stroking his flowing beard as the weight of responsibility pressed on him.

He gazed out the window, the vast kingdom of Ubikwi stretching before him. He had fought battles and faced enemies with courage, but this was a battle of a different kind—a battle within his own home.

Later, in the Royal Garden, King Max walked with his faithful Vizier, who had always been a trusted advisor.

“My liege,” said the Vizier, “I understand your concern. Queen Lena is a woman of great strength and conviction, but perhaps there is a middle path to be found. If you push too hard against her will, you risk breaking the peace you so dearly cherish.”

King Max sighed, looking down at his shoes. “I do not wish to upset her. But I also cannot ignore the fact that our son needs to grow, to learn, and to become the ruler he is destined to be. I cannot shelter him forever.”

The Vizier nodded sagely. “Perhaps it is not the world itself that corrupts, but how we guide them through it. If you wish to give young Prince Max a chance to see the world, perhaps there is a way to do so while still respecting the Queen’s wishes.”

King Max paused, considering the words. “Perhaps you are right. I must find a way to help my son grow, but without driving a wedge between myself and Queen Lena. I must find a way to teach him, to prepare him for the challenges of leadership, without sacrificing the love and unity we have built.”

CHAPTER II.

A lie grows so fast that its own parents may not recognize it.—Deucalion.

Three days after the occurrence of the events narrated in the preceding chapter, a venerable man, clad in the robes of a physician, was ushered into the presence of the Pasha. His face, lined with age and wisdom, revealed nothing of the turmoil that lay behind his humble eyes. He salaamed low and spoke with a voice that trembled slightly, as if the weight of his news bore down upon him heavily.

“Great and mighty Pasha, I bring thee good news.”

Muley Mustapha, sitting upon his royal throne, looked up with a hint of impatience. “Speak,” said he, waving his hand imperiously, “what is thy news?”

The physician straightened and, with an air of caution, responded. “Great and good tidings,” he said. “Mother and child are doing well.”

“Allah be blessed!” said Muley Mustapha, his voice a mix of relief and hope. “And the boy? My own little Muley! Is he a healthy, comely lad? Such an one, think you, as will hold his own among the gallants of the land, and not prove a puny milksop, clutching his mother’s apronstring?”

The physician hesitated for a moment before answering, his eyes flickering nervously. “Truly, O potent Pasha, it is a fair and well-formed child, but—”

“But me no buts, knave,” roared the Pasha, leaping from his throne in fury. “Darest thou say the boy is deformed, blind, deaf, lame? Speak, or by the beard of the Prophet!”

The physician stumbled back, his knees trembling. “Mercy, O gracious lord!” he cried, dropping to the floor and pressing his forehead to the cold marble. “I meant nothing by it. Only this—the child—”

“Well, go on, and quickly. The child?” The Pasha's voice was menacing.

“It is a girl, O great and mighty Pasha,” the physician finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Muley Mustapha's eyes widened in disbelief, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. Before the physician could say another word, the Pasha had leapt to his feet, spurning the old man from his way. He shouted to his chief eunuch, who stood by the door, waiting for orders.

“Ho, there, slave! Send me straightway the Vizier and the Soothsayer and—hark ye, slave, send me the Headsman. By Allah! There is work here for all three.”

The eunuch hastily ran from the room, leaving a tense silence hanging in the air. Muley Mustapha, still seething with rage, paced the length of the room, muttering curses under his breath. The physician remained kneeling, too terrified to move, knowing that his life hung in the balance.

A few moments later, the Vizier and the Soothsayer entered the room, followed by the swart Nubian, Al Choppah, who brought up the rear with a grim expression. The Soothsayer immediately dropped to the floor in a deep prostration, while the Vizier nodded respectfully.

“O triple-tongued liar and silver-haired son of Gehenna,” the Pasha roared, glaring at the Soothsayer. “What hast thou to say for thyself? Dost remember that but six months ago thou didst issue a prophecy, standing before us as proud and confident as Bhilibidam, the haughty prince of Eblis? Thou saidst that I was to be the father of a son, and thou didst warrant the prediction with thy head! What should be done, O Shacabac, with such a defaulter on his sacred pledge?”

