When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-third Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-girl rose forthwith and donned her clothes and ornaments; but this was grievous to Nur al-Din, and his gladness was troubled; the tears streamed from his eyes and he recited these couplets,

“I ceasèd not to kiss that cheek with budding roses dight
And eyes down cast and bit the same with most emphatic bite;
Until we were in gloria⁵³⁰ and lay him down the spy
And sank his eyes within his brain declining further sight:
And struck the gongs as they that had the charge of them were
like
Muezzin crying duty-prayers in Allah’s book indite.
Then rose she up right hastily and donned the dress she’d doffed

Sore fearing lest a shooting-star⁵³¹ upon our heads alight.
And cried, ‘O wish and will of me, O end of all my hopes!
Behold the morning comes to us in brightest whitest light.’
I swear if but one day of rule were given to my life
And I were
made an Emperor of majesty and might,
Adown I’d break the buttresses of churches one and all
And by
their slaughter rid the earth of every shaveling wight.”

Then the Lady Miriam pressed him to her bosom and kissed his cheek and asked him, “O Nur al-Din, how long hast thou been in this town?” “Seven days.” “Hast thou walked about in it, and dost thou know its ways and issues and its sea-gates and land gates?” “Yes!” “Knowest thou the way to the offertory-chest⁵³² of the church?” “Yes!” “Since thou knowest all this, as soon as the first third⁵³³ of the coming night is over, go to the offertory-chest and take thence what thou wishest and willest. Then open the door that giveth upon the tunnel⁵³⁴ leading to the sea, and go down to the harbour, where thou wilt find a little ship and ten men therein, and when the Rais shall see thee, he will put out his hand to thee. Give him thy hand and he will take thee up into the ship, and do thou wait there till I come to thee. But ‘ware and have a care lest sleep overtake thee this night, or thou wilt repent whenas repentance shall avail thee naught.” Then the Princess farewelled him and going forth from Nur al-Din, aroused from sleep her women and the rest of the damsels, with whom she betook herself to the church door and knocked; whereupon the ancient dame opened to her and she went forth and found the knights and varlets standing without. They brought her a dapple she-mule and she mounted: whereupon they raised over her head a canopy⁵³⁵ with curtains of silk, and the knights took hold of the mule’s halter. Then the guards⁵³⁶ encompassed her about, drawn brand in hand, and fared on with her, followed by her, till they brought her to the palace of the King her father. Meanwhile, Nur al-Din abode concealed behind the curtain, under cover of which Miriam and he had passed the night, till it was broad day, when the main door was opened and the church became full of people. Then he mingled with the folk and accosted the old Prioress, the guardian⁵³⁷ of the shrine, who said to him, “Where didst thou lie last night?” Said he, “In the town as thou badest me.” Quoth she, “O my son, thou hast done the right thing; for, hadst thou nighted in the Church, she had slain thee on the foulest wise.” And quoth he, “Praised be Allah who hath delivered me from the evil of this night!” Then he busied himself with the service of the church and ceased not busying till day departed and night with darkness starkened when he arose and opened the offertory-chest and took thence of jewels whatso was light of weight and weighty of worth. Then he tarried till the first watch of the night was past, when he made his way to the postern of the tunnel and opening it, went forth, calling on Allah for protection, and ceased not faring on until, after finding and opening the door, he came to the sea. Here he discovered the vessel moored to the shore near the gate; and her skipper, a tall old man of comely aspect with a long beard, standing in the waist, his ten men being ranged before him. Nur al-Din gave him his hand, as Miriam had bidden him, and the captain took it and pulling him on board of the ship cried out to his crew, saying, “Cast off the moorings and put out to sea with us, ere day break.” Said one of the ten, “O my lord the Captain, how shall we put out now, when the King hath notified us that to-morrow he will embark in this ship and go round about the sea, being fearful for his daughter Miriam from the Moslem thieves?” But the Rais cried out at them saying, “Woe to you, O accursed; Dare ye gainsay me and bandy words with me?” So saying the old captain bared his blade and with it dealt the sailor who had spoken a thrust in the throat, that the steel came out gleaming from his nape; and quoth another of the sailors, “What hath our comrade done of crime, that thou shouldst cut his throat?” Thereupon the captain clapped hand to sword and smote the speaker’s head, nor did he leave smiting the rest of the sailors till he had slain them all, one after other, and cast the ten bodies ashore. Then he turned to Nur al-Din and cried out at him with a terrible great cry, that made him tremble, saying, “Go down and pull up the mooring-satke.” Nur al-Din feared lest he should strike him also with the sword; so he sprang up and leapt ashore and pulling up the stake jumped aboard again, swiftlier than the dazzling leven. The captain ceased not to bid him do this and do that and tack and wear hither and thither and look at the stars, and Nur al-Din did all that he bade him, with heart a-quaking for affright; whilst he himself spread the sails, and the ship fared with the twain into the dashing sea, swollen with clashing billows.—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fourth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the old skipper had made sail he drave the ship, aided by Nur al-Din, into the dashing sea before a favouring gale. Meanwhile, Nur al-Din held on to the tackle immersed in deep thought, and drowned in the sea of solicitude, knowing not what was hidden for him in the future; and whenever he looked at the captain, his heart quaked and he knew not whither the Rais went with him. He abode thus, preoccupied with care and doubt, till it was high day, when he looked at the skipper and saw him take hold of his long beard and pull at it, whereupon it came off in his hand and Nur al-Din, examining it, saw that it was but a false beard glued on. So he straitly considered that same Rais, and behold, it was the Princess Miriam, his mistress and the dearling of his heart, who had contrived to waylay the captain and slay him and skinned off his beard, which she had stuck on to her own face. At this Nur al-Din was transported for you, and his breast broadened and he marvelled at her prowess and the stoutness of her heart and said to her, “Welcome, O my hope and my desire and the end of mine every wish!” Then love and gladness agitated him and he made sure of winning to his hopes and his expectancy; wherefore he broke out into song and chanted these couplets,

“To all who unknown my love for the May
From whom Fate disjoins
me O say, I pray,
‘Ask my kith and kin of my love that aye
Ensweetens my verses
to lovely lay:
For the loss of the tribesmen my life o’er sway!’

Their names when named heal all malady;
Cure and chase from
heart every pain I dree:
And my longings for love reach so high degree
That my Sprite is
maddened each morn I see,
And am grown of the crowd to be saw and say.

No blame in them will I e’er espy:
No! nor aught of solace sans
them descry:
Your love hath shot me with pine, and I
Bear in heart a flame that shall never die,
But fire my liver with fiery ray.

