Sometimes, when the fragrant smoke of a narghileh made a philosopher of

him for half-an-hour, he contrasted the lot of this old woman with that

of Hasneh and other wives of poor men. Here was one whose name had been

a byword for infamy living as a queen in her old age, extending bounty

and protection to whom she would, exacting service as her due. The

greatest of the city came under cover of the night to beseech her aid

in secret business of the heart. Grand ladies of some notable’s harìm,

veiled from all peril of recognition, sought her in their way from the

bath or the perfumer’s on a like errand. Clandestine lovers made their

heaven in her upper room. Each and all, fearing, blessed her and left

gold in her hand. “Allah grant me as prosperous an old age!” thought

Saïd. And yet Hasneh, the rough-handed and meanly clad, would have

deemed herself the better of such an one. It was a strange thing!

Another person who had conceived a warm liking for the fisherman was

the fat taverner. As the bright pattern of filial devotion, Saïd was

always welcome to meat and drink and a narghileh afterwards in return

for occasional help in the service of the coffee-house. Abu Khalìl

loved to ply him with parables and hard sayings, beginning always,

“There was once a son,” and ending mostly in an attempt to cuff poor

Camr-ud-dìn, the “son” in question. This unfortunate youth inherited

his father’s tendency to fall asleep at odd moments. He would have

become fat, too, like his father, had he been allowed to remain long

enough in one spot. It was his constant chagrin that he could enjoy

no rest, between waiting on customers and obeying his sire’s behests;

for Abu Khalìl, though always dormant himself, would not let his son

indulge in a moment’s lethargy. Camr-ud-dìn carried his grievance

plainly written on his dirty brown face. He did everything under

protest; and he loathed the sight of Saïd, who was for ever being held

up to him for an example.

Once or twice Saïd caught a glimpse of Selìm among the crowd in the

streets, but on each occasion was able to dodge aside and avoid him. He

would have rejoiced to know him happy and doing well, but was ashamed

to meet him face to face. For this reason he shunned the great bazaars

and more crowded ways in his walks abroad.

At least once in every day he was drawn to the house of Yuhanna the

Christian. Sometimes he went thither at evening, when a deep earth

shadow wrapped the city, and the western hill was black against an

orange glow; more often in the early morning, while the ways were yet

shady. Hid in the angle of the porch he could observe all that passed

in the court within. The very stones of the pavement had charm for

him. His beloved came and went, appeared and disappeared, now crooning

a love-song with her baby brother in her arms, now mocking the coo

of the pigeons, now romping with a maid-servant. Whether she stood

on tiptoe with head thrown back and arms uplifted, her long tresses

reaching almost to her heels, to pull down the branch of a lemon-tree

and see if a certain fruit were yellowing; whether she stamped her foot

in sudden anger at the clumsiness of a servant, or slapped the child,

who loved to bury his tiny hands in her hair and sometimes caused her

pain—whatever she did was full of grace in Saïd’s eyes. He would

con over her moods and postures afterwards as he lay awake at night,

tossing feverishly with a fire at his heart. Crouching in the shadow

of the entrance he feasted his eyes on her beauty of form and motion,

until someone came to disturb him, when he stole back in the blue

shadow of narrow alleys, shunning instinctively the sunlight and open

places, with a singing in his ears.

At such times he went not to the tavern of Abu Khalìl, but straight to

the cellar of Nûr. The old woman listened kindly to his ravings, and

soothed him with hints of hope, bidding him have but a little patience

and he should be satisfied. The girl’s father, she said, was a wealthy

merchant, a Nazarene, and under protection. It would be unsafe to carry

her off in a time of quiet, for the Frankish consuls would be sure to

clamour for vengeance. Alas, in these days none but a true believer

could be wronged with impunity. But a change was at hand. Wherever she

went—in the palaces of the great as in the cellars of the poor—she

heard murmurs of discontent. Men’s forbearance was taxed to the utmost.

A little more—a feather, it must give way, and then Allah knew what

would happen! There would be riot—that at least was certain—and amid

the confusion of a whole city’s rising one girl could be abducted and

no man know it. Saïd must therefore wait and trust in Allah.

He drew some momentary comfort from this assurance, but his desire

grew with every day, threatening to consume him. Old Mustafa rejoiced

secretly at the haggard looks of his young ally. He strove by all means

to foster a longing which promised to fall in timely with his scheme of

revenge. He spoke rapturously of the charms of Yuhanna’s daughter when

they sat together among the gardens in the pale evening; and he would

hug himself with glee when the fisherman leapt up and cursed the day he

was born, beseeching Allah to strike him dead, for what was life to him

without his darling!

One morning, as Saïd lounged in the tavern of Abu Khalìl, a dehlibash

entered, followed by an obsequious private. His uniform was that of the

irregular troops distributed for a safeguard among the country towns

and villages. He cast a keen glance round the coffee-house, passing

over Camr-ud-dìn and his father and two Christian lads drinking arak

together in a corner, until his eye rested on Saïd.

“Yonder is the man for us—what sayest thou, ’brahìm?”

“A strong man!—a fine man!” agreed the soldier, bending his right arm

and feeling the muscle thereof to confirm his meaning.

“Look here, O what is thy name?” said the officer, addressing Saïd; “if

thou hast a mind to earn ten piastres, rise up and follow me!”

If he wished to earn ten piastres! O day of blessing! O day of good

luck! Upon his head he would serve his Excellency. To hear was to obey.

Might Allah preserve his Honour’s life for ever! What might be his

Grace’s further orders?

The officer strode out of the tavern again, motioning him to walk with

the private soldier. In this order they traversed the city. Passing

out at an eastern gate they came to a wide-open space where grass grew

in ragged patches. Under some big trees which bordered the parade

ground was a motley gathering of men and horses. The arrival of the

dehlibash was hailed with loud blessing and cringing salaams. A steed

was apportioned to Saïd, while the officer counted his men.

“Praise to Allah, the tale is complete!” he said with a sigh of relief;

and then, looking at his watch, “It is lucky that it is so, for it

wants but a half of the appointed hour. Here, ’brahìm, let this man

wear thy paletot and give him a gun! At present he has nothing of the

soldier about him. At an ordinary time it does not matter; but a friend

whispered me this morning that the Wâly himself purposes to review us;

and it is likely Abdul Cader will be with him. He is a great general by

Allah, is Abdul Cader—his eyes are as the eyes of an eagle. Well”—he

shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in deprecation—“if the

Government can only afford to pay seventy soldiers and I am obliged to

maintain a hundred, is it my fault that they be not clothed like the

Sultàn’s body-guard?”

Saïd donned the soldier’s overcoat. The hood hanging between his

shoulders irked him like a burden, so that he twisted his neck to see

what was there, provoking shouts of laughter. Then he swung the carbine

across his back, just as the order to mount was given.

The dehlibash marshalled his troop, two deep, in the middle of the

parade ground. Even thus, in the full glare of the sun, with glint of

gun-barrels and prancing of steeds, the show was not a brave one. A few

half-naked urchins, smitten with awe at the sight, stood to watch, and

idlers from the city gathered to the spot. Presently there was a noise

of shouting and a pair of outriders cantered out at the gate, followed

at an interval of about a hundred yards by a group of horsemen in civil

dress surrounding the person of the Wâly.

Ahmed Pasha wore the official frock coat and dark trousers, his sober

Frankish garb contrasting strangely with the gorgeous trappings of

his charger. His pale, intellectual face appeared the whiter for the

scarlet fez pressed low on the forehead. Beside him, on the left hand,

rode that great one whom Saïd had seen in the court of the mosque,

sitting with the Mufti and Ismaìl Abbâs. Two Franks, whose top-boots

were very prominent, rode on the Wâly’s right, and a servile official

or two completed the party.

“Who is he?” Saïd inquired of a neighbour in the ranks.

“Who? O stupid! Ahmed Basha, of course!”

“No, I speak not of the Wâly; but say, who is that great one who rides

at his left hand?”

“Whence comest thou? Who art thou who dwellest in Es-shâm and dost not

know Abdul Cader, the mighty chief of Eljizar whom the French took and

imprisoned and at length banished hither! Hist!”

The troop saluted after a fashion, and the Wâly began his ride along

the ranks, chiefly to ascertain that the right number of men were

there. He seemed mortified by the wretched appearance of the troop. The

two Franks smiled openly, pointing out individual scarecrows one to the

other. As luck would have it, something in Saïd’s bearing pleased Ahmed

Pasha. He reined in his horse before him and made a remark over his

shoulder to the Franks, who drew near with expectant faces.

“Now, my man, thou that art a servant of justice in this province, I

put a case to thee: Suppose thou foundest a Muslim and a Christian

fighting together, what wouldst thou do?”

Saïd reflected a moment.

“May it please your Excellency, I should take the Kâfir to prison.”

The Wâly bit his lip and rode on. The Franks tried in vain to stifle

their laughter. Even Abdul Cader smiled and his eyes twinkled.

His round of inspection over, Ahmed Pasha addressed some sharp words

of admonition to the troops; and refusing to listen to the officer’s

excuses, rode back again into the city. The crowd which had followed

the governor dispersed after him. The soldiers retired to the shade of

the plane-trees and there dismounted. Saïd and some fifty other faggots

were paid off; and, being deprived of their guns and such soldierly

garments as they had assumed for the nonce, sauntered away as civilians.

In his road to the tavern of Abu Khalìl, the fisherman saw signs of

unwonted excitement. The faces of the men he met had a fierce and

eager look. Once or twice a Nazarene passed him, slinking along by the

wall with the furtive side-glance of a dog that one stones. Drivers of

camels and mules who seemed to come from the way of the mountains were

beset by an eager crowd begging for news; while others coming off the

desert passed unheeded save for the curses of those whom the advance

of their laden beasts threatened to crush against the wall. Khans and

coffee-houses were full to overflowing, and the sound of many voices in

agitation came from their shadowy doorways. It was near noon—an hour

when men are wont to move lazily, and the very camels seem to slumber

as they rock heavily onward with jangling bells. But to-day all was

animation. Even the street-dogs opened an eye, drew in their tongues at

intervals and stirred uneasily in their sleep.

Saïd accosted two men who were arguing and gesticulating in the shade

of a merchant’s awning.

“What is the news?” he asked.

“Great news, O my uncle—news of moment! There is war in the Mountain

and it is sure that the Mowarni have arisen and have destroyed twenty

villages belonging to the Drûz. One that has but now arrived from

Beyrût assured me of it. He saw the flames like stars on all the

seaward slopes as he passed the ridge at sundown. It is sin, by Allah!

for the Drûz are our brothers in this matter.”

“Nay, by Allah! it is a lying report thou hast heard!” cried the other

man, vehemently. “It is the Drûz who have risen up suddenly and have

destroyed thirty villages of the Mowarni. It is true, however, what

thou sayest, that the Drûz are our brothers. May their power increase!”

The merchant before whose shop they were squabbling removed the ivory

mouthpiece of a narghileh from his lips and crossed his legs more

comfortably.

“It is likely both of you are wrong,” he said. “The event occurred only

yesterday, so the tidings are not yet confirmed. This is but the first

rumour which we hear. It is surely greater than the truth.”

Saïd hurried on his way with a full heart. Wild fancies, that were half

hope and half project, throbbed in his mind. The time foretold of the

lawyer was come; the day to which Mustafa looked for vengeance was at

hand. A fire was kindled on Lebanon, and a strong wind blew from the

sea. The smoke was driven over the great city, and there were sparks in

the smoke. Es-Shâm was as a heap of tinder carefully prepared. Through

vague pictures of riot and bloodshed he saw the daughter of Yuhanna

as he had first seen her, fondling her baby brother in a blue shadow

which the intervening sunlight dusted with gold. The vision was perfect

even to the purple flowers on the wall at her back and a pair of white

butterflies sporting above her head. The vividness of it pained Saïd,

causing heart and brain to ache.

The tavern of Abu Khalìl was crowded and uproarious when he reached it.

