‘La ilaha illa allah.’
After processing through the village Shamil rode into a large courtyard next to an inner one where he had his harem.
Two armed Lezghians met Shamil at the opened gates of the first courtyard.
The yard was full of people.
There were people from distant parts here on their own account, there were petitioners, and there were those whom Shamil himself had summoned for judgement.
When Shamil rode in everyone in the courtyard rose and respectfully greeted the Imam with their hands placed to their chests.
Some knelt and remained kneeling while Shamil crossed the courtyard from the outer to the inner gateway.
Although Shamil recognized in the waiting crowd many disagreeable people and many tiresome petitioners who would be wanting his attention, he rode past them with the same stony expression on his face and went into the inner court where he dismounted alongside the veranda of his residence to the left of the gate.
The campaign had been a strain, mental rather than physical, for although he had proclaimed it a victory, Shamil knew that the campaign had been a failure, that many Chechen villages had been burnt and destroyed, and that the Chechens — a fickle and light-headed people — were wavering and some of them, nearest to the Russians, were already prepared to go over to them. It was all very difficult and measures would have to be taken, but for the moment Shamil did not want to do anything or think about anything.
All he wanted was to relax and enjoy the soothing delights of family life provided by his favorite wife Aminet, a black-eyed, fleet-footed Kist girl of eighteen.
But not only was it out of the question to see Aminet at this moment — though she was only on the other side of the fence which separated the women’s apartments from the men’s quarters in the inner courtyard (and Shamil had no doubt that even as he dismounted Aminet and his other wives would be watching through the fence) — not only could he not go to her, he could not even lie down on a feather mattress and recover from his fatigue.
Before anything else he had to perform his midday devotions. He felt not the least inclination to do so, but it was necessary that he should, not only in his capacity as religious leader of the people, but also because to him personally it was as essential as his daily food.
So he carried out the ritual washing and praying.
At the end of the prayers he summoned those who were waiting.
The first to come in to him was his father-in-law and teacher, Jemel-Edin, a tall fine-looking old man with grey hair, snowy white beard and a rubicund face. After a prayer to God, he began to question Shamil about the campaign and to recount what had happened in the mountains while he was away.
There were all manner of events to report — blood-feud killings, cattle-stealing, alleged breaches of the Tarikat — smoking tobacco, drinking wine, and Jemel-Edin also told Shamil that Hadji Murad had sent men to take his family over to the Russians, but that this was discovered and the family had been moved to Vedeno, where they were now under guard awaiting the Imam’s decision.
The old men were gathered in the adjoining guest-room for the purpose of considering all these matters, and Jemel-Edin advised Shamil to dismiss them today since they had already waited three days for him.
Shamil took dinner in his own room, where it was brought by Zaidet, the senior of his wives, a sharp-nosed, dark, ill-favored woman for whom he did not care. He then went into the guest-room.
There were six men in Shamil’s council — old men with white, grey and ginger beards. They wore tall papakhas with or without turbans, new jackets and cherkeskass with leather belts and daggers. They rose to greet him. Shamil was a head taller than any of them.
They all, including Shamil, lifted their upturned hands and with closed eyes recited a prayer, then wiped their hands across their faces, drew them down over their beards and joined them.
This done, they sat down, with Shamil sitting on a higher cushion in the middle, and began their deliberations of the business in hand.
The cases of those accused of crimes were decided according to the Shariat: two thieves were condemned to have a hand cut off, another to have his head cut off for murder, and three were pardoned.
They moved on then to the main business to consider what measures should be taken to prevent the Chechens going over to the Russians.
In order to halt these defections Jemel-Edin had drawn up the following proclamation:
‘May you have peace everlasting with Almighty God.
I hear that the Russians show favors to you and call for your submission.
Believe them not, do not submit, but be patient.
For this you will be rewarded, if not in this life, then in the life to come.
Remember what happened before when your weapons were taken from you.
If then, in 1840, God had not shown you the light, you would now be soldiers and carry bayonets instead of daggers, and your wives would not wear trousers and would be defiled.
Judge the future by the past.
It is better to die at war with the Russians than to live with the infidels.
Be patient, and I shall come with the Koran and the sword to lead you against the Russians.
For the present I strictly command you to have neither intention nor even any thought of submitting to the Russians.’
Shamil approved the proclamation, signed it and decreed that it should be dispatched to all parts.
When this business was finished the question of Hadji Murad was discussed.
This was a very important matter for Shamil.
Although he did not care to admit it, he knew that if Hadji Murad had been on his side, with his skill, daring, and courage what had now happened in Chechnia would never have occurred.
It would be good to settle his quarrel with Hadji Murad and make use of him once again; but if that could not be done, he must still ensure that he did not aid the Russians.
In either case, therefore, he must send for him and, when he came, kill him.
This could be done either by sending a man to Tiflis to kill him there, or by summoning him and putting an end to him here.
The only way to do that was to use Hadji Murad_s family, above all his son, whom, as Shamil knew, he adored.
It was therefore necessary to work through his son.
When the councilors had talked it over, Shamil closed his eyes and fell silent.
The councilors knew what this meant: Shamil was now listening to the voice of the Prophet telling him what should be done.
After five minutes’ solemn silence Shamil opened his eyes, screwing them more tightly than before and said:
‘Fetch me the son of Hadji Murad.’
‘He is here,’ said Jemel-Edin.
Indeed, Yusuf, thin, pale, ragged, and stinking, still handsome though in face and figure, and with the same fiery black eyes as Patimat, his grandmother, was standing at the gate of the outer courtyard waiting to be summoned.
Yusuf did not feel about Shamil as his father did.