All folk my sickness for marvel score
That in darkest night I
wake evermore
What ails them to torture this heart forlore
And deem right for
loving my blood t’ outpour:
And yet—how justly unjust are they!

Would I wot who ’twas could obtain of you
To wrong a youth
who’s so fain of you:
By my life and by Him who made men of you
And the spy tell aught I complain of you
He lies, by Allah, in foulest way!

May the Lord my sickness never dispel,
Nor ever my heart of its
pains be well,
What day I regret that in love I fell
Or laud any land but wherein ye dwell:
Wring my heart and ye will or make glad and gay!

I have vitals shall ever be true to you
Though racked by the
rigours not new to you
Ere this wrong and this right I but sue to you:
Do what you will to thrall who to you
Shall ne’er grudge his life at your feet to lay.”

When Nur al-Din ceased to sing, the Princess Miriam marvelled at his song and thanked him therefor, saying, “Whoso’s case is thus it behoveth him to walk the ways of men and never do the deed of curs and cowards.” Now she was stout of heart and cunning in the sailing of ships over the salt sea, and she knew all the winds and their shiftings and every course of the main. So Nur al-Din said, “O my lady, hadst thou prolonged this case on me,⁵³⁸ I had surely died for stress of affright and chagrin, more by token of the fire of passion and love-longing and the cruel pangs of separation.” She laughed at his speech and rising without stay or delay brought out somewhat of food and liquor; and they ate and drank and enjoyed themselves and made merry. Then she drew forth rubies and other gems and precious stones and costly trinkets of gold and silver and all manner things of price, light of weight and weighty of worth, which she had taken from the palace of her sire and his treasuries, and displayed them to Nur al-Din, who rejoiced therein with joy exceeding. All this while the wind blew fair for them and merrily sailed the ship nor ceased sailing till they drew near the city of Alexandria and sighted its landmarks, old and new, and Pompey’s Pillar. When they made the port, Nur al-Din landed forthright and securing the ship to one of the Fulling–Stones,⁵³⁹ took somewhat of the treasures that Miriam had brought with her, and said to her, “O my lady, tarry in the ship, against I return and carry thee up into the city in such way as I should wish and will.” Quoth she, “It behoveth that this be done quickly, for tardiness in affairs engendereth repentance.” Quoth he, “There is no tardiness in me;” and, leaving her in the ship, went up into the city to the house of the druggist his father’s old fried, to borrow of his wife for Miriam veil and mantilla, and walking boots and petticoat-trousers after the usage of the women of Alexandria, unknowing that there was appointed to betide him of the shifts of Time, the Father of Wonders, that which was far beyond his reckoning. Thus it befel Nur al-Din and Miriam the Girdle-girl; but as regards her sire the King of France, when he arose in the morning, he missed his daughter and questioned her women and her eunuchs of her. Answered they, “O our lord, she went out last night, to go to Church and after that we have no tidings of her.” But, as the King talked with them, behold, there arose so great a clamour of cries below the palace, that the place rang thereto, and he said, “What may be the news?” The folk replied, “O King, we have found ten men slain on the sea-shore, and the royal yacht is missing. Moreover we saw the postern of the Church, which giveth upon the tunnel leading to the sea, wide open; and the Moslem prisoner, who served in the Church, is missing.” Quoth the King, “An my ship be lost, without doubt or dispute.”—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-fifth Night,

She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the King of France missed his daughter they brought him tidings of her, saying, “Thy yacht is lost”; and he replied, “An the craft be lost, without dispute or doubt my daughter is in it.” So he summoned without stay or delay the Captain of the Port and cried out at him, saying, “By the virtue⁵⁴⁰ of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, except thou and thy fighting men overtake my ship forthright and bring it back to me, with those who are therein, I will do thee die the foulest of deaths and make a terrible example of thee!” Thereupon the captain went out from before him, trembling, and betook himself to the ancient dame of the Church, to whom said he, ‘Heardest thou aught from the captive, that was with thee, anent his native land and what countryman he was?” And she answered, “He used to say, I come from the town of Alexandria.” When the captain heard the old woman’s words he returned forthright to the port and cried out to the sailors, “Make ready and set sail.” So they did his bidding and straightway putting out to sea, fared night and day till they sighted the city of Alexandria at the very time when Nur al-Din landed, leaving the Princess in the ship. They soon espied the royal yacht and knew her; so they moored their own vessel at a distance therefrom and putting off in a little frigate they had with them, which drew but two cubits of water and in which were an hundred fighting-men, amongst them the one-eyed Wazir (for that he was a stubborn tyrant and a froward devil and a wily thief, none could avail against his craft, as he were Abu Mohammed al-Battál⁵⁴¹), they ceased not rowing till they reached the bark and boarding her, all at once, found none therein save the Princess Miriam. So they took her and the ship, and returning to their own vessel, after they had landed and waited a long while,⁵⁴² set sail forthright for the land of the Franks, having accomplished their errand, without a fight or even drawing sword. The wind blew fair for them and they sailed on, without ceasing and with all diligence, till they reached the city of France and landing with the Princess Miriam carried her to her father, who received her, seated on the throne of his Kingship. As soon as he saw her, he said to her, “Woe to thee, O traitress! What ailed thee to leave the faith of thy fathers and forefathers and the safeguard of the Messiah, on whom is our reliance, and follow after the faith of the Vagrants,⁵⁴³ to wit, the faith of Al–Islam, the which arose with the sword against the Cross and the Images?” Replied Miriam, “I am not at fault, I went out by night to the church, to visit the Lady Mary and seek a blessing of her, when there fell upon me unawares a band of Moslem robbers, who gagged me and bound me fast and carrying me on board the barque, set sail with me for their own country. However, I beguiled them and talked with them of their religion, till they loosed my bonds; and ere I knew it thy men overtook me and delivered me. And by the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar and the Cross and the Crucified thereon, I rejoiced with joy exceeding in my release from them and my bosom broadened and I was glad for my deliverance from the bondage of the Moslems!” Rejoined the King, “Thou liest, O whore! O adultress! By the virtue of that which is revealed of prohibition and permission in the manifest Evangel,⁵⁴⁴ I will assuredly do thee die by the foulest of deaths and make thee the vilest of examples! Did it not suffice thee to do as thou didst the first time and put off thy lies upon us, but thou must return upon us with thy deceitful inventions?” Thereupon the King bade kill her and crucify her over the palace gate; but, at that moment the one-eyed Wazir, who had long been enamoured of the Princess, came in to him and said, “Ho King! saly her not, but give her to me to wife, and I will watch over her with the utmost warding, nor will I go in unto her, till I have built her a palace of solid stone, exceeding high of foundation, so no thieves may avail to climb up to its terrace-roof; and when I have made an end of building it, I will sacrifice thirty Moslems before the gate thereof, as an expiatory offering to the Messiah for myself and for her.” The King granted his request and bade the priests and monks and patriarchs marry the Princess to him; so they did his bidding, whereupon he bade set about building a strong and lofty palace, befitting her rank and the workmen fell to work upon it. On this wise it betided the Princess Miriam and her sire and the one-eyed Wazir; but as regards Nur al-Din, when he came back with the petticoat-trousers and mantilla and walking boots and all the attire of Alexandrian women which he had borrowed of the druggist’s wife, he “found the air void and the fane afar⁵⁴⁵”;—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-sixth Night,