Just within the threshold, forced outward by the press, stood the host

himself with back to the sunlight. By his manner of standing he seemed

anxious and ill at ease. The expression of his face when he turned was

the same which Saïd had seen it wear when knives were drawn in the

house or a customer flew at another’s throat. With a touch of the hand

and a whispered salutation the fisherman slipped past him and edged his

shoulder into the throng. Stools overturned were being kicked about

among the feet of the disputants. Clenched hands were shaken fiercely

in angry faces. Every man believed himself to be possessed of the truth

of the matter and resented his neighbour’s statement.

“Thirty villages!”—“Twenty!”—“No, a hundred, I tell thee!”—“The

Drûz, by the Coràn!”—“The Christians for certain!”

In the thickest of the crush Saïd descried an emerald mantle edged

with fur. It shone out brightly amid the ruck of soiled robes of every

conceivable colour, blue predominating. An embroidered turban binding a

newish fez was conspicuous in like manner. The young lawyer, who came

thither to converse with clients, was struggling to obtain a hearing.

“I who am a lawyer tell you that it behoves all men to keep peace at

this crisis!” Saïd heard him cry. “Let the unbelievers extirpate each

other—Durzi and Marûni. The Franks are powerful and wish ill to Islâm.

They will cause all who take part against the Christians to be put to

death. What profit has a man though he destroy his enemies if he die

for it? The Wâly has summoned the Council of Notables. They will take

strong measures to prevent a disturbance. Calm your minds, I entreat

you, all of you!”

Derisive shouts drowned his prayers. The old beggar sprang forward and

gripped his shoulder. He swung the lawyer round so that he could grin

in his face.

“What is this, effendi?” he said with a mad laugh. “Does a man change

his mind with each moon? A little while since, when the chance of war

seemed remote, thou wast a lion, exhorting us to battle with brave

words. But now, on the eve of the tumult thy heart grows faint. In the

beginning, when there is but a spark, it is easy to fan it or blow it

out, whichever one please; but afterward, when it is become a great

fire all the breath of a man avails not to extinguish it. Courage, O

Excellency! It is a creditable thing to be chief among men. Be sure

I will give thee all honour, and praise thee as my leader in this

business!”

With an oath the lawyer tore himself away. His face was vivid as he

pushed through the noisy crowd to the door. He passed quite close to

Saïd, so that the latter could hear him mutter under his breath,—

“A madman—dangerous to the peace of the city—I go straight to

denounce him. With Allah’s leave he shall be in a gaol ere sunset!”

Saïd watched him shuffle away in the direction of the Wâly’s house,

keeping close to the castle wall, as though its strength were a

protection, the skirts of his emerald coat bellying behind him. Then he

elbowed his way to where Mustafa was leaping and dancing like a maniac

in the midst of the press, screaming curses on the Christians to the

joy of all.

Saïd plucked his robe and whispered, but the old man shook him off at

first and raved more frantically than ever. But by dint of repeating

his warning in a louder tone, and dragging him by main force towards

the door, he at length won him to hear reason. They went out together

into the blinding sunshine, Mustafa cursing all lawyers and their

kinsfolk.

On reaching the cellar where they lodged, “Allah is gracious! The time

is come, O Nûr!” cried Mustafa, capering and waving his skinny arms in

a frenzy of glee.

XXI

In those days the taverns of the city were never empty except at dead

of night. Each sun brought fresh tidings of a rousing nature; and the

excitement of the vulgar is a gossip who must chatter or die. It was

soon known for certain that the Maronites had been the aggressors in

the first place; but now the Drûz were slaying them like sheep all

along the mountain.

“Of a surety, the Drûz are our brothers!” was the judgment of every

true believer. “It is not true, what is commonly told of them, that

they worship a calf in secret places. By the Coràn they are no

idolaters. They fall not prostrate before pictures of women and sheep,

as do the Nazarenes; but worship Allah even as we do. May they utterly

destroy their enemies, who are ours also!”

Men went about their work distractedly with brains on fire. Unrest was

everywhere. The sunlight itself, which baked the roofs, quivered of

anticipation. The crescent gleaming on dome and minaret had a message

for all the faithful.

Only in the Christian quarter fear reigned amid a deathlike hush. The

few inhabitants who ventured beyond its limits were hustled and spit

upon. True believers cursed and reviled them so that they grovelled in

terror of their lives. There was menace in the very air, so that they

breathed it with deprecation.

In the dewy shade of an early morning Saïd bent his steps towards the

house of Yuhanna. Wrapt in thought of his beloved he walked as in a

dream. The ways were cool, he was conscious of a strip of radiance

overhead, he saw men move as shadows. At a joyful shout of his own name

he started as though one had struck him.

“Is it indeed thou, O Selìm?” he cried. “O day of joy! How goes thy

business?”

The memory of his former scurvy treatment of the muleteer made him a

little backward in cordiality. But upon Selìm embracing him tenderly

as a brother, with no more than a playful reproach on the score of

his desertion, he was truly delighted to see him once again; and they

walked on, hand in hand, so far as their roads lay together. Saïd

had little to relate. His life since their parting had been lazy and

uneventful. Of the all-absorbing topic of Yuhanna’s daughter he cared

not to speak, being far from secure of his friend’s approval. But

Selìm, on the other hand, had much to tell. Alone, he had carried on

the old business for a few days, in the hope of Saïd’s return; but

things had not thriven with him. The voice of the master was gone,

and he might shout till he was hoarse in praise of the wares, yet

few paused to examine them. So he sold the remnant of his stock to a

dealer for what it would fetch, and journeyed to the mountain-village

where was his home, to dandle his baby and take counsel with his

woman. On his return to the city he applied for help to Ismaìl Abbâs,

the Sherìf—Saïd remembered?—who received him very kindly and gave

him a letter—guess to whom! to Ahmed Pasha, to his Highness the Wâly

himself! In short, he was now a member of the Governor’s household,

receiving bakshìsh from all desirous to curry favour in his master’s

neighbourhood.

He was in the way of honour, and (under Allah) he thanked Saïd for it.

Had it not been for that rich garment Saïd gave him he would never

have caught the eye of the great Ismaìl Abbâs in the first instance.

Moreover, he praised his friend’s generosity and self-denial in that

he had not taken his share of the slender profits of their partnership

away with him. It was a magnanimous action, but then Saïd was ever the

father of kindness. He had grieved much for the loss of his brother,

and had even been to the cellar of Nûr seeking news of him. But the

mistress of the house—a tall old woman with painted eyes—had been

short with him and he could learn nothing from her.

Saïd’s heart smote him as he listened. Allah had blessed him with the

truest friend ever man had, and he had slighted the gift. He squeezed

Selìm’s hand and swung it lightly to and fro as they walked. Might

Allah destroy him utterly and quench the fire on his hearth if ever

again he gave this good man cause to reproach him.

“I rejoice in thy happiness,” he said when the time came for them to

part. “And what is the mind of his Excellency the Basha with respect

to the war of the Mountain? Wait a little and there shall be war in

Es-Shâm on the pattern of it.”

“Alas, O Saïd, they say in the palace of my lord that should the men

of Es-Shâm follow the example of the Drûz, then the downfall of Islâm

is sure, for the Franks will avenge the Nazarenes, that is known. The

Wâly himself is very anxious: it is said that he weeps at night in his

chamber. He is a great general of renown, but he loves study better

than government. One of the soldiers of the guard, who has served

under him in the wars of Europe, tells me that he was ever a great

general—none greater—upon paper: victory waited on his science; but

he loved not the turmoil of a battle and its perils.

“His mind is now torn asunder by the demands of the Franks wishing one

thing, and the advice of the elders of Islâm, who desire the opposite.

In truth, it seems to me who am a small man and no politician, that he

hearkens too willingly to the speeches of the Franks, the sworn enemies

of the Faith. It was no wise thing that he did yesterday in ordering

the dog Jurji, who did outrage on the harìm of Asad Effendi, to be

released without punishment. The Franks speak as lawyers on behalf of

their clients, and they strengthen their pleading by threats. This

pardon of an evildoer, simply because he is a Nazarene, will madden the

faithful. As I came just now through the long bazaar, a band of youths

armed with sticks passed me, running towards the Christian quarter,

vowing they would do justice on Jurji with their own hands. I fear

the Wâly has been ill-advised in this matter. He is a great man and

a politic, but he is weak, and the Franks overbear him. I fear there

will be trouble. Thanks be to Allah that Selìm is not the great Wâly

of Damashc-ush-Shâm, but only a small servant whose duty is plain. May

Allah guard thee in safety till we meet again!”

They parted. Selìm was quickly lost in the shifting crowd of a roofed

bazaar, while Saïd, striking into a quiet alley, pursued his way to the

house of Yuhanna. The news of the release of Jurji rankled in his mind,

making him venomous towards the Christians.

As he passed the threshold of the outer door, seeking that corner of

the entrance passage whence he was used to spy on his delight, he

stumbled on a pitcher someone had left there. The earthern vessel

crashed upon the stones and was shattered to bits. The noise was enough

to bring the whole household running to the spot. Bitterly cursing

the accident, Saïd took to his heels. A little way up the lane he hid

himself in the angle of two walls.

Presently, as he stood there waiting till the alarm of the broken pot

should have had time to subside, he heard loud voices approaching.

A rabble of Muslim lads burst into the narrow way, cursing all the

Nazarenes, and yelling that they were come to do justice on Jurji

the evildoer and destroy his father’s house with fire. Most of them

carried sticks; some had long knives in their hands. Seeing a man look

out from the door of Yuhanna’s house they chalked the sign of the

cross ostentatiously on the pavement, spat upon it, and trampled it

underfoot. The head was quickly withdrawn and the door shut and bolted

from within.

This seemed rare sport to Saïd. Lifting up his voice against the

Christians, he joined himself to the mob.

They paraded the entire quarter, reviling all they met. Here and there

a man cried shame upon them, but the most part slunk past them along

the wall with a cringing salutation. At length, growing weary of their

unchallenged progress, they were about to disperse, when a happy

thought occurred to Saïd. He imparted it to his comrades, who were loud

in acclamation. Such as had knives set to work to cut short lengths

of stick, which they bound two and two together so as to form rough

crosses. Then they took hold of the street-dogs, which lay around them

by dozens, tied a cross under the tail of each, and with a kick sent

them howling in all directions.

The fun was at its height when a man dressed in the Frankish fashion,

but swarthy and wearing a fez, emerged from a doorway close by in

earnest conversation with a Muslim in a fur-edged mantle of emerald

green. He of the foreign garb cast one searching glance at the crowd,

and then, seeing its occupation, walked off hurriedly, dragging the

lawyer along with him.

“Dìn Muhammed!” Saïd yelled after them in derision. “Behold we follow

thy advice, effendi!”

“Dìn Muhammed—Allah! Allah! Perish the unbelievers!” shouted a few of

his companions; but the greater part were silent, seeming afraid.

“It is the dragoman of the Muscovite Consul,” one murmured with

consternation. “He knows me well, whose son I am. He will surely lodge

information against us and we shall be imprisoned for this day’s work.”

“Let us after and slay him!” cried another, valorous from a whole

morning spent in insulting men with impunity.

“Let us go quietly each to his own place!” pleaded a third, who had

cause for alarm, being well-known to the dragoman.

His advice seemed best to all, and they disbanded forthwith. Saïd went

to the coffee-house of Abu Khalìl, where he smoked a narghileh. The

tale of his morning’s pastime made the fat taverner quake with inward

laughter. Camr-ud-dìn and his mother stopped work to listen; the

customers applauded it as a merry jest. He was obliged to repeat it

from the beginning for every new-comer. At midday he made a hearty meal

of lentils and bread, drank a cup of coffee, and disposed himself for a

nap.

About the second hour after noon he was roused by a strong hand on his

shoulder shaking him. To the first blurred glance of his sleepy eyes

the whole tavern seemed full of soldiers; but when he sat up he found

there were but four of them.

“A scar on his forehead,” one was saying, as if he read over a

description in writing, “the beard black, tall and robust, the son of

perhaps twenty-three years, his raiment striped of blue and yellow,

soiled. This is the man, by Allah!… Arise, O my uncle, and come along

with us!”

