him without involving Tŭngku Ûteh in the scandal. For the moment, therefore, he turned his thoughts to the other culprits. Âwang Îtam was overpowered that evening, on his way to the guardhouse, by a bevy of the King's Youths, was dragged into the palace, and thereafter all trace of him was lost for some months. The girl Îang Mûnah, all her bright dreams of permanent concubinehood scattered to the winds, was suspended by her thumbs from a roof beam, and was soused with water whenever she had the impudence to faint. The Sultan would not suffer any graver injury to be done to her, in spite of the gentle entreaties of his wife, Tŭngku Ûteh's mother, as that farseeing potentate judged it to be possible that his casual fancy for her might, at some later period, revive.
To Tûan Bângau, however, not a word was said; and never by sign or gesture was he allowed to guess that his crime against his master's honour was known to the Sultan.
Nearly a year later, when the whole incident had become a piece of ancient court history, the Sultan chanced to go ahunting, and took his way up a small stream, the banks of which happened to be totally uninhabited. Tûan Bângau was of the party, and the other bûdak râja who were on duty that day were all men who had been selected on account of their discretion and their unwavering loyalty to the Sultan. The hunt was accommodated in boats, of which there were two, the Sultan travelling in one, and his son. Tŭngku Saleh in the other. Besides the