She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Nur al-Din, “found the aire void⁵⁴⁶ and the fane afar,” his heart sank within him and he wept floods of tears and recited these verses,⁵⁴⁷

“The phantom of Soada came by nigh to wake me towards morning

while my companions were sleeping in the desert:
But when we awoke to behold the nightly phantom, I saw the air
vacant, and the place of visitation distant.”

Then Nur al-Din walked on along the sea-shore and turned right and left, till he saw folk gathered together on the beach and heard them say, “O Moslems, there remaineth no honour to Alexandria-city, since the Franks enter it and snatch away those who are therein and return to their own land, at their leisure⁵⁴⁸ nor pursued of any of the Moslems or fighters for the Faith!” Quoth Nur al-Din to them, “What is to do?”; and quoth they, “O my son, one of the ships of the Franks, full of armed men, came down but now upon the port and carried off a ship which was moored here, with her that was therein, and made unmolested for their own land.” Nur al-Din fell down a-swoon, on hearing these words; and when he recovered they questioned him of his case and he told them all that had befallen him first and last; whereupon they all took to reviling him and railing at him, saying, “Why couldst thou not bring her up into the town without mantilla and muffler?” And all and each of the folk gave him some grievous word, berating him with sharp speech, and shooting at him some shaft or reproach, albeit one said, “Let him be; that which hath befallen him sufficeth him,” till he again fell down in a fainting-fit. And behold, at this moment, up came the old druggist, who, seeing the folk gathered together, drew near to learn what was the matter and found Nur al-Din lying a-swoon in their midst. So he sat down at his head and arousing him, said to him as soon as he recovered, “O my son, what is this case in which I see thee?” Nur al-Din said, “O uncle, I had brought back in a barque my lost slave-girl from her father’s city, suffering patiently all I suffered of perils and hardships; and when I came with her to this port, I made the vessel fast to the shore and leaving her therein, repaired to thy dwelling and took of thy consort what was needful for her, that I might bring her up into the town; but the Franks came and capturing barque and damsel made off unhindered, and returned to their own land.” Now when the Shaykh, the druggist, heard this, the light in his eyes became night and he grieved with sore grieving for Nur al-Din and said to him, “O my son, why didst thou not bring her out of the ship into the city without mantilla? But speech availeth not at this season; so rise, O my son, and come up with me to the city; haply Allah will vouchsafe thee a girl fairer than she, who shall console thee for her. Alhamdolillah-praised be Allah-who hath not made thee lose aught by her! Nay, thou hast gained by her. And bethink thee, O my son, that Union and Disunion are in the hands of the Most High King..” Replied Nur al-Din, “By Allah, O uncle, I can never be consoled for her loss nor will I ever leave seeking her, though on her account I drink the cup of death!” Rejoined the druggist, “O my son, and what art thou minded to do?” Quoth Nur al-Din, “I am minded to return to the land of the Franks⁵⁴⁹ and enter the city of France and emperil myself there; come what may, loss of life or gain of life.” Quoth the druggist, “O my son, there is an old saw, ‘Not always doth the crock escape the shock’; and if they did thee no hurt the first time, belike they will slay thee this time, more by token that they know thee now with full knowledge.” Quoth Nur al-Din, “O my uncle, let me set out and be slain for the love of her straightway and not die of despair for her loss by slow torments.” Now as Fate determined there was then a ship in port ready to sail, for its passengers had made an end of their affairs⁵⁵⁰ and the sailors had pulled up the mooring-stakes, when Nur al-Din embarked in her. So they shook out their canvas and relying on the Compassionate, put out to sea and sailed many days, with fair wind and weather, till behold, they fell in with certain of the Frank cruisers, which were scouring those waters and seizing upon all ships they saw, in their fear for the King’s daughter from the Moslem corsairs: and as often as they made prize of a Moslem ship, they carried all her people to the King of France, who put them to death in fulfilment of the vow he had vowed on account of his daughter Miriam. So, seeing the ship wherein was Nur al-Din they boarded her and taking him and the rest of the company prisoners, to the number of an hundred Moslems, carried them to the King and set them between his hands. He bade cut their throats. Accordingly they slaughtered them all forthwith, one after another, till there was none left but Nur al-Din, whom the headsman had left to the last, in pity of his tender age and slender shape. When the King saw him, he knew him right well and said to him, “Art thou not Nur al-Din, who was with us before?” Said he, “I was never with thee: and my name is not Nur al-Din, but Ibrahim.” Rejoined the King; “Thou liest, thou art Nur al-Din, he whom I gave to the ancient dame the Prioress, to help her in the service of the church.” But Nur al-Din replied, “O my lord, my name is Ibrahim.” Quoth the King, “Wait a while,” and bade his knights fetch the old woman forthright, saying, “When she cometh and seeth thee, she will know an thou be Nur al-Din or not.” At this juncture, behold, in came the one-eyed Wazir who had married the Princess and kissing the earth before the King said to him, “Know, O King, that the palace is finished; and thou knowest how I vowed to the Messiah that, when I had made an end of building it, I would cut thirty Moslems’ throats before its doors; wherefore I am come to take them of thee, that I may sacrifice them and so fulfil my vow to the Messiah. They shall be at my charge, by way of loan, and whenas there come prisoners to my hands, I will give thee other thirty in lieu of them.” Replied the King, ‘By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, I have but this one captive left!” And he pointed to Nur al-Din, saying, “Take him and slaughter him at this very moment and the rest I will send thee when there come to my hands other prisoners of the Moslems.” Thereupon the one-eyed Wazir arose and took Nur al-Din and carried him to his palace, thinking to slaughter him on the threshold of the gate; but the painters said to him, “O my lord, we have two days’ painting yet to do: so bear with us and delay to cut the throat of this captive, till we have made an end of our work; haply by that time the rest of the thirty will come, so thou mayst despatch them all at one bout and accomplish thy vow in a single day.” Thereupon the Wazir bade imprison Nur al-Din.—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-seventh Night,