“What means this? What evil have I done?” Saïd rubbed his eyes and

stared aghast.

“Who said thou hadst done any wrong? Not I, by Allah! To my mind thou

didst well to spit upon the infidels; would to Allah thou hadst slain

a few of them! But it is the Wâly’s order that thou go to prison. Make

haste, O lazy one!”

Saïd was dimly aware of Abu Khalìl quaking and wringing his hands

somewhere between him and the sunlight, of the voices of Camr-ud-dìn

and his mother mingled in curses upon the soldiers and their ancestry.

Then he was led out into the white glare of the street, where a small

crowd of idlers and ne’er-do-wells gaped upon him, and ran along with

his captors as an additional escort.

It was clear that the guards had orders to avoid all crowded

thoroughfares, for they hurried him through dark tunnels and passages

and along mean alleys of an evil savour. But with all these precautions

they were obliged to cross the open space before a large khan at

an hour when traffic was at its height; and such a group was sure

to attract notice, even without the little crowd which followed it

implicitly as the tail the dog. The person of the prisoner was much

scrutinised, and questions were put to the soldiers, who answered with

an “Allah knows!” and a surly shrug. All at once a well-known plaint

struck Saïd’s ear.

“Allah will give to you!… For the love of Allah, take pity or I die!… O

Lord!… Allah will give to you!…”

He started, and then howled “Mustafa!” with all the strength of his

lungs.

“Hold thy peace, O fool, lest I strike thee on the mouth!” hissed the

chief of his escort fiercely.

But the old beggar had heard his cry. The crowd parted suddenly, giving

way to a wild, lean figure a-flutter with rags. Mustafa raised hands

and eyes to Heaven for horror of what he saw.

“What is this?” he shrieked. “Allah cut short their lives! They have

taken my son—the staff of my days!—the light of my eyes!… These sons

of iniquity have robbed me of my son!… O Allah!… O Lord!… O men of

Es-Shâm—O fathers of kindness, will you suffer this great wrong to be

done in your sight? By the Prophet, there is no sin in him!… O Lord!…

He was ever been a good son and a pious. Say, O Saïd, for what cause

have they taken thee and bound thy hands? Let all men judge of thy

innocence!”

“For the cause that I cursed the heathen!” shouted Saïd, at the cost of

a smart blow on the mouth, which made his gums bleed.

“O Lord!” screamed the old beggar, dancing and rending his clothes as

one gone mad with grief. “See, they strike him! There is blood on his

lips!… They side with unbelievers!… They buffet the champion of Islâm

and lead him to prison!… O men of Es-Shâm, O faithful people, you have

heard his crime from his own mouth!… O Lord!… Rescue him!—rescue my

son!—my only son!—the staff of my life!”

The soldiers and their charge were at a standstill, a crowd pressing

upon them from every side. There was a sound of muttered curses on

all hands, and the shrieks of the old maniac seemed ominous to the

guardians of law and order.

“Bah! it is nothing,” shouted the chief of the party so as to be heard

afar. “He will be rebuked and lie idle in gaol for a few hours …. By

Allah, we are no infidels but true men. That old rogue there lies when

he says that we side with the Nazarenes. Allah be my witness, it is a

lie! But the Wâly’s order is upon us, which to hear is to obey, and

those who dare to resist us do so at the risk of heavy punishment ….

Oäh! Oäh! In the name of the Sultàn, make way, I say!”

By soft speaking, mingled deftly with threats, he managed to force a

path through the press. In the quiet alley into which they plunged

directly he cursed Saïd for a madman and threatened him with every kind

of torment as the guerdon of his misbehaviour. There was peace again,

and the soldiers were able to breathe freely. They waxed courageous and

blustered as Saïd became sullen and crestfallen. But the old beggar

had joined the faithful few who clung to them through all vicissitudes

of the road; and he ceased not to revile and execrate them, imploring

Allah to strike them all dead and so release his son, until he had

watched Saïd disappear within the gate of the prison. Then he sped

fleet-foot to the vault of Nûr, to take counsel what was next to be

done.

XXII

Saïd’s first impression of the gaol would have been a pleasant one but

for the dejected looks of its inmates and the foul stench pervading

its atmosphere. His captors left him unshackled in an open quadrangle.

An arcade supporting a flat roof made a sort of verandah on two sides

of it, affording shelter to the prisoners from the glare of noon.

The remainder was shut in by a high wall, in which was the entrance

gate, strongly barred and further secured by a small guard of soldiers

hardly less wretched in appearance than the criminals themselves. On

one hand the rays of the sinking sun were warm upon wall and pavement;

on the other, a deep blue shadow stretched out from the arcade before

mentioned almost to the middle of the court.

Saïd stood for some time where his escort had left him, just within

the gate. His eyes strayed over the various groups lying or squatting

in the shade or striding wearily up and down in the red glow that dyed

the eastern wall. Most of them were ragged; all were dirty, with the

exception of three young men, who sat aloof together, cross-legged, on

the edge of the sunlight. The gaiety of this little party, talking and

laughing bravely in the face of misfortune, attracted Saïd even before

he knew them for his associates in transgression. His approach was

hailed with shouts of welcome, and he was made to sit down with them.

They affected to treat their imprisonment as a jest. It was not

likely, Saïd agreed, that men would be greatly punished for so slight

a misdemeanour. The Wâly was a Muslim, and all believers must surely

feel with them. Their arrest was only a sop to the Franks. That

dragoman—curse his religion!—had complained to the Muscovite Consul,

his master; and the Consul had gone in a rage to Ahmed Pasha, who was

ever ready to humour a Frank in small matters. The Consul’s word was

law: the ring-leaders were put in prison. On the morrow they would be

brought before a council of true believers, gently reprimanded and set

at liberty.

Thanks to these assurances, and a good supper which a soldier gladly

brought in for them from a neighbouring tavern, Saïd slept well enough

that night, though on the bare stones. He had no money to procure

bedding such as his friends obtained from the gaolers for a trifle of

bakshìsh. But having supped well at their expense, and being used to

rough couches, he scarcely envied them the luxury. He awoke in gladness

to the prospect of a speedy release. But the day wore on, and the

little company sat ever in the shadow of the arcade, gazing at the gate

until their eyes ached. They murmured and grew despondent; darkness

returned and they were still in durance. Saïd slept ill that night;

his companions moaned and stirred uneasily in their sleep. They were

forgotten, or the Franks had poisoned the Wâly’s mind against them. In

either case they had small cause to rejoice.

About sunrise, Saïd was awakened by the clank of an iron chain. A

peevish voice bade him arise and that quickly. He scrambled to his feet

and looked for his companions. They were standing a little way off,

under a strong guard of soldiers. Their limbs were fettered, and they

were linked together by a heavy chain. He read blank dismay in their

faces.

“What is this? What have we done to deserve such usage?” he asked

indignantly, as two men, detached for that purpose, fitted irons to

his wrists and ankles. There was no answer; the men seemed morose yet

handled him gently. Upon his repeating the question in a louder tone

the officer in command, who appeared in a towering rage, turned on him

fiercely.

“Thou mayst well ask what is this! I myself know not the meaning of

it! Perhaps the Wâly is possessed with a devil—Allah knows! To hear

is to obey; but to carry out such an order is a shame for one who is a

Muslim. May all the Franks perish utterly!… Know that the dragoman of

the Muscovite Consul—a Christian and the son of an Arab, may his house

be destroyed!—was closeted with his Excellency yesterday afternoon.

And a little later I received the order for your punishment; that you

are to sweep the streets of the Christian quarter in chains. Allah

witness, I count it a sin and dishonour to the Faith. Notwithstanding,

to hear is to obey!”

He turned aside with a shrug to give a word of command to one of his

men. Four common brooms were brought and distributed one to each of

the convicts. Saïd was coupled on to the chain with the others, and

thus bound together they were marched out at the gate, while every

prisoner that was a Muslim ground his teeth and howled with rage at the

indignity. The ragged privates who kept the door murmured together with

lowering brows.

“Jurji, the Nazarene, that was a malefactor, was set free without

punishment,” Saïd heard one of them growl; “while these believers, who

have done nothing to be called a crime, are condemned to dishonour the

Faith. In truth, the end of all things is at hand!”

Their road lay past the gateway of the great mosque. The sight of

the white minaret with its crescent glittering upon the blue brought

scalding tears to men’s eyes for the honour of Islâm which was dead.

The cooing of the doves had a new and mournful note in it. The

prisoners walked listless with downcast faces; the soldiers closed in

to screen them, as far as might be, from the stare of the populace. But

the guard themselves were sullen and dejected; the work in hand being

a heavy burden on their minds. Suddenly a piercing cry broke upon the

hush in which they moved.

“O Lord!… I behold my son—my only son—the staff of my age—whom

the children of sin took from me! The slaves of iniquity have loaded

him with chains—Allah, cut short their lives!… By the Coràn, he is

no evildoer, but a pious man and a faithful—who did but curse some

Nazarenes and spit in their faces. It is for that they have fettered

and bound him!… O Lord!… Shall these things be done under the sun and

in the sight of all men? Merciful Allah!”

The soldiers quickened step, but the voice went along with them, as it

were a knife stabbing their hearts, which were sore enough already. Why

did not the sun veil his face and spread a darkness over all the city

that the shame of Islâm might be hid? Oh, that Allah would cause the

earth to yawn and swallow up the infidels, as he did for Neby Mûsa of

old; that all the world might know that God was still watching over his

faithful as in the time of Nûh and Ibrahìm and Ismaìl, as in the days

of Daûd and of Isa, and of Muhammed (peace to him!), his apostle. O day

of woe! O cursed day of infamy!

That was a proud morning for the Christians. They swarmed in the

streets of their quarter with exultant faces. The day of their

deliverance was come at last. The conquerers were become the slaves of

the conquered, to sweep their streets for them. They gloated on the

sight with the coward’s triumph, who, seeing his foe laid low by a

stronger than himself, spits valiantly in his face and cries, “Mine is

the victory!” Secure of protection, they took pleasure in taunting the

prisoners, cursing them for sons of dogs and mocking them with proffers

of water when they seemed weary. The pent-up venom of centuries was on

their tongues. The poor earthworm hissed like a snake.

A number of the faithful had flocked into the quarter, drawn chiefly

by the frantic outcry of the old beggar. They failed at first to grasp

the position. The valorous attitude of the Christians only shocked and

bewildered them. But no sooner did they learn what work was doing than

their eyes grew fierce with the old pride of Islâm—the battle-pride

of their forbears, who had carried the white crescent on the green

flag victorious from India to the Atlantic. There were scuffles, and

Christians were hurled to the ground. The press grew menacing about the

sweepers and their guard. The soldiers looked anxious. The prisoners

were ordered to cease work, and the officer, foreseeing a riot, was

minded to take them back to prison on his own responsibility. The

courage of the Nazarenes began to waver. The older and wiser of them

slipped quietly into the nearest houses. But the younger and more

turbulent, loth to forego one tittle of the unwonted pleasure of

retaliation, remained in the street, hurling insults at the religion

of Muhammed, and all professing it. Even thus they outnumbered the

believers, who, however, were constantly on the increase as the rumour

of a tumult spread through the city. In vain did the captain attempt

to draw off his men, for they were locked in the heart of a seething,

yelling crowd. It was all they could do to hold their ground. All at

once the voice of the old beggar was raised in triumph,—

“To the rescue!—Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

There was a rush of turbaned men, a sharp struggle; the soldiers were

torn away like trees by a winter torrent, and a hundred hands were

eager to free the prisoners from their fetters. Files, knives, iron

bars—every kind of tool and weapon was thrust forward to serve in

the work of release. Rescuers and rescued were rocked to and fro in

the battle raging around them. For once the Christians fought like

wild beasts. Here a turbaned head was seen to fall, there a fez. Death

shrieks mingled with the howls and shouts of the fighters. The uproar

was frightful. For a while the issue of the fray seemed doubtful; but

soon the Christians began to give way. The war-cry of Islâm gathered

volume, until it seemed to roll along the sky in waves of sound.