The Vizier, ever quick to act, stepped forward and said, “So please your Highness, I should foreclose on the security.”

“It is well said,” quoth the Pasha, nodding approvingly, before turning to the Nubian. “Al Choppah, do your duty.”

Al Choppah ran his thumb along the edge of his scimitar, testing its sharpness, and swung it slowly aloft. Just as he was about to bring it down upon the Soothsayer, the man, his voice trembling, cried out: “The will of Allah be done! But hath not thine own trusted adviser counselled mercy to all creatures, even to the least merciful? And even though I die, I tell thee that the child born to thee this day shall reign over Kopaul!”

The Pasha hesitated, his fury momentarily quelled by the Soothsayer’s unexpected words. There was a long pause, and then Muley Mustapha signed for the Nubian to withdraw to the ante-chamber. He stood still for a moment, considering the Soothsayer’s words, before motioning for him to stand.

“Do not dare hope to escape thy doom by laughing at our beard,” the Pasha said, his voice cold and unforgiving. “Explain thy riddle; but first, Shacabac, what means the slave by saying that thou hast counselled mercy even to the least merciful of creatures?”

Shacabac, who never passed up an opportunity to hear the sound of his own voice, replied: “Truly, this Soothsayer hath deeply offended; but he showeth a proper taste in literature, and, perchance, seeth more of the future than ordinary mortals. It is true, I have counselled mercy to all creatures; for mercy may sometimes be wisdom. I have said:

‘Kick not the sleeping tiger in thy path; and, if thou meetest a shark in the river, go thy way—the sea is wide enough for him and for thee.

Utter no evil, not even of the dumb beasts. If thy horse offend thee, put him away from thee; and when thou sellest him, speak only of his good parts.

Dispute not with thy neighbor if his hens permeate thy garden, but bid them welcome and give them shelter. So shalt thou have fresh-laid eggs for thy breakfast.’

As to this wretched Soothsayer, I fear me much his character as a prophet is sorely damaged. Nevertheless, as I have written elsewhere:

‘A bad character is better than none at all. Rather behave ill than have men say of thee, “Lo, he knoweth not how to behave.”’”

Just then, a slave appeared at the door, carrying startling tidings. “Great Pasha,” he said, “a messenger from the Sultan of Kopaul has arrived and begs an audience.”

The Pasha, who had been fuming with rage, quickly regained his composure and turned to Shacabac. “Now, Shacabac, great is thy written wisdom. Mayhap thou hast wit enough to tell us how we may break the news to the great Sultan, my father-in-law, that his ‘grandson’—dog of a Star-gazer, that was thy precious work!—is a granddaughter.”

Shacabac, though highly amused at the thought, could not offer a solution, for even his wisdom had its limits. And so, it was left to the Soothsayer to speak once more.

“The country is safe, O Pasha,” said the Soothsayer, his voice steady. “If the Physician be silenced, and we, keeping the secret to ourselves, inform the Sultan that his daughter and grandson are doing well, the Sultan, being old, will have gone to his fathers long before he discovers the deception. You and your noble spouse shall reign in Kopaul, and no one shall know—if they ever do—that your son is not your son.”

Muley Mustapha, though audacious, saw the sense in this proposal. He grasped at the suggestion with both hands, seeing it as his only way out. He signed to the Soothsayer and the Physician to be silent and entrusted them to the care of Al Choppah, the mute Nubian.

And so, the secret was kept—hidden from the Sultan and from the world. But the consequences of this deception would ripple through the years, as the child born that day would indeed come to rule over Kopaul, but not in the way anyone had expected.

CHAPTER III.

The hardest thing to find is an honest partner for a swindle.—Samith.

But it was absolutely necessary for the peace and dignity of the realm of Ubikwi that the court should not be without an official Soothsayer. Wherefore the vacant office was presently filled by a young and promising astrologer, Badeg by name, who had studied for some years at the feet of his lamented predecessor.