She said, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the Wazir bade imprison Nur al-Din, they carried him to the stables and left him there in chains, hungering and thirsting and making moan for himself; for indeed he saw death face to face. Now it fortuned, by the ordinance of Destiny and fore-ordained Fate, that the King had two stallions, own brothers,⁵⁵¹ such as the Chosroe Kings might sigh in vain to possess themselves of one of them; they were called Sábik and Láhik⁵⁵² and one of them was pure silvern white while the other was black as the darksome night. And all the Kings of the isles had said, “Whoso stealeth us one of these stallions, we will give him all he seeketh of red gold and pearls and gems;” but none could avail to steal them. Now one of them fell sick of a jaundice and there came a whiteness over his eyes;⁵⁵³ whereupon the King gathered together all the farriers in the city to treat him; but they all failed of his cure. Presently the Wazir came into the King; and finding him troubled because of the horse, thought to do away his concern and said to him, “O King, give me the stallion and I will cure him,” The King consented and caused carry the horse to the stable wherein Nur al-Din lay chained; but, when he missed his brother, he cried out with an exceeding great cry and neighed, so that he affrighted all the folk. The Wazir, seeing that he did thus but because he was parted from his brother, went to tell the King, who said, “If this, which is but a beast, cannot brook to be parted from his brother, how should it be with those that have reason?” And he bade his grooms take the other horse and put him with his brother in the Wazir’s stables, saying, “Tell the Minister that the two stallions be a gift from me to him, for the sake of my daughter Miriam.” Nur al-Din was lying in the stable, chained and shackled, when they brought in the two stallions and he saw that one of them had a film over his eyes. Now he had some knowledge of horses and of the doctoring of their diseases; so he said to himself, “This by Allah is my opportunity! I will go to the Wazir and lie to him, saying, ‘I will heal thee this horse’: then will I do with him somewhat that shall destroy his eyes, and he will slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life.” So he waited till the Wazir entered the stable, to look upon the steed, and said to him, “O my lord, what will be my due, an I heal this horse, and make his eyes whole again?” Replied the Wazir, “As my head liveth, an thou cure him, I will spare thy life and give thee leave to crave a boon of me!” And Nur al-Din said, “O my lord, bid my hands be unbound!” So the Wazir bade unbind him and he rose and taking virgin glass,⁵⁵⁴ brayed it and mixed it with unslaked lime and a menstruum of onion-juice. Then he applied the whole to the horse’s eyes and bound them up, saying in himself, “Now will his eyes be put out and they will slay me and I shall be at rest from this woe-full life.” Then he passed the night with a heart free from the uncertainty⁵⁵⁵ of cark and care, humbling himself to Allah the Most High and saying, “O Lord, in Thy knowledge is that which dispenseth with asking and craving!” Now when the morning morrowed and the sun shone, the Wazir came to the stable and, loosing the bandage from the horse’s eyes considered them and found them finer than before, by the ordinance of the King who openeth evermore. So he said to Nur al-Din, “O Moslem, never in the world saw I the like of thee for the excellence of thy knowledge. By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, thou makest me with wonder to admire, for all the farriers of our land have failed to heal this horse!” Then he went up to Nur al-Din and, doing off his shackles with his own hand, clad him in a costly dress and made him his master of the Horse; and he appointed him stipends and allowances and lodged him in a story over the stables. So Nur al-Din abode awhile, eating and drinking and making merry and bidding and forbidding those who tended the horses; and whoso neglected or failed to fodder those tied up in the stable wherein was his service, he would thrown down and beat with grievous beating and lay him by the legs in bilboes of iron. Furthermore, he used every day to descend and visit the stallions and rub them down with his own hand, by reason of that which he knew of their value in the Wazir’s eyes and his love for them; wherefore the Minister rejoiced in him with joy exceeding and his breast broadened and he was right glad, unknowing what was to be the issue of his case. Now in the new palace, which the one-eyed Wazir had bought for Princess Miriam, was a lattice-window overlooking his old house and the flat wherein Nur al-Din lodged. The Wazir had a daughter, a virgin of extreme loveliness, as she were a fleeing gazelle or a bending branchlet, and it chanced that she sat one day at the lattice aforesaid and behold, she heard Nur al-Din, singing and solacing himself under his sorrows by improvising these verses,

“O my Censor who wakest a-morn to see
The joys of life and its
jubilee!
Had the fangs of Destiny bitten thee
In such bitter case thou hadst pled this plea,
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
But from Fate’s despight thou art safe this day;—
From her
falsest fay and her crying ‘Nay!’
Yet blame him not whom his woes waylay
Who distraught shall say
in his agony,
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
Excuse such lovers in flight abhorr’d
Nor to Love’s distreses
thine aid afford:
Lest thy self be bound by same binding cord
And drink of Love’s
bitterest injury.
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
In His service I wont as the days went by
With freest heart through the nights to lie;
Nor tasted wake, nor of Love aught reckt
Ere my heart to subjection summoned he:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
None weet of Love and his humbling wrong
Save those he sickened
so sore, so long,
Who have lost their wits ‘mid the lover-throng
Draining bitterest cup by his hard decree:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
How oft in Night’s gloom he cause wake to rue
Lovers’ eyne, and
from eyelids their sleep withdrew;
Till tears to the railing of torrents grew,
Overflowing cheeks
, unconfined and free:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
How many a man he has joyed to steep
In pain, and for pine hath
he plundered sleep,—
Made don garb of mourning the deepest deep
And even his dreaming forced to flee:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
How oft sufferance fails me! How bones are wasted
And down my cheeks torrent tear-drops hasted:
And embittered She all the food I tasted
However sweet it was wont to be:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
Most hapless of men who like me must love,
And must watch when
Night droops her wing from above,
Who, swimming the main where affection drove
Must sign and sink
in that gloomy sea:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
Who is he to whom Love e’er stinted spite
And who scaped his
springes and easy sleight;
Who free from Love lived in life’s delight?
Where is he can
boast of such liberty?
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’
Deign Lord such suffering wight maintain
Then best Protector, protect him deign!
Establish him and his life assain
And defend him from all calamity:
‘Ah me, for Love and his case, ah me:
My heart is burnt by the fires I dree!’”