“To the house of Yuhanna!” cried the old beggar, dragging Saïd’s arm.

“Dìn Muhammed! to the house of ’hanna, the pig who protects Jurji, the

evildoer!… Y’Allah!… Death to the heathen!”

Saïd, freed of his chains, forced his way earnestly through the

crowd. Mustafa dogged him, screaming, laughing, and yelling like one

possessed, keeping tight hold of his raiment so as not to lose him.

A number of the faithful, fired by the hated name of Jurji, followed

frantic as they.

XXIII

The house of Yuhanna was at some distance from the scene of riot.

Its outer door stood open as on other days, and at the moment when

Saïd burst into its pretty court, the girl Ferideh was seated on a

cushion in the shade of the lemon-trees, her little brother in her lap.

Suddenly, as if the stillness had been some brittle thing, it shivered

to a great roar. There was a whirr and a flutter as the pigeons rose in

a cloud from their researches on the pavement.

Snatching up the child, she sprang to her feet. The menace of the wild

inhuman faces appalled her. She fled towards the door of the house in

terror at that inroad of madmen as she deemed them. But the old beggar,

outrunning Saïd caught her by the arm and shook her brutally.

“Say, girl, is the pig, thy father, in the house?”

Ferideh winced for the tightness of his grasp. Outraged pride and a

certain fearful wonder were blended in her answer.

“Be not so rough, I pray!… Know that my father receives no man to-day,

for he lies upon his bed, having fever. To-morrow he will perhaps be

well, and, when well, he is accessible to all who seek him.”

Mustafa laughed aloud, and pushed her so that she staggered backward a

few paces.

“He receives no man, sayest thou? By the tomb of the Prophet, he will

receive us! Aha, O ’hanna, thou old rat, thou devourer of women, the

avenger of blood overtakes thee at last!” He drew a long knife from his

girdle and flashed it in the face of the girl.

“Dìn Muhammed!” he cried. “Death to the infidels! Y’Allah!” and rushed

into the house, hurling to the ground an old woman, almost blind, who

had come to the door seeking querulously to know the meaning of the

uproar. The crowd raised a loud shout and pressed after him.

“O holy Miriam! O Yesua, Redeemer of the world, save him, save my

father!” shrieked the maiden, falling on her knees, appealing to the

sky above, whose bright peace mocked her anguish. The mob, bent on

plunder, only laughed at her and praised her looks in passing. She

grew white and red by turns, and her lips moved with difficulty as she

prayed.

The scared pigeons circled overhead, whirling great flakes of shadow

over wall and pavement. Their cooing and the tinkle of the rill from

the basin, heard despite the tumult, were heart-rending as memories.

The still foliage of the lemon-trees cast a dark pool of shadow on the

flags. The leaves of a creeper on the wall trembled a little.

Saïd made no attempt to enter the house. He had no thirst for blood, no

desire for gain. The screams and yells that arose within only confused

his brain. He drew near to the kneeling girl, and she did not see him;

but the child saw him and clung closer, burying its face in her bosom.

He felt bashful—at a loss how to proceed. The court was deserted now;

he thought he would have felt bolder in the presence of a crowd. The

shouting and the noise, though friendly, numbed his wits. Forgetful

for a moment of what was going on within the house, he began to make

playful overtures to her baby brother.

Through an open lattice a frightful shriek rent the air, deadening all

other sounds. Another, and then another …. The girl leapt to her feet

and listened, hugging the little one so tight that it cried fretfully.

“O just Allah! they are killing my father!” she cried, and was rushing

blindly towards the open door when Saïd caught her in his arms.

“Unhand me, loose me, wild beast! Let me go to my father. Dost hear his

cry? They kill him—an old man and sick, lying on his bed with none to

help him.”

She fought him frantically for a moment with teeth and feet, always

holding the child fast to her breast. Then, as if all her strength were

spent, she gave one bitter cry and was still.

Holding her thus in his arms, Saïd felt uplifted beyond all care of

life or death. What matter though a hundred old men were butchered if

only he could manage to convey her away from that place to the upper

chamber of Nûr, the harlot.

“I suffer with thee, O my beloved!” he murmured soothingly. “But thy

father was old; the days that remained to him were few in number. Also

the people are mad this day against every Nazarene …. Listen, pretty

one! If they find thee here they will surely slay thee, and this child

also. Now I have so great love for thee that I would not let a hair of

thy head be harmed. By Allah, I would slay the man who dared to touch

thee with a finger! Come with me, O my soul, and I will lead thee to a

place of safety.”

She gave no answer nor any sign that she heard, but weighed heavily

upon him. Looking down, he realised that she had swooned.

The little boy, escaped from her embrace, was trotting eagerly towards

the door of the house, through which rich carpets and other furniture

of price were being flung out pell-mell. Saïd, who was fond of

children, called to him that there were devils in there, and bade him

fly to some neighbour’s house. Whereupon the little fellow toddled for

the street in terror of his life.

He had raised the fainting girl in his arms and was bearing her swiftly

towards the outer gate, when Mustafa overtook him.

“Aha, thou performest thy part? It is good—very good! Now listen!—I

slew him. See, his blood is still warm on my left hand …. I was the

first to plunge a knife into him; but, before I smote, I made him teach

me the place where his treasure lies hid. At my bidding the multitude

held their hands and stood back, knowing that I had private cause to

hate him. He told me readily, in a whisper, thinking to save his life.

But I slew him—with this knife I slew him. It is a good knife—a sharp

knife. By Allah, I love this knife as my brother from this day forth.

Ha, ha!”

He sank his voice.

“I go now to secure the money. There is a fountain—thou knowest

it?—out yonder among the gardens, built on the pattern of a little

mosque. In the pavement of its recess is a loose stone covering a hole

where I am used to bury trifles. There I will conceal the wealth, and

afterwards I will seek thee at the house of Nûr. Make haste, O my son!…

Look, there is smoke: they set fire to the house!… The girl is pretty,

and some of them might quarrel with thee for her sake. My peace go with

thee!”

Saïd strode out into the street with his burden and plunged into the

network of dark passages and byways he had threaded so often for desire

of her. He had not gone far before she began to give signs of a return

to consciousness. He paused awhile in a secluded place to give her time

to recover. Presently, to his great relief, she was able to stand on

her feet, though still dazed and needing support for every step. She

asked not whither they went, nor seemed to care. Indeed, she evinced

no mind or will of her own, but moved wherever he led her, without

reluctance as without eagerness. Her beauty, and the strange sight of a

Muslim shepherding a Christian maid, caused the men they met to stare

at them; so that Saïd, having no wish to court notice, bade her draw

the fall of her white hood across her face, as the Drûz women used to

do. She obeyed by a vague movement which told that her mind wandered.

Nûr was cooking her noonday meal on the brazier when they entered. She

welcomed Saïd with delight and cast a searching glance at his charge.

Then, as he began to explain, she checked him with an impatient gesture

and a nod of intelligence. She understood perfectly. He had been sent

to sweep the streets of the infidels. Oh, the sin of it! She had heard

the news from the son of Abu Khalìl when he brought some figs she

had asked of his father. The whole city was ashamed. There had been

a riot—not so?—and he had been rescued. And then Mustafa—the old

madman!—had led the mob to the house of ’hanna, his enemy. And this

then was Saïd’s beloved?

She thrust her painted face close to that pale one and scanned the

features narrowly. Then she passed her hands down the loose robe,

feeling the limbs beneath.

“She is sweet—a pearl!—a darling!” she exclaimed. “By Allah, thou

art in luck’s way, O my soul. Art happy at last?… She neither sees nor

hears us. Poor love! she is distraught with grief. It happens timely

that the upper chamber is ready. I prepared it for the pleasure of a

certain effendi, but his girl is a Nazarene and, in these troublous

times, will not dare come hither. I will tend her there, the priceless

gem! And thou must not come nigh her until the evening. Dost hear, O

Saïd? She must sleep and take refreshment, and Nûr will tend her. Wait

until the evening, I say; and then, when she is a little rested, I will

present thee as her deliverer.”

With that she put an arm round Ferideh’s waist and supported her very

tenderly up the flight of steps to the guest-chamber. And Saïd sat on

his heels, rolling cigarette after cigarette, drinking glass after

glass of rose sherbet, too perturbed to eat though Nûr pressed him to

share her repast. And Nûr, for her part, took a malicious joy in his

distress, looking forth from time to time from the door of the upper

room to wag her head at him and whisper, trumpeting with her hand,—

“She is sweet, I tell thee!—white as milk!—a darling! I that am a

woman cannot choose but kiss her!”

XXIV

The first lilac gloom of night had fallen on the city ere the old

beggar regained the vault of Nûr. A feeble glow from the brazier showed

his wrinkled face ghastly pale and distorted with nervous twitchings.

Madness burned in his eyes. His fingers clenched and unclenched

spasmodically; his staff fell from them with a thud upon the earthern

floor.

“O Nûr, hear me! Where art thou?” he cried, peering about in the

darkness. “I have slain him, I tell thee—I have slain the pig

’hanna—the enemy of my house ….”

“Hist!—Hold thy peace!” The door of the upper chamber was opened

and shut. There was the rustle of a dress and clank of trinkets as

the old woman came down the steps. “She is up there: his daughter,

dost understand? Saïd has been with her, but against my advice he was

violent and frightened her. She fought like a tigress and screamed so

that I had to interfere. By my head, it is lucky that my house is a

place apart, walled off and secluded, else all the quarter must have

come together, seeking the cause of her outcry. For long I have been

trying to soothe her; now at length she is silent and I am glad of it.

As for Saïd, she has scratched and bitten him finely. A little while

since he went out to gather tidings; he will return presently. Now sit

down, O my uncle, and I will warm up thy supper, which was ready long

ago.”

But Mustafa gave no heed to what she said. Except that he lowered his

voice somewhat it seemed that he heard nothing of it. Clutching her

arm, he launched into a sort of chant of praise and thanksgiving.

“Allah is bountiful!… I slew him, I tell thee! He lay on his bed

shamming sickness; and I held the rage of the faithful in check till he

had whispered me the secret of his treasure. He thought to preserve his

life thereby, deeming we were come to rob him. But I spoke the word, I

called on the name of Allah! I shouted in his ear the name of the girl,

my sister, whom he ruined. A hundred knives struck down at him as he

lay; but mine was foremost and it cut his life …. Praise to Allah!

“Ha, ha! He was fat and lay on a soft bed, whereas I am lean and used

to sleep on the earth. Yet I slew him!… See the stains on my left

hand—O hand of honour, O blessed hand!… The fat who dwell in palaces

must reckon with the lean beggar at their gates. I would, O Nûr, thou

hadst seen him in the death-throe. He looked so funny that all men

laughed. Ha, ha, ha!… Thanks be to Allah! The reproach is taken away

from my father’s house. Allah is gracious!”

“Thou art overwrought, O father of Mansûr,” she said soothingly. “Sit

down and rest. See, thy supper is ready!… By Allah, thou art very old

for this work, and I fear lest it prove harmful to thy health. Sit

down, dost hear me? After a little while Saïd will return and we shall

learn what news there is. In the meantime I will make some coffee for

thee.”

The old beggar allowed himself to be persuaded. He sank down

cross-legged by the threshold of the inner room, while she, having made

fast the door, shook an earthen lamp to be sure it had oil enough, lit

and set it in a hollow nook of the wall opposite to him. By its light

she observed him furtively as she busied herself about the brazier,

and she shook her head bodingly from time to time. A torn strip of

his filthy turban dangled over one ear. His scanty robe, all ragged,

displayed the thick growth of grizzled hair upon his chest. His bare

limbs were shrivelled and sinewy, of the colour of a sun-dried apricot,

the legs dusty almost to the knee. His withered hand was extended as

when he sat by the wayside for alms.

It was as if mere change of posture had been a charm to quench his

excitement. The life was gone from his limbs, the fire from his eyes.

He was become bowed and very feeble—an old, old man whose hours

are numbered. His mouth hung open slavering. The under lip moved

perpetually us he gurgled certain phrases, always the same, seeming

catchwords to something he would fain recall.