King Max, while secretly contemning the whole science because of the wretched blunder whereby he thought himself the chief sufferer (though the lately deceased Soothsayer, had he been able to give an opinion, might have thought otherwise), found it hard work to keep up a pretense of respecting the new incumbent and his office. However, he did not wish to risk appearing disrespectful, especially as he knew the kingdom’s traditions held the position of Soothsayer in high esteem. Nevertheless, the King often caught himself suppressing a smile at the thought of how easily his advisors seemed to accept such predictions, especially after the disastrous mistake made by the former soothsayer, whose prophecies had nearly cost the kingdom its peace.

Queen Lena, more alive to the danger of arousing suspicion, took pains on every occasion to show profound respect for the holy man. She maintained a constant air of reverence toward the new astrologer, fearing the consequences of showing even the slightest doubt about his abilities. Not only was it her duty to support her husband in public, but she was deeply aware of the political intricacies of the court and the need to maintain stability. Never failing to encourage King Max to do the same, she would often say, “Let us not tempt the wrath of the heavens, my dear husband. We must follow the course of wisdom, no matter how puzzling the signs may be.”

It was not her fault if King Max erred on that or, indeed, on any line of policy. For in all of Ubikwi, there was not a wife more ready at all times to direct her husband in the path of right, and Queen Lena had long known the delicate art of guiding her husband’s decisions, often without him even realizing it. She had perfected the art of subtle persuasion, but she knew that there were some things—such as the issue of the Soothsayer—that she could not control entirely.

Nevertheless, there was something about the new astrologer which caused her uneasiness, worried King Max, and disturbed the serene imperturbability of Vizier Shacabac. It was this. Whenever Badeg issued a prediction, even the most casual one about the coming weather, he always accompanied it with a qualifying phrase, such as, “Allah permitting,” “subject to other conditions,” “errors and omissions excepted,” or something equally foreign to all the traditions and precedents of prophecy. This added a sense of uncertainty to his forecasts, and while King Max remained outwardly calm, Queen Lena could see the worry in his eyes.

What disturbed Vizier Shacabac the most was that, at times, when Badeg gave his predictions, he would cast a quick, furtive glance toward King Max, Queen Lena, or even the Vizier himself. These glances, although subtle, never went unnoticed. Shacabac’s keen eyes had observed this behavior more than once, and it troubled him deeply. The Soothsayer’s manner seemed more like that of a man who knew something he should not, a man who was hiding something behind his cryptic predictions. And yet, none of the three—King Max, Queen Lena, nor Vizier Shacabac—dared question his words, for they feared what the consequences might be if they did.

Such is the effect of a guilty conscience: not one of the three ever questioned his slightest assurance, no matter how the prediction turned out. If he foretold “rains, followed by showers, for the Lower Lake region,” on a given day, and that day happened to be the sunniest of the whole year, the Pasha was sure to appear in waterproof garments, with an umbrella ostentatiously in his hand, and took pains, if he met the prophet, to declare that this was truly a wonderful season for rain, but no doubt it would be good for the crops. The Soothsayer never made any reply other than, “Great is Allah, and wonderful are his ways!”

But behind this show of compliance and respect, there was a simmering frustration. Queen Lena, though outwardly compliant, often turned away with a furrowed brow after these interactions. She knew something was wrong, but the court atmosphere was such that raising any suspicion might bring dire consequences, so she kept her thoughts to herself. King Max, on the other hand, was growing increasingly irritated by the Soothsayer’s disregard for tradition. His own sense of pride as a ruler was being undermined by this astrologer, who seemed to make a mockery of royal authority with every cryptic word.