And when Nur al-Din ended his say and ceased to sing his rhyming lay, the Wazir’s daughter said to herself, “By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, verily this Moslem is a handsome youth! But doubtless he is a lover separated from his mistress. Would Heaven I wot an the beloved of this fair one is fair like unto him and if she pine for him as he for her! An she be seemly as he is, it behoveth him to pour forth tears and make moan of passion; but, an she be other than fair, his days are wasted in vain regrets and he is denied the taste of delights.”—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-eighth Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that the Wazir’s daughter said to herself, “An his beloved be fair as he, it behoveth him to pour forth tears; and, if other than fair, his heart is wasted in vain regrets!” Now Miriam the Girdle-girl, the Minister’s consort, had removed to the new palace the day before and the Wazir’s daughter knew that she was straitened of breast; so she was minded to seek her and talk with her and tell her the tidings of the young man and the rhymes and verses she had heard him recite; but, before she could carry out her design the Princess sent for her to cheer her with her converse. So she went to her and found her heavy at heart and her tears hurrying down her cheeks; and whilst she was weeping with sore weeping she recited these couplets,

“My life is gone but love-longings remain
And my breast is
straitened with pine and pain:
And my heart for parting to melt is fain
Yet hoping that union
will come again,
And join us in one who now are twain.
Stint your blame to him who in heart’s your thrall
With the
wasted frame which his sorrows gall,
Nor with aim of arrow his heart appal
For parted lover is saddest of all,
And Love’s cup of bitters is sweet to drain!”

Quoth the Wazir’s daughter to her, “What aileth thee, O Princess, to be thus straitened in breast and sorrowful of thought?” Whereupon Miriam recalled the greatness of the delights that were past and recited these two couplets,

“I will bear in patience estrangement of friend
And on cheeks
rail tears that like torrents wend:
Haply Allah will solace my sorrow, for He
Neath the ribs of unease maketh ease at end.”

Said the Wazir’s daughter, “O Princess, let not thy breast be straitened, but come with me straightway to the lattice; for there is with us in the stable⁵⁵⁶ a comely young man, slender of shape and sweet of speech, and meseemeth he is a parted lover.” Miriam asked, “And by what sign knowest thou that he is a parted lover?”; and she answered, “O Queen, I know it by his improvising odes and verses all watches of the night and tides of the day.” Quoth the Princess in herself, “If what the Wazir’s daughter says be true, these are assuredly the traits of the baffled, the wretched Ali Nur al-Din. Would I knew if indeed he be the youth of whom she speaketh.” At this thought, love-longing and distraction of passion redoubled on her and she rose at once and walking with the maiden to the lattice, looked down upon the stables, where she saw her love and lord Nur al-Din and fixing her eyes steadfastly upon him, knew him with the bestest knowledge of love, albeit he was sick, of the greatness of his affection for her and of the fire of passion, and the anguish of separation and yearning and distraction. Sore upon him was emaciation and he was improvising and saying,

“My heart is a thrall; my tears ne’er abate
And their rains the
railing of clouds amate;
‘Twixt my weeping and watching and wanting love;
And whining
and pining for dearest mate.
Ah my burning heat, my desire, my lowe!
For the plagues that torture my heart are eight;
And five upon five are in suite of them;
So stand and listen to
all I state:
Mem’ry, madding thoughts, moaning languishment,
Stress of
longing love, plight disconsolate;
In travail, affliction and strangerhood,
And annoy and joy when
on her I wait.
Fail me patience and stay for engrossing care
And sorrows my suffering soul regrate.
On my heart the possession of passion grows
O who ask of what fire in my heart’s create,
Why my tears in vitals should kindle flame,
Burning heart with
ardours insatiate,
Know, I’m drowned in Deluge⁵⁵⁷ of tears and my soul
From
Lazá-lowe fares to Háwiyah-goal.”⁵⁵⁸

When the Princess Miriam beheld Nur al-Din and heard his loquence and verse and speech, she made certain that it was indeed her lord Nur al-Din; but she concealed her case from the Wazir’s daughter and said to her, “By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, I thought not thou knewest of my sadness!” Then she arose forthright and withdrawing from the window, returned to her own place, whilst the Wazir’s daughter went to her own occupations. The Princess awaited patiently awhile, then returned to the window and sat there, gazing upon her beloved Nur al-Din and delighting her eyes with his beauty and inner and outer grace. And indeed, she saw that he was like unto moon at full on fourteenth night; but he was ever sighing with tears never drying, for that he recalled whatso he had been abying. So he recited these couplets,

“I hope for Union with my love which I may ne’er obtain
At all, but bitterness of life is all the gain I gain:
My tears are likest to the main for ebb and flow of tide;
But when I meet the blamer-wight to staunch my tears I’m fain.
Woe to the wretch who garred us part by spelling of his
spells;⁵⁵⁹
Could I but hend his tongue in hand I’d cut his tongue in twain:
Yet will I never blame the days for whatso deed they did
Mingling with merest, purest gall the cup they made me
drain!
To whom shall I address myself; and whom but you shall seek
A heart left hostage in your Court, by you a captive ta’en?
Who shall avenge my wrongs on you,⁵⁶⁰ tyrant despotical
Whose tyranny but grows the more, the more I dare complain?
I made him regnant of my soul that he the reign assain
But me he wasted wasting too the soul I gave to reign.
Ho thou, the Fawn, whom I so lief erst gathered to my breast
Enow of severance tasted I to own its might and main,
Thou’rt he whose favours joined in one all beauties known to man,

Yet I thereon have wasted all my Patience’ fair domain. I entertained him in my heart whereto he brought unrest
But I am satisfied that I such guest could entertain.
My tears for ever flow and flood, likest the surging sea
And would I wot the track to take that I thereto attain.
Yet sore I fear that I shall die in depths of my chagrin
And must despair for evermore to win the wish I’d win.”

When Miriam heard the verses of Nur al-Din the loving-hearted, the parted; they kindled in her vitals a fire of desire, and while her eyes ran over with tears, she recited these two couplets,

“I longed for him I love; but, when we met,
I was amazed nor
tongue nor eyes I found.
I had got ready volumes of reproach;
But when we met, could syllable no sound.”

When Nur al-Din heard the voice of Princess Miriam, he knew it and wept bitter tears, saying, “By Allah, this is the chanting of the Lady Miriam.”—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Eighty-ninth Night,

She pursued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when Nur al-Din heard the voice singing these verses he said in himself, “Verily this be the Lady Miriam chanting without hesitation or doubt or suspicion of one from without.¹ Would Heaven I knew an my thought be true and if it be indeed she herself or other self!” And regrets redoubled upon him and he bemoaned himself and recited these couplets,

“When my blamer saw me beside my love
Whom I met in a site that lay open wide,
I spake not at meeting a word of reproach
Though oft it comfort sad heart to chide;
Quoth the blamer, ‘What means this silence that bars
Thy making answer that hits his pride?’
And quoth I, ‘O thou who as fool dost wake,
To misdoubt of lovers and Love deride;
The sign of lover whose love is true
When he meets his beloved is mum to bide.’”