“Allah is bountiful …. I slew him …. Dìn Muhammed …. O blessed left

hand …. Allah is bountiful!…”

Nûr shook him with rough kindness as she set a smoking bowl of chopped

meat and rice at his knees with the charge to wake up and eat. She

held the dish under his nostrils that the savoury steam might beget a

craving. She grew poetical in praise of its contents; but all in vain.

Mechanically he thrust a trembling hand into the mess and raised a

portion to his mouth; but he let the rice slip through his fingers

without so much as licking them.

Nûr was greatly concerned. He must be on the brink of death, she told

herself, thus to neglect good victuals, he who was always wont to come

in ravenous from a day’s begging. She made shift to feed him with her

own hands and rejoiced to find that he swallowed the morsels placed in

his mouth.

While she was thus occupied the door was tried from without. A knocking

ensued, and the voice of Saïd calling to her to open. She left her

charge and flew to shoot back the bolt.

“Where is Mustafa?… Bid him come away with all speed! It is said that

search is made for us for our part in the destruction of Yuhanna’s

house. Ah, there he is! Rise, O my father, and come with me. The

carnage of this day is nothing compared with what to-morrow’s sun will

see. Know that a great multitude of Christians, fugitives from the

Mountain, have entered the city seeking refuge. And many Drûz, both

from the Mountain and the Hauran, have pursued them hither. I met a

party of them in this minute as I came through the streets. They are

strong men of war and armed like soldiers. They are eager as ourselves

against the pagans …. Arise, O Mustafa, and come away! It is known that

we frequent this place, and it were a shame to be taken a prisoner on

the eve of so great a festival …. Arise, I say! What ails thee? Art

ill? Speak! What is this, O Nûr?”

The woman clung to his arm.

“Merciful Allah! I fear he is at the point to die. At his first coming

he was as one possessed, shouting and screaming and waving his hands.

It was very hard for me to quiet him. Now he is like one in a swoon; he

sees me not nor hears me, and is weaker than a baby.”

“I warrant he is only tired. If Allah will I shall find means to rouse

him. He is as my father, and this place is dangerous for him.”

He strode to the place where Mustafa sat cross-legged, mumbling

fragments of sentences, and staring at the basin of rice and meat. He

grasped the old man’s shoulder and bent over him, raising his voice as

if to overtake the wandering mind and call it back.

“Fie upon thee, O my father!” he cried, “thou who hast this day slain

the enemy with thy own hand, and hast done battle so bravely for the

Faith, to sicken and faint like a vaporous girl. Allah witness I am

ashamed for thee! Awake, O Mustafa! This place is not safe for us. The

soldiers—Allah blast them!—may be seeking us even now. If we stay

here we shall be taken and put in prison, and must forego all the glory

of to-morrow’s slaughter. The wrath of Islâm burns like a great fire to

consume the infidels. From the hour of sunrise the slaying will begin.

Men will look for thee, O my father, in the front of the battle. They

will marvel greatly and say one to another, ‘Where now is that old lion

which devoured Yuhanna, the pig?’ They will look for thee to lead them

on; it were a sin to disappoint them. Up, O Mustafa! The danger grows

with every minute. Awake!—y’Allah!—for the faith of Muhammed!”

The last words were of magic virtue. The dying embers of the old man’s

wit leapt up at them in lurid flame. With a cry he sprang to his feet,

staring wild-eyed at Saïd.

“Dìn Muhammed!—I slew him! O glorious left hand! Allah is bountiful!

Yes, I hear thee, my son, and I understand. I was asleep, not so? I was

weary and so I fell asleep, and methought the angel of death was with

me. But it was a dream surely. I will go with thee, O my eyes, whither

thou wilt, so that there be men to kill—fat men like him, who lie

on beds of down—Ha, ha!—while I who slew him am used to lie on the

hard-trodden ground. I must be strong, sayest thou? Now, by my beard,

that is a foolish word; for who is stronger than Mustafa? ’Hanna was

weaker for I slew him easily, witness Allah and the blood-stains on my

left hand. O glorious hand! But it is true what thou sayest, that a

man’s strength must be nourished with meat. Of course, I will eat; and

to-morrow I will do great slaughter—thou and I together, O my soul. O

blessed left hand! Allah is bountiful!”

He swallowed the food hastily by great mouthfuls, with no signs of

relish. When the bowl was empty Nûr brought him a cup of hot coffee,

which he gulped down in like manner. He grew reasonable, taking counsel

with Saïd as to the best place for them to lie till morning. The old

woman, seeing him fairly in the way of health, wished them both a

happy night, and returned to the upper chamber to look after the girl

Ferideh, whose moans and lamentations, though unheeded in the greater

anxiety attending the beggar’s plight, had long been audible.

“Take care that she do herself no mischief: she is a very tigress!”

Saïd called after her as he and his adopted father stepped out into

the night. They went stealthily, by narrow ways the moonbeams seldom

fathomed, to a small tavern kept by a Muslim, which was towards the

Christian quarter. Others of the insurgents had likewise chosen that

place for their night’s shelter. There were blithe greetings. A

discussion was going on, in which Mustafa, having no care to rest,

joined eagerly. But Saïd, being very drowsy, yawned cavernously at all

that was said. He soon stretched his length on the floor and fell fast

asleep.

XXV

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … “Allah! Allah!” … “Death to the

unbelievers!” … “Perish the Nazarenes!”

Saïd awoke to the consciousness of a frightful uproar streaming in

with a sunbeam through the open door. The whole city was filled with

it—wrapt in it as in a mist. Frenzied shouts for Allah and the

Prophet, devilish yells and cries of exultation mingled with the run of

a great multitude in the street without, the distant beat of a drum and

a sound of desultory firing.

The tavern, in deep shadow, was empty save for the old beggar, who

stood over him brandishing a curved knife like a sickle in his sound

hand, while with the withered he pointed to the piece of an iron bar

which lay on the ground close to Saïd. A fierce devil looked out at his

eyes.

“Arise, O sluggard!” he cried with a mad laugh. “Is this a time to

sleep and be lazy? Come, let us out! There will be blood!—blood—blood

of unbelievers to flush the streets like water! Aha, the dogs of the

city shall drink rare wine to-night!”

Saïd’s eyes caught fire from the speaker’s. Grasping the iron, he

sprang to his feet. “Ready!” he cried; and with a bound like a wild

beast’s they cleared the threshold together.

A live stream filled the alley—a torrent of men and boys; all with the

murder-light in their eyes, all flourishing weapons, all racing in one

direction. The current caught them and swept them along.

“In case we be sundered in the tumult,” breathed Mustafa, “meet me in

the place thou knowest—in the secret place of our treasure among the

gardens—at the hour of sunset. Forget not!”

Saïd turned his head to answer; but the old man was torn away from him

in a sudden eddy of the human tide to avoid the frantic kicking of a

donkey which held the middle of the causeway. He found himself roughly

shouldered between two Drûz of giant build, clad in the black-and-white

cloak and white linen turban of their tribe. Each had a long-barrelled

gun slung across his back and a knife in his hand. They ran steadily,

with teeth clenched and eyes full of a grim purpose, hustling Saïd

along with them unawares.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … The mountaineers, though unbelievers,

joined lustily in the cry of El Islâm. They had come fifty miles

in pursuit of their quarry and now they had run him to earth. “Dìn

’hammed!” a child’s voice piped manfully; and Saïd beheld a little boy

in a man’s arms, brandishing a toy knife as he was borne along, crowing

for joy of the merry race and the shouting. There was a stoppage in

front; but those behind still continued to push on, regardless of the

protests of such as were tall enough to see the nature of the obstacle.

The giant on Saïd’s right proclaimed that certain persons of authority

were sorting the crowd, sending some this way, others that, to join

bands already at work. He licked his lips as he added that he himself

had slain fifty Maronites between the first hour and the fourth, at

the taking of Zahleh. By Allah, it was the business to whet a man’s

appetite. He remembered to have eaten a whole sheep that day—to have

rent it limb from limb and devoured it yet warm and uncooked, he was

so hungry. But his remarks were lost for the most part in the general

uproar.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!…” Saïd was past the obstacle, speeding over

the rough pavement of a lane in shadow. The sky, a narrow streamer

of living blue, seemed to flutter and wave overhead as he ran with

throbbing brow and panting chest. With the two Drûz and a hundred

others he was told off to join a part of the mob who were gone to raze

the house of the Muscovite Consul, whose ill-timed meddling had fired

the people. The two Drûz lost their eagerness.

“What have we to do with this Frank?” Saïd heard one say to the other.

“Let us turn—what sayest thou? Our enemies are yonder!”

“True,” breathed the other; and they slackened so as to drop behind.

The house of the Consul was already in flames when Saïd’s reinforcement

came up. Little pillars and wreaths of brown smoke curled upward from

it, to condense in a low cloud like a frown upon the tranquil sky. A

seething, roaring throng, close-packed from wall to wall, choked every

approach. By mounting on a high stone beside a doorway Saïd contrived

to see what was doing.

Furniture and other goods, which the greed of the insurgents had

dragged from the burning house, were being tossed back into the blaze

by order of an aged man invested with some sort of authority. This

person seemed some prophet or dervìsh—a holy man in any case, for he

was naked save for a loose shirt of sack-cloth, and his legs and arms

were almost black through long exposure. He capered about in a solemn

measure, screaming, praising Allah, and exhorting the faithful to fresh

exertions.

There was a movement on the outskirts of the crowd. Where was the good

in standing idle, looking on at the prowess of others, when there was

work enough for every man that day?

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … Even to Saïd’s maddened brain it occurred

that there was some rough order in the mob. A band of butchers were

there in their slaughter-house garb, with long knives dripping blood

not of beasts. Men forced their way into homes, he among them,

upsetting costly furniture, trampling rich carpets in their zeal to

seize on the inmates. These they spat upon, spurned, insulted and

dragged out into the street, where the aforesaid butchers waited to

despatch them.

Girls were embraced brutally and borne shrieking away in the arms

of men whose clothing was bespattered with the blood of a father

or mother. Crones strained and knotted their wizened throats in

supplication for the spark of life that yet warmed them. Dwellings

were looted, then set on fire. Saïd, in his search of the house of a

rich merchant, saw a foot peeping out from a heap of bedding. He laid

hold of it and, pulling with a will, elicited an old, white-bearded

man whose face was grey with terror. He shrieked to Miriam, Mother of

God, to help him; but Saïd had him fast by the throat, thin and grisly

as a hen’s, and soon pitched him headlong down a short flight of stone

steps. He toppled senseless at the feet of one of the butchers, who,

being idle for the moment, knifed him at once.

The thought of Ferideh, awaiting his further pleasure in the safe

keeping of old Nûr, filled the fisherman with a kind of drunken joy.

She had bitten his arm last night and the wound pained him yet. What

matter! There would be plenty of leisure to punish and tame her

by-and-by. She would learn to worship him in the beautiful house he

would build for her out of her father’s hoard. His brain whirled.

He had the strength of two men. He saw all things in the redness of

eyelids closed against the sun; felt and cared for nothing save the

lust of blood and the joy of killing …. “Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

A sound of firing came out of the distance—a single volley followed by

faint cries. One or two strained ears to listen; but the hoarse shouts

of the slayers and piercing shrieks of their victims made it hard to

ascertain noises more remote. Zeal continued unabated. Men, women and

children were dragged out of the shadowy doorways to be hacked to death

on the causeway beneath the ribbon of peaceful blue sky which the smoke

of burning houses began to veil in part. The mob jeered and reviled

their last agonies. Some were found to spit in the faces of the newly

slain. And the name of Allah was in every man’s mouth.

Of a sudden a tremor ran through the multitude. The uproar dwindled to

a murmur, above which terrified cries were heard, growing louder and

nearer.

“The soldiers!”—“The soldiers have scattered us!”—“Allah destroy

them!”—“They have killed Ahmed, my brother!”—“I am wounded even to

death!”

