familiar to deceive; but after all it is the old tricks that succeed, so there may be truth in the story.
Kobad, says the same writer, followed the teaching of his new creed with a peculiar thoroughness; surrendering (by a sort of reversal of the policy of King Cophetua) even his harem to his brothers in the faith, and descending from the throne himself when warned that he had had his turn at kingship, and ought to let another try his hand!
As a matter of fact, though one abandons so Utopian an episode with distinct regret, it appears to have been the nobles who deposed the King. They procured what modern Ottomans would call a "fetva" from the Mobed Mobedan,[1] to the effect that it was lawful to depose a prince who had departed from "the religion" (recent events have familiarized us with this strange outcrop of constitutionalism in the midst of autocracy); and the Shah-in-Shah was consigned to the Castle of Oblivion.
Zamasp, his brother, became King in his room, and, with a generosity unusual in an oriental, refused to kill the dethroned monarch. After a while Kobad escaped from prison—smuggled out by his sister (or wife) in a roll of carpets which ignorant servants carried off, while the lady occupied the attention of the guard. Kobad found a refuge among the Turks, and (after a year or so) help from them also, by means of which he regained his throne. Zamasp disappears, but apparently was not murdered, and was allowed to live in retirement. Exile had effectually cooled the King's reforming zeal. Henceforward, whatever
- ↑ Of course the technical term belongs to a later period; nor need we suppose that the quaint formality of the present age was followed then, and the question asked, "If Zeid, who is commander of the faithful, does such and such things, is it lawful to depose the said Zeid?"