When he had made an end of these verses, the Lady Miriam fetched inkcase and paper and wrote therein: “After honour due to the Basmalah,² may the peace of Allah be upon thee and His mercy and blessings be! I would have thee know that thy slavegirl Miriam saluteth thee, who longeth sore for thee; and this is her message to thee. As soon as this letter shall fall into thy hands, do thou arise without stay and delay and apply thyself to that we would have of thee with all diligence and beware with all wariness of transgressing her commandment and of sleeping. When the first third of the night is past, (for that hour is of the most favourable of times) apply thee only to saddling the two stallions and fare forth with them both to the Sultan’s Gate.³ If any ask thee whither thou wend, answer, ‘I am going to exercise the steeds,’ and none will hinder thee; for the folk of this city trust to the locking of the gates.” Then she folded the letter in a silken kerchief and threw it out of the latticed window to Nur al-Din, who took it and reading it, knew it for the handwriting of the Lady Miriam and comprehended all its contents. So he kissed the letter and laid it between his eyes; then, calling to mind that which had betided him with her of the sweets of love-liesse, he poured forth his tears whilst he recited these couplets,

“Came your writ to me in the dead of the night
And desire for
you stirred heart and sprite;
And, remembered joys we in union joyed,
Praised the Lord who placed us in parting plight.”

As soon as it was dark Nur al-Din busied himself with making ready the stallions and patiented till the first watch of the night was past; when, without a moment delay, Nur al-Din the lover full of teen, saddled them with saddles of the goodliest, and leading them forth of the stable, locked the door after him and repaired with them to the city-gate, where he sat down to await the coming of the Princess. Meanwhile, Miriam returned forthright to her private apartment, where she found the one-eyed Wazir seated, elbow-propt upon a cushion stuffed with ostrich-down; but he was ashamed to put forth his hand to her or to bespeak her. When she saw him, she appealed to her Lord in heart, saying, “Allahumma-O my God-bring him not to his will of me nor to me defilement decree after purity!” Then she went up to him and made a show of fondness for him and sat down by his side and coaxed him, saying, “O my lord, what is this aversion thou displayest to me? Is it pride or coquetry on thy part? But the current byword saith, ‘An the salam-salutation be little in demand, the sitters salute those who stand.”⁴ So if, O my lord, thou come not to me neither accost me, I will go to thee and accost thee.” Said he, “To thee belong favour and kindness, O Queen of the earth in its length and breadth; and what am I but one of thy slaves and the least of thy servants. Indeed, I was ashamed to intrude upon thine illustrious presence, O unique pearl, and my face is on the earth at thy feet.” She rejoined, “Leave this talk and bring us to eat and drink.” Accordingly he shouted to his eunuchs and women an order to serve food, and they set before them a tray containing birds of every king that walk and fly and in nests increase and multiply, such as sand-grouse and quails and pigeon-poults and lambs and fatted geese and fried poultry and other dishes of all sorts and colours. The Princess put out her hand to the tray and began to eat and feed the Wazir with her fair finger-tips and kiss him on the mouth. They ate till they had enough and washed their hands, after which the handmaidens removed the table of food and set on the service of wine. So Princess Miriam filled the cup and drank and gave the Wazir to drink and served him with assiduous service, so that he was like to fly for joy and his breast broadened and he was of the gladdest. When she saw that the wine had gotten the better of his senses, she thrust her hand into her bosom and brought out a pastil of virgin Cretan–Bhang, which she had provided against such an hour, whereof if an elephant smelt a dirham’s weight, he would sleep from year to year. She distracted his attention and crumbled the drug into the cup: then, filling it up, handed it to the Wazir, who could hardly credit his senses for delight. So he took it and kissing her hand, drank it off, but hardly had it settled in his stomach when he fell head foremost to the ground. Then she rose and filling two great pairs of saddle-bags with what was light of weight and weighty of worth of jewels and jacinths and precious stones, together with somewhat of meat and drink, donned harness of war and armed herself for fight. She also took with her for Nur al-Din what should rejoice him of rich and royal apparel and splendid arms and armour, and shouldering the bags (for indeed her strength equalled her valiancy), hastened forth from the new palace to join her lover. On this wise fared it with the Lady Miriam; but as regards Nur al-Din,—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Ninetieth Night,

She resumed, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that when the Lady Miriam left the new palace, she went straightways to meet her lover for indeed she was as valiant as she was strong; but Nur al-Din the distracted, the full of teen, sat at the city-gate hending the horses’ halters in hand, till Allah (to whom belong Majesty and Might) sent a sleep upon him and he slept-glory be to Him who sleepeth not! Now at that time the Kings of the Islands had spent much treasure in bribing folk to steal the two steeds or one of them; and in those days there was a black slave, who had been reared in the islands skilled in horse-lifting; wherefore the Kings of the Franks seduced him with wealth galore to steal one of the stallions and promisted him, if he could avail to lift the two, that they would give him a whole island and endue him with a splendid robe of honour. He had long gone about the city of France in disguise, but succeeded not in taking the horses, whilst they were with the King; but, when he gave them in free gift to the Wazir and the monocular one carried them to his own stable, the blackamoor thief rejoiced with joy exceeding and made sure of success, saying in himself, “By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, I will certainly steal the twain of them!” Now he had gone out that very night, intending for the stable, to lift them; but, as he walked along, behold, he caught sight of Nur al-Din lying asleep, with the halters in his hands. So he went up to the horses and loosing the halters from their heads, was about to mount one of them and drive the other before him, when suddenly up came the Princess Miriam, carrying on her shoulders the couple of saddle-bags. She mistook the black for Nur al-Din and handed him one pair of bags, which he laid on one of the stallions: after which she gave him the other and he set it on the second steed, without word said to discover that it was not her lover. Then they mounted and rode out of the gate⁵ in silence till presently she asked, “O my lord Nur al-Din, what aileth thee to be silent?” Whereupon the black turned to her and cried angrily, “What sayst thou, O damsel?” When she heard the slave’s barbarous accents, she knew that the speech was not of Nur al-Din; so raising her eyes she looked at him and saw that he was a black chattel, snub-nosed and wide-mouthed, with nostrils like ewers; whereupon the light in her eyes became night and she asked him, “Who art thou, O Shaykh of the sons of Ham and what among men is thy name?” He answered, “O daughter of the base, my name is Mas’úd, the lifter of horses, when folk slumber and sleep.” She made him no reply, but straightway baring her blade, smote him on the nape and the blade came out gleaming from his throat-tendons, whereupon he fell earthwards, weltering in his blood, and Allah hurried his soul to the Fire and abiding-place dire. Then she took the other horse by the bridle and retraced her steps in search of Nur al-Din, whom she found lying, asleep and snoring, in the place where she had appointed him to meet her, hending the halters in hand, yet knowing not his fingers from his feet. So she dismounted and gave him a cuff,⁶ whereupon he awoke in affright and said to her, “O m lady, praised be Allah for thy safe coming!” Said she “Rise and back this steed and hold thy tongue!” So he rose and mounted one of the stallions, whilst she bestrode the other, and they went forth the city and rode on awhile in silence. Then said she to him, “Did I not bid thee beware of sleeping? Verily, he prospereth not who sleepeth.” He rejoined, “O my lady, I slept not but because of the cooling of my heart by reason of thy promise. But what hath happened, O my lady?” So she told him her adventure with the black, first and last, and he said, “Praised be Allah for safety!” Then they fared on at full speed, committing their affair to the Subtle, the All-wise and conversing as they went, till they came to the place where the black lay prostrate in the dust, as he were an Ifrit, and Miriam said to Nur al-Din, “Dismount; strip him of his clothes and take his arms.” He answered, “By Allah, O my lady, I dare not dismount nor approach him.” And indeed he marvelled at the blackamoor’s stature and praised the Princess for her deed, wondering the while at her valour and stout-heartedness. They fared on lustily and ceased not so doing all that night and halted not till the day broke with its shine and sheen and the sun shone bright upon plain and height when they came to a wide riverino lea wherein the gazelles were frisking gracefully. Its surface was clothed with green and on all sides fruit trees of every kind were seen: its slopes for flowers like serpents’ bellies showed, and birds sang on boughs aloud and its rills in manifold runnels flowed. And indeed it was as saith the poet and saith well and accomplisheth the hearer’s desire,