The broken remnant of some other band poured headlong from the arched

entry of a by-street and made haste to mingle and lose themselves in

the stagnant crowd which choked their way. They came running, beards on

shoulders, faces blanched with fright, and slipped in among the throng

as a lizard slips under a stone for safety.

The butchers stayed their hands and wiped their knives on the skirts

of their clothing. The feeders poured out of doorways to hear the

news. Saïd struck a squealing Nazarene on the head with his iron bar

and looked out from the lattice of the upper storey where he found

himself. He glanced down upon the press of dark fezes and light turbans

in fierce sunlight and plum-coloured shadow. The sea of heads rolled

purposeless like beads unstrung from a chaplet. All at once a yell of

rage uprose.

“The soldiers!—Allah cut their lives!—The soldiers!—let us slay

them!—Let us fly!—Let us stone them to death who favour the

infidels!” At the street end, where there was a great pool of sunlight,

Saïd caught the glint of gun-barrels and recognised the uniform of

the irregular troops. He saw a sword flash as an officer of high

rank flourished it; and through all the cursing of the mob he heard

a word of command, short and gruff like the grunt of a pig. A howl

of execration rent the air. The front rank of the troops were taking

deliberate aim at the rioters.

Saïd beheld the surging sea of heads with the unconcerned pity of an

angel or a sage. Packed close as they were down there, every shot

must tell. He gave warm praise to Allah Most High, who had placed His

servant in that upper chamber, whence he could observe all that passed

without peril.

Then he saw a strange sight. The rabble had shrunk back before the

muzzles of the rifles covering them. Across the space of pavement thus

deserted rushed the wild figure he had observed before the Consul’s

house. The holy one ran up to the officer and confronted him with

gestures of command and entreaty.

“Shall Muslim war with Muslim?” A shrill voice rang clear on the hush

which ensued. “Will you then separate yourselves from the cause of

Allah and His Apostles to side with pagans and idolaters? Will you

shoot down the servants of the Highest like dogs? I heard a voice in

the night saying, Go to the city, Es-Shâm, and tell the dwellers there:

The word of Allah to such as are faithful. Slay me the unbelievers

which aspire to sit in high places! Slay the whole race of them, the

child with the strong man, the woman giving suck with the aged one

whose eyes are dim! Let not a soul of them remain alive, for the

welfare of Islâm is in it!—Will you then anger the Praiseworthy? Will

you then ….”

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

The words of the saint were drowned in a shout which thrilled Saïd to

the marrow and made tears start in his eyes. The officer took a written

paper embodying his orders and tore it to little pieces. The soldiers

flung down their rifles with a great noise. With frantic exclamations

the crowd surged towards them, enveloped them, embraced them and made

them one with it. The Colonel waved his sword on high, shouting for

Allah and the Prophet. It was who should kiss his hand, his scabbard,

his clothing—anything that was his.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!…” The mob, thus reinforced, set to work

once more. “To the French convent!” someone shouted. “Let the nuns

be ravished and then slain!” The cry was taken up on all hands with

laughter and coarse jibes. “The nuns! The nuns!” “Aha, the nuns are

sweet!” “They have kept their flower for us, the darlings!” “Let us see

how the nuns are fashioned!”

There was a breathless rush, of sheep following blindly the track of an

unseen leader. Saïd was more than once crushed against a wall of the

narrow ways they traversed; but he was stalwart and held his own. Then

there was a standstill. Those in front hammered at a strong door, while

those behind stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see what was

doing.

All at once there was a backward movement. Another panic got hold of

the crowd. A cry, “The soldiers!” was again raised; but was received

with jeers by such of the mob as were of that calling. A small troop of

armed men rode up to the door of the nunnery. They were seen plainly of

all, towering as they did on horseback above the seething mass on foot.

Most of them rode their chargers at the foremost, who drew back in

alarm; while a few, among whom was the leader, dismounted and entered

the convent, the door of which was promptly opened to them.

A mighty roar went up from the multitude.

“It is Abdul Cader!”—“May Allah preserve his Grace!”—“He goes to

take vengeance upon his enemies!”—“It was the French who wronged and

imprisoned him, though he fought them brave as a lion!”—“He is come to

claim the French nuns for his harìm!”—“Allah is just!”—“May all the

Franks perish, and their women be dishonoured!”—“Long live the might

of Islâm!”—“May Allah preserve Abdul Cader, the glory of the Faith!”

But applause was turned to oaths and howls of rage when the hero and

his officers reappeared, escorting with respect a train of black-robed

nuns, each with the obnoxious cross shining on her bosom. The horsemen

closed around them as a body-guard; the leaders sprang to their

saddles. Then the fury of the crowd broke all bounds. The coolness of

the rescuers as they rode away had a point of contempt which stung the

rout to madness.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … “Death to the enemies of Allah!” … “Who

dares protect those whose lives are forfeit to Islâm!” … “Perish

Abdul Cader!” … “Death to the traitors of Eljizar.” Raging like a

winter-torrent, the crowd surged forward in pursuit. The horsemen were

constrained to a foot’s pace, having regard to the women in their

midst. The mob was close upon them. Stones and other missiles began to

whizz through the air. Of a sudden the whole mass swayed back, every

man jostling his neighbour.

Abdul Cader had turned his horse about and was sitting motionless,

his eyes ranging sternly over the sea of turbaned heads and swarthy,

malignant faces. A last stone, flung at random from the heart of the

throng, struck his arm and made him wince. He raised a hand to his

tarbûsh, commanding silence. An awe-stricken hush spread like a breath

over the crowd. This man was the established idol of the populace. He

was the greatest living hero of Islâm, and at heart they gloried in his

intrepidity.

“What is this, O my friends?” His voice rang out clear and measured.

“Will you provoke the wrath of Allah against this city? Will you anger

Him so that He turn away His face from us for ever? It has been told

you how I have fought for Islâm—ay, and borne imprisonment and exile

for our holy Faith. But I tell you I would rather be the meanest

Christian slain this day in the sight of Allah than one of you whose

hands are red with his blood. Shame on you, Muslimûn!—Shame on you, I

say! Would to Allah I had gone to my grave ere ever this day dawned for

the Faith!”

He gazed for a moment, silent on the silent crowd; then, turning, set

spurs to his horse and cantered away. But the foremost, among whom was

Saïd, saw that his eyes glistened.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” It was the holy man who raised the shout

once more, waving his gnarled brown arms above the crowd. “Who dares

withstand the justice of Allah? Slay him also, who rescues the

condemned of God! Onward! Dìn! Dìn!”

But the words of Abdul Cader had wrought a change in the temper of the

multitude. Some there were who lagged behind. Saïd’s thirst for blood

was somewhat slaked by this. There was time, he bethought him, to visit

Ferideh and snatch a kiss from her before keeping his appointment with

Mustafa. He slipped aside into an archway which gave access to a shady

passage barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, and made his way

by forsaken paths to the prison of his desire. And ever as he went the

roar of the tumult was in his ears, now loud and near, now soft and

melting in the distance, like the thunder of surf upon a rock-bound

coast:

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

XXVI

For once Nûr was cross with Saïd. No sooner did she understand the

reason of his coming than she lifted up her voice and chid him roundly.

Upon his persisting, she threw herself in his way and forbade him to

advance another step. The girl was ill enough already without the

aggravation of his presence. If he so much as set foot in that upper

room, she (Nûr) would cease to befriend him and would let the girl go

free.

Cowed by her vehemence, Saïd grumbled that he had no instant wish to

harm the maid; but was come just to see how she did; with much more,

scarcely audible, about his own property, and kissing, and no sin.

Whereupon the old woman became herself again, called him the light

of her eyes, and detecting some tell-tale stains upon his raiment

soaked a rag in a vessel of water and made haste to sponge it. The

strong perfume of her unguents kept him quiet and submissive while she

purified him. His eyes languished and his lips parted as he inhaled it.

Bending close to him over the task,—

“It is a kindness I do thee, O my soul!” she said. “Suppose soldiers or

other slaves of authority met thee with the marks of blood on thy robe,

by thy beard, I think it would fare ill with thee. As for that girl

thou lovest, she has been all day like a madwoman. She is deaf to all

my comfortable words, and cries ever to Allah that He should take her

life. She boasts that she will beat herself to death against a stone

of the wall sooner than endure thy embrace; that is why I stayed thee.

To-day is but the morrow of her disaster. Leave me alone to deal with

her, and, after a few days, I warrant thou shalt find her tractable.

When she is tame enough I shall send thee word. With thy share of the

treasure of which Mustafa speaks, thou mayst well afford to hire a fine

house for her. With a fine house and a gift in thy hand what girl could

gainsay thee? For thou art handsome, my dear, straight as a palm-tree,

strong as a lion. Does the work of slaughter flag that thou comest

hither thus early?”

Saïd told her something of the day’s doings, while she, vowing that he

must be famished, brought some bread and dried raisins from the inner

room. He was in truth pretty hungry, though the fact had escaped his

mind. His jaws worked as a busy mill to which grist came unfailingly

by great handfuls. Nûr wished him two healths, and, squatting on her

heels, kept her painted eyes fixed on him in a kind of dotage.

“I am sorry thou didst lose sight of Mustafa,” she said at length,

speaking chiefly to herself. “He was ill yesterday in the evening—very

ill, so that I deemed him at the gate of death. Allah restore him to us

in safety and good health!”

Saïd’s utterance was somewhat choked, his mouth being crammed with

leathery bread.

“Hadst thou been with us in the tumult, O my eyes, thou wouldst not

marvel that we were forced asunder,” he mumbled. “No man thought of his

neighbour, but each ran alone for himself, taking care not to stumble

lest the multitude behind should tread out his life. Praise be to Allah

that He has granted me to see this day! Not a street of that quarter

but has dark pools of blood on its pavement—blood of the heathen, of

the unbelievers, which to shed is a pious deed. At the hour of sunset

I am bound to meet Mustafa in a place appointed among the gardens. O

happy day!”

“In sh’Allah, thou wilt find him in the extremity of good health!”

exclaimed Nûr, rising to prepare herself a narghileh. “As for the

maiden, the daughter of Yuhanna, I have said that I will tame her

for thee. Seek not to approach her until I send thee word. Prepare a

fine house for her and bring a gift in thy hand. Force is one way to

succeed, but there is a better, I do assure thee.”

The sun’s rays were red upon the upper roofs when Saïd left the

cellar. He saw no man in the streets save such as were very old and

feeble. Veiled women and girls, some with babies in their arms, stood

chattering together in doorways or at the cross-roads. They called to

him for news.

In passing the tavern of Abu Khalìl, he beheld the fat host seated on

a stool in the doorway, wide awake, his face expressive of the deepest

disgust. He appeared to be afflicted with an itch in the calf of his

leg, for he was scratching the place slowly and woefully with a shard.

“Peace on thee, O Abu Khalìl!” cried the fisherman as he sped by.

“Upon thee be the peace, and the mercy of Allah and His blessings!”

retorted the taverner, with a dismal groan. “But say, why dost thou

hasten? Stay a little and tell me, hast thou heard aught of my son?—of

Camr-ud-dìn? The villain escaped about the second hour. Doubtless, he

is with the slayers—curse his religion! and behold there is none left

to serve in the house, his mother being sick this day. Wait a minute, I

say—may thy house be destroyed!”

But Saïd only cried “Allah comfort thee!” over his shoulder as he

hurried on. The thought of Mustafa and the treasure lent wings to his

feet. Besides, it seemed a small matter that Abu Khalìl should lack

his son’s help that day, seeing it was a dull time of business, all

likely customers keeping festival elsewhere. A surge-like roar was ever

in his ears, loud or distant according to the trend of the streets he

traversed.

Turning a sharp corner, he collided with a man in as great a hurry as

himself. The shock was very great. Saïd rubbed himself ruefully, and so

did the stranger. They were about to curse each other and pursue their

several ways when recognition turned their gall to honey. The fisherman

blessed Selìm, and Selìm blessed the fisherman. They embraced, and

Saïd, having a view to his own profit, inquired with what eye his

Excellency, the Wâly, deigned to regard the disturbance.