The Vizier, Shacabac, alarmed at the unwisdom on the part of King Max in thus overdoing his part, began to worry that the entire kingdom was being lulled into a false sense of security by Badeg's predictions. While it was true that his forecasts often proved wrong, Shacabac feared that the growing unpredictability of the Soothsayer’s predictions might eventually lead to chaos. Badeg, emboldened by the King’s unwavering support, began to make even bolder predictions—some of which seemed utterly reckless. His forecasts regarding the stock market, for example, were so outlandish that they threatened to bankrupt the royal treasury if taken seriously.

A deputation of traders, distressed by the Soothsayer’s increasingly erratic predictions, called upon King Max to protest. They had watched with growing concern as the royal court’s decisions began to destabilize the marketplace. However, the wise Vizier met them with the calm assurance that the prophet was a man marked by heaven as insane, and therefore doubly deserving of homage. “Should his visitation prove chronic,” said the sage with a smirk, “it may be taken as a sign that he should be made custodian of the national treasury.” This suggestion, though facetious, was enough to ease the traders' concerns. They withdrew their protests, averring with one voice that without doubt the Soothsayer was sane and wise beyond the sons of men, and that they would thenceforth accept his predictions as inspired, and govern themselves accordingly.

The traders, now reassured, began to follow Badeg’s advice, albeit reluctantly. However, it was soon noticed that the market, once vibrant and flourishing, began to grow conservative. The traders, wary of acting too rashly on any prediction, pulled back and began to make fewer and fewer risky investments. This shift, though subtle at first, eventually led to a period of prosperity, though it was one that seemed to come not from government intervention, but rather from the natural ebb and flow of business itself. Even the common folk began to notice that, despite the royal court’s frequent interference, the economy seemed to thrive more when left to its own devices. It was as if the Giaour jest had come true—that the patient getteth well or dieth without the assistance of the doctors.

In the end, the kingdom of Ubikwi had weathered yet another storm, but at what cost? While business flourished once more, the mystery of the Soothsayer’s strange predictions lingered in the air, unanswered and unresolved. King Max, Queen Lena, and Vizier Shacabac were left to ponder whether Badeg's predictions were truly inspired by divine will or if they were merely the result of a man playing a dangerous game. Only time would tell if Ubikwi's future lay in the hands of a wise ruler—or in the whims of a fortune-teller.

CHAPTER IV.

A grandfather is a man who has two chances to make a fool of himself, and seldom neglects them.—Ginglymus.

While the events recorded in the preceding chapter and covering several years had their influence on the affairs of state, life within the harem went quietly on. Kayenna, the devoted spouse of Muley Mustapha, accepted the congratulations of her friends on the birth of little Muley. It was noted, with some degree of amusement, that Kayenna was so attached to the child that she insisted on being the only one to nurse, care for, or keep watch over the little boy.

“My daughter will spoil the brat and turn him into a weakling,” grumbled the Sultan one day after a prolonged visit to the happy couple. “I thought you had planned to raise the boy to be strong and tough, to see the world and experience its challenges.”

“Indeed, I had planned that,” Muley replied with a touch of sadness in his voice. “But as he is our only child, his mother is so deeply attached to him that I cannot bring myself to raise him as ruggedly as I had hoped.”

“Bosh!” the Sultan exclaimed, his voice rising. “My grandson should be taught to fear nothing, but he already looks and behaves like a girl. Send him to Kopaul for a while. I promise he’ll learn what it means to be a man.”

Kayenna, however, strongly opposed the idea. Her objection was so firm and passionate that the Sultan, despite his fiery nature, had to relent. She possessed a rare ability to bend others to her will, whether as a daughter, wife, or mother. Her wisdom and eloquence were such that whenever she spoke, her words were respected and followed by all at court, for nobody dared to argue with her.

Discontented with the outcome of their discussion, the Sultan returned to his palace in a huff. But before leaving, he pulled Muley Mustapha aside and said, “Muley, if I had a wife like yours, I’d teach her humility, even if I had to use a cord of bamboos and a dozen eunuchs.” He sighed heavily, adding, “It is not your fault, but mine, for raising her without enough bamboo in her upbringing. If you ever have a daughter, Muley”—the Pasha gave a slight start at the word—“which Allah forbid!” the Sultan continued, “take the advice of an old man, and”—he raised his arm in a dramatic gesture, angled at forty-five degrees—“do as I say!”