“Rosy red Wady hot with summer-glow,
Where twofold tale of
common growth was piled.
In copse we halted wherein bent to us
Branches, as bendeth nurse o’er weanling-child.
And pure cold water quenching thirst we sipped:
To cup-mate sweeter than old wine and mild:
From every side it shut out sheen of sun
Screen-like, but wooed
the breeze to cool the wild:
And pebbles, sweet as maidens deckt and dight
And soft as threaded pearls, the touch beguiled.”

And as saith another,

“And when birdies o’er warble its lakelet, it gars
Longing⁷ lover to seek it where morning glows;
For likest to Paradise lie its banks
With shade and fruitage and fount that flows.”

Presently Princess Miriam and Nur al-Din alighted to rest in this Wady,—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Ninety-first Night,

She said, It hat reached me, O auspicious King, that when Princess Miriam and Nur al-Din alighted in that valley, they ate of its fruits and frank of its streams, after turning the stallions loose to pasture: then they sat talking and recalling their past and all that had befallen them and complaining one to other of the pangs of parting and of the hardships suffered for estrangement and love-longing. As they were thus engaged, behold, there arose in the distance a dust-cloud which spread till it walled the world, and they heard the neighing of horses and clank of arms and armour. Now the reason of this was, that after the Princess had been bestowed in wedlock upon the Wazir who had gone in to her that night, the King went forth at daybreak, to give the couple good morrow, taking with him, after the custom of Kings with their daughters, a gift of silken stuffs and scattering gold and silver among the eunuchs and tire-women, that they might snatch at and scramble for it. And he fared on escorted by one of his pages; but when he came to the new palace, he found the Wazir prostrate on the carpet, knowing not his head from his heels; so he searched the place right and left for his daughter, but found her not; whereat he was troubled sore with concern galore and his wits forlore. Then he bade bring hot water and virgin vinegar and frankincense⁸ and mingling them together, blew the mixture into the Wazir’s nostrils and shook him, whereupon he cast the Bhang forth of his stomach, as it were a bit of cheese. He repeated the process, whereupon the Minister came to himself and the King questioned him of his case and that of his daughter. He replied, “O mighty King, I have no knowledge of her save that she poured me out a cup of wine with her own hand; and from that tide to this I have no recollection of aught nor know I what is come of her.” When the King heard this, the light in his eyes became night, and he drew his scymitar and smote the Wazir on the head, then the steel came out gleaming from between his grinder teeth. Then, without an instant delay, he called the groom sand syces and demanded of them the two stallions: but they said, “O King, the two steeds were lost in the night and together with them our chief, the Master of Horse; for, when we awoke in the morning, we found all the doors wide open.” Cried the King, “By the faith of me and by all wherein my belief is stablished on certainty, none but my daughter hath taken the steeds, she and the Moslem captive which used to tend the Church and which took her aforetime! Indeed I knew him right well and none delivered him from my hand save this one-eyed Wazir; but now he is requited his deed.” Then the King called his three sons, who were three doughty champions, each of whom could withstand a thousand horse in the field of strife and the stead where cut and thrust are rife; and bade them mount. So they took horse forthwith and the King and the flower of his knights and nobles and officers mounted with them and followed on the trail of the fugitives till Miriam saw them, when she mounted her charger and baldrick’d her blade and took her arms. Then she said to Nur al-Din, “How is it with thee and how is thy heart for fight and strife and fray?” Said he, “Verily, my steadfastness in battle-van is as the steadfastness of the stake in bran.”⁹ And he improvised and said,

“O Miriam thy chiding I pray, forego;
Nor drive me to death or
injurious blow:
How e’er can I hope to bear fray and fight
Who quake at the
croak of the corby-crow?
I who shiver for fear when I see the mouse
And for very funk I
bepiss my clo’!
I loveno foin but the poke in bed,
When coynte well knoweth my
prickle’s prow;
This is rightful rede, and none other shows
Righteous as this in my sight, I trow.”