“Alas!” cried the other, lifting hands and eyes towards as much of

the purpled heaven as was visible between the roof-lines, “my lord is

distraught with grief. The Franks ply him ever with angry demands that

he take instant measures to put down the tumult. Allah knows that he

has done all that was in his power to do. The garrison was divided in

two companies, and sent forth with orders to fire on the rebels without

mercy. One division with its officers deserted to the people; the

other, after firing one volley and wreaking great havoc, was withdrawn

lest they too should make common cause with the insurgents. The

Council was summoned, and Ahmed Basha signed with his own hand a paper

declaring that the Government can do nothing. He sent an express for

Abdul Cader, but was refused because Abdul Cader and all his followers

were busy rescuing great numbers of the Nazarenes and conveying them by

families to the castle. He invited the Basha to bring but fifty armed

men and ride with him, saying that with so small a reinforcement as

that he would undertake to quell the riot in a few hours.

“It was Selìm who was charged with the message, and I would to Allah

it had been some other. For my lord began to weep and wring his hands,

being, as I guess, afraid for his life to ride forth, yet ashamed to

play the coward in the sight of an old lion like Abdul Cader. Before

I left his presence he took a leaf of paper and began to draw upon it

what seemed a plan of the city, crying, ‘Thus and thus it should have

been. So and so I should have acted.’ It was as though the squeak of

the reed on the leaf brought comfort to him. Poor great man! I tell

thee, my heart was sick for pity of him. All in the palace agree

that the Franks will have him slain for this hesitation which is his

infirmity.

“I go now to buy a little food for those who have taken refuge in the

palace-yard. There is a great crowd, and who can tell how long the

slaughter will last? Many must die of hunger, and that is not pleasant

to see in the court of the house where one dwells. To slay a foe in

anger, and his woman, and his sons and daughters, is natural for all

the Franks say. It is natural that a man should seek to destroy his

enemy once for all, and wash the land clean of his name. Vengeance of

blood, from what they say, is a thing unknown among the Franks. The

price of blood has no claim among their customs. Were it otherwise,

they would better understand our manner of warfare. But what do I,

loitering by the way? In thy grace, O my brother! Allah guard thee till

we meet again!”

When Saïd at length passed out at the town-gate, twilight was rising

from the ground. Shadows, which were half a light, floated among the

tree trunks. He had yet a good way to go, and the sun was set; he

hurried on, therefore, along a fair road almost roofed with leafage and

bordered by hedges which smelt sweet. In a place where black trees of

mournful seeming grew sparsely amid a wilderness of white stones, he

beheld veiled figures flitting darkly among the tombs and knew them for

women caring for their dead.

The zeal of the faithful must have waned with the sun, for he overtook

and passed several groups of men, dusty and disordered; and, as he

crossed a bridge, the twang of an aûd and wailing chant of a singer

reached him from some tavern down the stream. Nevertheless, he still

heard the roar of the tumult through a tremulous veil, as it were, of

nearer sounds—the droning plaint of the singer, the bark of a dog,

chirping of birds, croaking of frogs, the murmur of the stream and the

rustle of leaves. It was the same roar that he had heard on awaking,

only fainter and with a note of satiety. He wondered what the drum was

that had been beating all day, and was beating yet somewhere in the

city. And even as he listened and wondered, the cry of the muezzin rose

shrill above the din, followed by another—by a host of others, until

all the plain was filled with their message. The turmoil sank and died

away. The drum was no more heard. The unbelievers enjoyed a respite

while the faithful said their prayers.

Selecting a little patch of grass by the wayside, beneath a great

mulberry-tree, Saïd fell on his face and gave praise and thanks to

Allah. It pleased him to think on how few days of his life he had

omitted to pray at each appointed hour. He asked Allah to forgive him

the omissions, not to let them weigh against his virtues to destroy

him. Then, shrugging his shoulders resignedly, he rose, inhaled a

perfumed breath of the night, and murmured, “Allah is just!”

At the point where a garden-track branched from the main road, and

blunting the angle, stood a building one would have taken for a large

wely or saint’s tomb, flanked and dwarfed by twin cypress-trees.

A pious foundation from of old, it served the double purpose of a

fountain and a place of rest for wayfarers. It consisted of a centre

arch, admitting to the spout and trough, and of a recess on either

hand; and was surmounted by three domes in proportion to these

divisions, that in the middle being much higher than the other two,

which peeped over the square roof as a skull-cap shows above a turban.

The fountain whitened in the half light amid the gloom of the

surrounding foliage. The two cypress-trees stood up blackly, their

tufts cutting the green sky, Saïd’s eagerness grew apace. He walked

faster and faster, and was on the point of girding up his loins to run

when a loud voice turned him to stone. It was the voice of Mustafa, but

it had a new intonation which made his flesh creep. It came from within

the building, very harsh upon the evening murmur and the twilight,

which, between them, were soft as velvet.

“Allah will give to you!” There was something fierce and exultant in

the cry, which assorted gruesomely with that prayer for alms. “Allah

will give to you!… I slew him, I tell you …. See, I have a withered

hand. O hand of my honour—O blessed hand!… O Lord!… Take pity, O my

masters or I die …. Allah witness, I slew him. Aha, he was fat and lay

on a bed of down, whereas I …. O Lord!… Allah will give to you!… I am

poor and lean while you are fat and dwell in palaces. See the stains

on my hand …. O hand of my love—O happy left hand! Take pity, hear

you?—or I will slay all the race of you, fat men that lie on soft

cushions …. Aha, you look very funny, all you fat ones with your mouths

open, lying on green couches and your eyes turned over in your heads.

It is a merry sight …. O Lord!… Have compassion or I die. Merciful

Allah, is there none to pity me?… Behold my father’s house is washed

clean of the reproach …. Blood!… I see blood!—blood everywhere—blood

of pigs—blood of unbelievers. Lo! the steam of it rises up to heaven,

and it is counted to me for righteousness. Allah rejoices! The Prophet

smiles at God’s right hand!… O Lord!… Death to the unbelievers! Perish

the Christians! Dìn! Dìn!…”

Daunted by the hideous outcry and the gathering night, Saïd stood

still, shuddering, until the voice died away upon a frightful shriek.

Then he ran forward.

“May his house be destroyed,” he breathed ruefully between his clenched

teeth. “It is sure he is possessed with a devil. Why else should he

cry aloud to summon all men to the secret place of our wealth!” The

recess on either side of the fountain was very dark. Saïd stood by the

trough of stone and whispered his friend’s name. He spoke it aloud,

then shouted it, then made the vault ring with it on a despairing yell

of terror. Dead silence and a darkness which the tinkle of a slender

thread of water made hollow as a bell; more than all, the echo of his

own voice almost killed him with fright. He was haunted, the sport

of malicious fiends. They were mocking him somewhere in the gloom,

pointing at him and laughing noiselessly. He was minded to run, but his

feet were become of one piece with the uneven pavement. It was that

hopeless, blind terror which knows no beyond—the despair of a child

alone in the dark. He shut his eyes; but fear lined their lids with

eyes and wheels of flame, which rolled and dilated, scathing his very

soul. Sure that dreadful shapes were drawing near him, he opened them

from excess of fear; and, seeing nothing, was ten times more frightened

than before. He breathed hard.

However, as long seconds passed and nothing happened, little by little

the panic left him, and his wits, faint and trembling, returned to

him. The arch by which he had entered was full of dark forms of

trees quivering upon a starry sky. He heard the howl and yelp of a

jackal; no doubt there were vineyards near with green clusters of

half-formed grapes such as foxes love. The well-known sound and the

everyday thoughts it engendered calmed him somewhat. A jangle of bells

approaching along the road wholly reassured him. For all that, it was

with heart in mouth that he stepped into the recess whence the cry of

Mustafa had seemed to proceed.

Straining his ears to retain the friendly sound of the camel-bells, he

passed a hand along the wall. All at once he stumbled on something. He

stooped down to feel what it might be.

“O Mustafa!” he whispered fiercely, “what is this?… Arise! Awake! Say,

where is our treasure? Let us take each his share and return with speed

to the city. Come, awake, I say! Make haste!”

No answer. The mass was inert as he shook it; an arm flopped and that

was all. He had nothing wherewith to get a light, and it was very dark.

Yet he felt brave and master of himself, for the clangour of bells was

drawing near and he could hear the voice of a camel-driver chanting in

praise of love.

He found the old man’s head and placed his hand over his mouth. There

was no warmth of a breath; the lips were cold and sticky. Then Saïd

knew for certain that he was handling a dead body.

XXVII

Saïd shuddered, not so much for the knowledge of his own uncleanness,

nor for the fear of death, as for the loneness of this end by the

roadside and for horror of the wild cry he had heard. Since last the

sun rose he had been present at the killing of many men and women. But

they all had perished in the open street in the sunlight, amid the

shouting of a great multitude, with prayers and curses on their lips;

whereas Mustafa had met death in the dark, in a lonely place with none

to witness.

He thought of the treasure, that it was now all his own; and sorrow,

like a spring of sweet water, welled up in his heart for the loss of

his more than father. But the next minute he wished Mustafa no good for

dying ere he had made him privy to the hiding-place. By Allah, a loose

stone in the pavement was not so easy to find in the darkness, without

lamp or direction, and with a corpse for company.

The clash of bells grew very near indeed. The chant ceased, and the

singer shouted to a comrade at some distance. Then the bells lost their

rhythmic chime and jangled confusedly. The train of camels had halted.

Soon an unwieldy, groaning bulk was led in to drink at the fountain.

Saïd stood very still against the wall of his recess, watching the

black shapes fearfully, quaking for his treasure, lest the drivers

should strike a light or any movement of his should rouse suspicion.

There were sounds of sucking, gurgling and groaning, the swinging tramp

of great beasts, and a hairy smell. He heard the voices of the men

debating whether to enter the city in its present disturbed state or to

sleep at a khan they named without the gate. He grew fretful, burning

to begin his search for the treasure. It must be taken away at once,

lest the discovery of Mustafa’s body should lead to a thorough search

of the place.

At length the last camel was watered and he could hear the men swear as

they marshalled the train. The rhythmic clangour broke out afresh. With

an oath of relief he began to crawl upon his hands and knees, feeling

the pavement stone by stone as he went. He felt everywhere to within

a hair’s-breadth of the corpse; but not a slab was loose, though he

fancied one or two rang hollow as he rapped them. The camel-bells were

but a tinkle in the distance. He was alone and fear breathed hot upon

him.

In a kind of fury he gripped the dead man’s arm and dragged him into a

corner. With a shiver of that contact upon him he knelt down to examine

the place where the body had lain. There was a stone cast up—a wide

hole. Oh, for a little light!

He let his forearm down into it; and his hand felt gold, both coinage

and jewellery, which seemed to be contained in a strong coffer of iron

or brass, of which the lid was open. Lying flat on his belly, with both

arms in the hole, he long strove to lift that chest—by the lid, by the

side—but it would not budge. Then he thought if he could only get his

fingers under it he would have better purchase. He needed something

thin yet strong to thrust beneath it as a prise.

“May Allah cut short his life!” he panted. “Who but a madman would have

left our wealth thus exposed? By the Prophet, it is lucky that I alone

was at hand to hear his last cry …. May his house be destroyed.”

“Peace to him,” he added as an afterthought, setting to work once more.

He took a knife from his girdle, and managed so to force its stout

blade under the treasure-box that his fingers could take hold. He

tugged and strained, tendons cracking, sweat streaming from every pore.

At last, after many failures, he raised it clear out of the hole and

set it on the pavement. Praise to Allah!

Sitting back on his heels to recover breath he mopped his face with

the lap of his robe. Mustafa was indeed a marvel of strength to have

carried that burden with anything like secrecy from the house of

Yuhanna hither. He turned the miracle over in his mind, seeking its

human side. Of a sudden he recalled how the old man had spoken of the

fountain as a place where he was used to hide trifles of price. The

riddle was solved; there was no great wonder after all. The strong

chest was the beggar’s own. He had brought the wealth of Yuhanna hither

in a sack, or some vessel unlikely to raise suspicion. He had then

uncovered the hole, opened the chest, and poured the treasure pell-mell

upon its contents. This evening he had naturally wished to gaze upon

his riches. And even as his eyes were glutted the angel of death had

passed over him.