Kayenna, curious but skeptical, asked her husband later, “What did my father mean by raising his hand like that? And what was he talking about?”

Muley, trying to downplay the conversation, responded, “Oh, it’s nothing. He was talking about the education of our daughter…”

“Muley Mustapha! Do you mean to say you told him?”

“No, no, dear, of course not! It was just a surprise when he mentioned a daughter, and I worried he might suspect something. We did deceive him, after all, about little Muley being a boy.”

“And who, pray, deceived him?” Kayenna asked with icy sternness. “I, for one, did not. I never told him whether our darling is a boy or a girl. If he chooses to deceive himself or be deceived by your vagabond Vizier, that’s his problem, not mine. I know what his gesture meant. But thank Allah, corporal punishment was abolished in my nursery by my angel mother. And I daresay my father has not forgotten that incident.”

Kayenna’s pensive smile reflected her happiness in recalling the wisdom of her upbringing. Muley, unwilling to face the storm of her disapproval, wisely decided not to dwell on his father-in-law’s advice. Instead, he resolved to put the bamboo plant to more profitable uses—though he never had the courage to challenge Kayenna on her parenting methods. Shacabac, to whom Muley confided his troubles, offered sage advice, saying, “The spinster knows how to raise children, and the bachelor knows how to rule a wife. It is good that they remain unmarried, or else who would be willing to leave this world, having the care of its family affairs?”

“How is it,” Muley asked thoughtfully, “that you, yourself, have never married?”

Shacabac’s response was delivered with the dry wisdom for which he was known: “Solely to better devote myself to improving the lives of my fellow men. For, if there is a man on earth who knows less than all others, it is he who is the husband of a wife. She will be the first to tell him so. While Allah preserves her, his halo shall never be too small for his head.”

Shacabac continued his musings, adding with a philosophical smile, “No man knows what true happiness is until he gets married; but once married, that knowledge is more a sweet memory than a new boon.”

He went on to offer more wisdom about marriage, “Twice blessed is he whose mother and wife’s mother dwell in the same tent. Even if he does not gain Paradise, at least he shall fear not Gehenna.”

He spoke of the importance of marrying wisely: “Marry not a woman for her beauty alone, for time will cure that. Marry not a woman for her wealth, but if you marry for wealth, in time you’ll learn to love her for it.”

Shacabac continued, his voice growing more profound, “There are two ways to avoid the miseries of matrimony: one is by not marrying at all, and the other is by not being born. The Prophet has said that there is a third way: always overlook your partner’s mistakes. I know not of this, but it reminds me of a story…”

He then told a tale of two brothers in Bassorah, both of whom offended their wives. Kadijah, the elder brother’s wife, never spoke to him again. Zobeide, the younger brother’s wife, forgave him every day, only to divorce him in the end. “It’s better to have loved and lost,” she said bitterly. Shacabac concluded, “Matrimony is a state for the wise, and they are few.”

Shacabac’s words grew more colorful as he sipped from the forbidden wine flask: “To be constant in love to one is good; to be constant to many is great. Politeness between husband and wife costs nothing, but were it otherwise, the virtue would be rarer than it already is.”

As Muley fell asleep mid-discourse, Shacabac’s wisdom continued to flow, though it went largely unnoticed. He had no illusions about his audience’s attention, but as always, he took notes. The next day, as Shacabac returned home, he was startled to find a large tiger lounging by his hearth. Without disturbing the creature, he quietly made his way to the roof to avoid alarming anyone inside. However, his prudence did not go unpunished. The following morning, his uncle—who had inherited a fortune from him—entered the kitchen, only to be devoured by the tiger.

The tragic event was commemorated by Shacabac in a melancholic threnody, emphasizing the importance of resignation in the face of life’s uncertainties. Indeed, rare were the occasions when Shacabac could not extract some moral from a tragedy, no matter how grim.