CHAPTER IX

     The last decree of Onalba.  Downfall of the plotters.  Bright-wits
     receives his reward

In a voice that rang through the great hall the stranger commanded silence.  Then tearing the parchment open he read the amazing decree which Onalba had written thereon.  “This decree, I, Onalba, Rajah of Parrabang, give to my people.  Let all hearken, and obey these my instructions.  Knowing that my days are soon to cease, and that my well beloved daughter Azalia will come to rule in my place, I, filled with a desire that my kingdom be governed wisely and my beloved child wed worthily, decided to absent myself from the affairs of my realm and to journey out into the world that I might seek among the princes of the earth one who would be full of the promise of wisdom and of high courage.  One fitted to be the consort of the matchless Azalia and in whom I could see my fondest desires bear fruit.  Now that none might know me, I permitted my beard to grow to my girdle, and stained it with a white pigment.  Then I had only to reverse my name, Onalba, to become Ablano; and in the Holy Brahman none knew the Rajah of Parrabang.  Hearing tidings of the fame of Prince Bright-Wits, I journeyed hence to Mogadore.  There I tarried studying the heart and instructing the mind of this jewel among sons and star among princes.  Nor has he failed me.  In him I have found one who will be a fitting lord for my child Azalia and a worthy successor to the great Rajahs who have sat upon the throne of Parrabang.

“His wisdom has been tested by the plotting of those whom I had trusted as mine own sons.  Yet naught has availed against him.  Here before the Council of Emirs, and all my people, I now decree Bright-Wits to be my chosen successor, and bestow upon him the hand of the Princess Azalia.  Seven weeks from this day, on the Feast of Yama, shall their wedding be celebrated.”

Loud cries now came from all parts of the great hall, while Garrofat roared, “Up guards.  Cut down these rascally impostors.”  But with a wave of his hand, the stranger stayed the tumult.  “Peace,” he cried, “I have not yet ended.”  Then, still concealing his face he continued to read from the decree.

“Now because of my absence there has risen envy and treachery in the hearts of those who beforetime I have heaped with honours and riches.  Know you, Garrofat, and thee, Doola, that because of your villainy your lives are forfeit.  All your plotting has come to naught.  Many times has my rage almost betrayed my secret; which none knew but my dear child Azalia.  Her I could not long deceive.  Let the guards drag from our sight these wretches whose fat carcasses are to make a banquet for the royal beasts in the pits beneath the palace.”

Terror now blanched the faces of the fallen conspirators.  “It is a lie,” they screamed in concert.  “Onalba is dead.”