Now when Miriam heard his speech and the verse he made, she laughed and smilingly said, “O my lord Nur al-Din, abide in thy place and I will keep thee from their ill grace, though they be as the sea-sands in number. But mount and ride in rear of me, and if we be defeated and put to flight, beware of falling, for none can overtake thy steed.” So saying, she turned her lance-head towards foe in plain and gave her horse the rein, whereupon he darted off under her, like the stormy gale or like waters that from straitness of pipes outrail. Now Miriam was the doughtiest of the folk of her time and the unique pearl of her age and tide; for her father had taught her, whilst she was yet little, on steeds to ride and dive deep during the darkness of the night in the battle tide. When the King saw her charging down upon them, he knew her but too well and turning to his eldest son, said, “O Bartaut,¹⁰ thou who art surnamed Ras al-Killaut¹¹ this is assuredly thy sister Miriam who chargeth upon us, and she seeketh to wage war and fight fray with us. So go thou out to give her battle: and I enjoin thee by the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, an thou get the better of her, kill her not till thou have propounded to her the Nazarene faith. An she return to her old creed, bring her to me prisoner; but an she refuse, do her die by the foulest death and make of her the vilest of examples, as well as the accursed which is with her.” Quoth Bartaut, “Hearkening obedience”; and, rushing out forthright to meet his sister, said to her, “O Miriam, doth not what hath already befallen us on thine account suffice thee, but thou must leave the faith of thy fathers and forefathers and follow after the faith of the Vagrants in the lands, that is to say, the faith of Al–Islam? By the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar, except thou return to the creed of the Kings thy Forebears and walk therein after the goodliest fashion, I will put thee to an ill death and make of thee the most shameful of ensamples!” But Miriam laughed at his speech and replied, “Well-away! Far be it that the past should present stay or that he who is dead should again see day! I will make thee drink the sourest of regrets! By Allah, I will not turn back upon the faith of Mohammed son of Abdullah, who made salvation general; for his is the True Faith; nor will I leave the right road though I drain the cup of ruin!”—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased to say her permitted say.

When it was the Eight Hundred and Ninety-second Night,

She continued, It hath reached me, O auspicious King, that Miriam exclaimed to her brother, “Well-away! Heaven forfend that I turn back from the faith of Mohammed Abdullah-son who made salvation general; for his is the Right Road nor will I leave it although I drain the cup of ruin.” When the accursed Bartaut heard this, the light in his eyes became night, the matter was great and grievous to him and between them there befel a sore fight. The twain swayed to and fro battling throughout the length and breadth of the valley and manfully enduring the stress of combat singular, whilst all eyes upon them were fixed in admiring surprise: after which they wheeled about and foined and feinted for a long bout and as often as Bartaut opened on his sister Miriam a gate of war,¹² she closed it to and put it to naught, of the goodliness of her skill and her art in the use of arms and her cunning of cavalarice. Nor ceased they so doing till the dust overhung their heads vault-wise and they were hidden from men’s eyes; and she ceased not to baffle Bartaut and stop the way upon him, till he was weary and his courage wavered and his resolution was worsted and his strength weakened; whereupon she smote him on the nape, that the sword came out gleaming from his throat tendons and Allah hurried his soul to the Fire and the abiding-place which is dire. Then Miriam wheeled about in the battleplain and the stead where cut and thrust are fain; and championed it and offered battle, crying out and saying, “Who is for fighting? Who is for jousting? Let come forth to me to-day no weakling or niderling; ay, let none come forth to me but the champions who the enemies of The Faith represent, that I may give them to drink the cup of ignominious punishment. O worshippers of idols, O miscreants, O rebellious folk, this day verily shall the faces of the people of the True Faith be whitened and theirs who deny the Compassionate be blackened!” Now when the King saw his eldest son slain, he smote his face and rent his dress and cried out to his second son, saying, “O Batrús, thou who art surnamed Khara al-Sús,¹³ go forth, O my son, in haste and do battle with thy sister Miriam; avenge me the death of thy brother Bartaut and bring her to me a prisoner, abject and humiliated!” He answered, “Hearkening and obedience, O my sire, and charging down drave at his sister, who met him in mid-career, and they fought, he and she, a sore fight, yet sorer than the first. Bartus right soon found himself unable to cope with her might and would have sought safety in flight, but of the greatness of her prowess could not avail unto this sleight; for, as often as he turned to flee, she drave after him and still clave to him and pressed him hard, till presently she smote him with the sword in his throat, that it issued gleaming from his nape, and sent him after his brother. Then she wheeled about in the mid-field and plain where cut and thrust are dealed, crying out and saying, “Where be the Knights? Where be the Braves? Where is the one-eyed Wazir, the lameter, of the crooked faith¹⁴ the worthy believer?” Thereupon the King her father cried out with heart in bleeding guise and tear-ulcerated eyes, saying, “She hath slain my second son, by the virtue of the Messiah and the Faith which is no liar!” And he called aloud to his youngest son, saying, “O Fasyán, surnamed Salh al-Subyán,¹⁵ go forth, O my son, to do battle with thy sister and take of her the blood-wreak for thy brothers and fall on her, come what may; and whether thou gain or thou lose the day;¹⁶ and if thou conquer her, slay her with foulest slaughter!” So he drave out to Miriam, who ran at him with the best of her skill and charged him with the goodliness of her cleverness and her courage and her cunning in fence and cavalarice, crying to him, “O accursed, O enemy of Allah and the Moslems, I will assuredly send thee after thy brothers and woeful is the abiding-place of the Miscreants!” So saying, she unsheathed her sword and smote him and cut off his head and arms and sent him after his brothers and Allah hurried his soul to the Fire and the abiding-place dire. Now when the Knights and riders who rode with her sire saw his three sons slain, who were the doughtiest of the folk of their day, there fell on their hearts terror of the Princess Miriam, awe of her overpowered them; they bowed their heads earthwards and they made sure of ruin and confusion, disgrace and destruction. So with the flames of hate blazing in heart they turned their backs forthright and addressed themselves to flight. When the King saw his sons slain and on his flying troops cast sight, there fell on him bewilderment and affright, whilst his heart also was a-fire for despight. Then quoth he to himself, “In very sooth Princess Miriam hath belittled us; and if I venture myself and go out against her alone, haply she will gar me succumb and slay me without ruth, even as she slew her brothers and make of me the foulest of examples, for she hath no longer any desire for us nor have we of her return any hope. Wherefore it were the better rede that I guard mine honour and return to my capital.” So he gave reins to his charger and rode back to his city. But when he found himself in his palace, fire was loosed in his heart for rage and chagrin at the death of his three gallant sons and the defeat of his troops and the disgrace to his honour; nor did he abide half an hour ere he summoned his Grandees and Officers of state and complained to them of that his daughter Miriam had done with him of the slaughter of her brothers and all he suffered therefrom of passion and chagrin, and sought advice of them. They all counselled him to write to the Vicar of Allah in His earth, the Commander of the Faithful, Harun al-Rashid, and acquaint him with his circumstance. So he wrote a letter to the Caliph, containing, after the usual salutations, the following words. “We have a daughter, Miriam the Girdle-girl hight, who hath been seduced and debauched from us by a Moslem captive, named Nur al-Din Ali, son of the merchant Taj al-Din of Cairo, and he hath taken her by night and went forth with her to his own country; wherefore I beg of the favour of our lord the Commander of the Faithful that he write to all the lands of the Moslems to seize her and send her back to us by a trusty messenger.”—And Shahrazad perceived the dawn of day and ceased saying her permitted say.