Saïd’s heart grew faint with rapture as he thought that here was more

than all the treasure of the Christian. Allah alone knew what hoards

Mustafa might have amassed during long years of begging and pilfering.

“Thanks be to Allah!” he murmured. “May Allah increase thy goods, O abu

Mansûr!”

But the question was urgent—How to dispose of all this wealth for the

time being? He dared not replace it, lest, when men came to remove

the body of Mustafa, they should chance upon the loose slab and haply

discover it. To bury it somewhere in the darkness and return with a

sack in the early morning seemed a bright thought; but he could not

regard it with perfect favour, knowing what mischievous devils lurk at

night in lonesome places. A jinni might see him bury the chest and play

some vile prank such as turning the gold to dross, or ashes, or salt,

or freezing the ground above it to solid rock.

At last he resolved to take his fortune along with him in the pendant

sack of his voluminous trousers. A weight down there would attract

no notice, for it is the custom of all men to carry their marketings

thus—their implements or whatever is cumbrous in the hand. He stood

and pulled up his overrobe. Holding up the placket of his pantaloons,

he took money and jewels by handfuls and dropped them in. Passing his

hand along the bottom of the coffer to be sure it was quite empty,

he found a small coin which he left for an alms or gleaning. He took

a step to and fro to see how it felt. The treasure swung as a solid

whole, bumping his ankles, his shins, and the calves of his legs.

There was no clink or jingle to betray its nature. It was clumsy, very

uncomfortable, but (praise to Allah!) quite safe.

He squatted to replace the chest and close the hole. The posture was

restful, for while it lasted the pavement bore his burden. Then he

rose, and, with a faint glance towards the carcase of Mustafa, moved

gingerly away. But no sooner had he turned his back upon the dead than

a panic got hold of him. He stumbled through the archway out into the

whispering night as fast as the weight of his treasure would allow.

Weary and bruised all over, he sank within the threshold of Nûr’s

dwelling, bumping against a small donkey, saddled and hung about with

gaudy tassels, which stood there patiently with swishing tail. A lamp

was burning on the floor of the inner room, and Saïd could see the vast

bulk of Abu Khalìl seated beside the mistress in a languorous attitude.

Nûr rose full of reproach on beholding the fisherman.

“Thou art returned, O my soul? What is this? Did I not counsel thee

not to come nigh her for a while? Moreover, it is not safe for thee

to be here. Search may perhaps be made; all wise men concerned in the

riot sleep beyond the walls to-night. Our friend, Abu Khalìl, is come

seeking news of his son, Camr-ud-dìn ….”

Peering into his face she broke off and cried,—

“How is Mustafa? Where is he? Speak!”

“O Nûr, Mustafa is dead!” murmured Saïd with a woeful shake of the

head. And in truth his heart was near to breaking, for the treasure had

barked the shins of both his legs, not to speak of ankles and the great

weight to carry.

She screamed,—

“Just Allah! Hearest thou that, O Abu Khalìl?… O day of disaster! O

evil day!… Where is he? Lead me to him! None but Nûr shall lay him

out for burial!… Hearken, O Saïd—O son of his soul and heir of all

his wealth! I will hire a goodly company of women to bewail him with

beating of breasts and tearing of hair. Thou wilt not grudge the money,

for thou art a rich man through his death …. Where is he? Lead me to

him!”

Very mournfully Saïd told her that the body lay a long way off, in the

chamber of a certain fountain among the gardens. He recounted the cry

he had heard, the sudden silence, and his finding Mustafa dead in the

black recess.

“Allah is just!” he said. “It were well if some men set out at once to

fetch him hither, for I heard the voice of a jackal near to that place,

and I would not have my father’s corpse a prey to unclean beasts. For

myself, I am weary and broken with grief, I may not return thither. I

am now a rich man, as thou sayest, the wealth of Mustafa being greater

than any man supposed. Let the burial be according to thy desire.”

During the narrative Abu Khalìl had risen slowly from the couch and

dragged his vast bulk to the door to listen. Hearing talk of the wealth

of Mustafa, he appeared dazed, and exclaimed, “Ma sh’Allah!” under his

breath. He strove to treat Saïd as the heir, with a deference which old

habits of patronage made to sit awkwardly upon him. Nûr was suddenly

inspired. She laid her hands wheedlingly on the shoulders of the fat

taverner and, darting love into his eyes,—

“O my beloved,” she pleaded, “thou wilt go to the fountain of which

Saïd speaks. Thou canst find a neighbour or two to go with thee: and

thou wilt bring hither the body of Mustafa! Saïd, as thou seest, is

broken with fatigue, else he would bear thee company. I shall be very

grateful to thee, O my soul, and I shall await thee here …. Say not

‘Nay’!” she cried impetuously, discounting his scandalised stare by

a pout and a girlish gesture. “I beseech thee, cross me not in this

matter. He was a rich man, remember; and thou wilt not only oblige me,

that am a woman and of no account, but also confer a favour upon Saïd

Effendi, heir to all his wealth, who will henceforth rank with the

great ones of Es-Shâm …. What sayest thou?”

Abu Khalìl, greatly perturbed, pushed his turban awry the better to

scratch his head. He glanced furtively from Nûr to Saïd, and from Saïd

back again to Nûr.

“Now, by Allah, this is no light thing you require of me. Nevertheless,

since it is the case of an old friend … and to serve Saïd Effendi whom,

I call Allah to witness, I have ever regarded as a favourite son … I

say not that I will not go. For all that, it is a hard thing for an old

man, the father of a family, to go out by night into the gardens where,

as all men know, gipsies and other children of sin do abound; not to

speak of those who are more than men—jin, I mean, and afærìt; and the

uncleanness I shall incur, and the tedious purification to follow ….”

Saïd broke in coaxingly,—

“Be assured, O Abu Khalìl, O lord of kindness, thou shalt have a large

reward; may Allah increase thy property!”

“Good. I go!”

Abu Khalìl shuffled to the place where the ass stood swishing its tail,

and bestrode it so earnestly that he nearly fell over on the other

side. Then, remembering that his steed was tethered, he leaned over its

head to untie the rope. Nûr led the staggering beast up the steps and

out into the alley, which the beams of a rising moon were beginning to

silver.

“I will seek out Zeid the carpenter and Abbâs the Nubian who sells

sweet stuff!” said the taverner, bowing his head to avoid contact with

the lintel as he rode out. “Both are young men, strong and fearless.

Both have donkeys belonging to them, so that we shall seem a goodly

company riding together. Moreover, Abbâs has a rare whip he showed me

yesterday, being a strip of the hide of a crocodile or other monster

common in Masr where he bought it. By Allah, it is a fine thong! Two

strokes of it would flay a dog …. In your grace!”

“With my peace. Allah guard thee in safety!” cried Saïd and Nûr in one

breath as the doughty taverner ambled away in moonlight and shadow,

thwacking his steed bravely on the hindmost part. The clip-clap of the

donkey’s hoofs and its thousand mocking echoes soon died away.

Nûr stood in the doorway looking after him. She stepped forth into the

street and listened towards the Christian quarter.

“The tumult still continues,” she said, returning. “It is thin now and

feeble—the shadow of that I heard during the day. With the dawn it

will revive; and so it will be for many days till every Nazarene is

either slain or escaped far away. There is a redness of fire on the sky

yonder, where all day long there was a cloud of smoke. They have slain

Allah knows how many hundred Christians; and Mustafa is dead.

“My heart is very sad, O Saïd, light of my eyes! Hadst thou seen him as

he was when first I knew him, thou wouldst grieve for the days of a man

which are as steps hewn in the rock leading downward to a sepulchre.

He was a fine man, I tell thee—straight as a Bedawi’s lance, strong

and healthy even as thou art. As the breath of winter tears leaves from

a mulberry-tree, so does the length of years strip the beauty and the

majesty from a man. At last the tree falls and only the bitter wind

remains …. Allah is greatest!”

Saïd groaned aloud,—

“Allah is merciful! But, by my beard, it was a cruel word thou spakest,

that I must go sleep without the city. Only let me abide here and I

swear I will not go near the girl to trouble her.”

“It cannot be,” said Nûr, firmly. “My house is thy house, and thou art

ever welcome to that which is mine. But Abu Khalìl has heard a rumour

that search is made secretly for the leaders in rebellion. It is true,

what I told thee, that no wise man sleeps within the city this night.

To-morrow, in the day-time, thou mayst show thyself without fear; the

slaves of power will then be fast within doors for terror of their

lives. I will care for the girl and order all things seemly for the

burial of Mustafa. Go quickly, with my peace!”

Saïd, who, for all his freedom of address, stood greatly in awe of the

old woman, rose grumbling from the floor, and, holding up the pouch of

his trousers like a sack, stumbled up the steps into the moonshine. His

nether limbs were very sore and stiff with bruises. In walking he was

careful to keep his feet wide apart. He cut such a queer figure, seen

from behind, that Nûr called after him to know what ailed him.

“I am happy—in the extremity of good health!” he cried back with

affected cheerfulness. “I did but trip over a stone as I ran hither. My

knees are somewhat bruised from the fall.”

“Stay, O my eyes, and let me rub them with a salve!” she cried again

with seduction; for, contrasting his gait with the tones of his voice,

she knew that he lied.

“May thy wealth increase!—there is no need,” he answered, striving to

quicken his step.

From a rhythmic bellying of the skirt of his long robe, as well as from

the manner of his going, Nûr made a shrewd guess at the nature of his

embarrassment.

“He walks like a she-goat whose udders are over-full,” she thought,

laughing to herself; “there is something heavy and cumbersome in the

sack of his trousers.”

That he was loth to linger or speak of the matter afforded her more

light.

“By the Coràn, it is the treasure of Mustafa he carries thus for

safety, lest one should rob him of it! He would not trust me so much as

to let me know, and he bears his punishment along with him. Allah is

just!”

And in the midst of her grief for the old beggar she chuckled most

heartily out there in the moonlight, pointing the finger of scorn after

him with keen and friendly relish of his avarice.

XXVIII

That was a ghastly night for Saïd—a night full of strange faces, of

awful whisperings, and of the shadow of death. His first thought on

leaving the city was to find some shelter where he might sleep within

call of his fellow-men. To that end he sought the coffee-house of

Rashìd, thinking to find a welcome there now that he was again on

cordial terms with Selìm. But as he went, in the tremulous shadow of

the trees and the moonlight between, he grew more and more afraid,

until the bump of the treasure against his shins and the patter of his

own footsteps were separate terrors.

It was almost within hail of the tavern, in the gloom of some

apricot-trees, that he blundered upon something soft, yet tight, like

a body or a full waterskin. He drew back aghast. A shapeless mass rose

before him with a horrid groan. Catching up the sack of his trousers he

ran for dear life. Far from allaying his terrors the lowing of a cow at

his back lashed him to fresh exertions. He knew it for the angry voice

of a jinni cursing him.

For hours he fled on by shadowy ways, pursued by a host of devils.

Foul shapes flitted and danced behind him; dread hands were stretched

out to stay him and clutch his treasure; a flapping of huge wings

filled the welkin. Pale faces he had seen in death that day grinned

at him from the ground, from the sky, from the gloom of the trees.

Even the dwellings of men—a sleeping village half-seen between the

trunks, flat-roofed hovels and pleasure-houses bosomed in foliage—were

sinister, the abode of unknown fears. Fiends rollicked over the

whole earth. The vista of his life was packed with them—a gruesome

throng. From his youth up he had been their sport. In the hour of his

prosperity, whenever wealth had seemed within his grasp, they had

appeared to balk him. His flight from his native town, the loss of

his donkey, the robbery which had deprived him of the price of his

horse—he saw plainly the cause of all his misfortunes. Then, as now,

he had been the butt of evil spirits.

Of a sudden it occurred to him that the whole night was a procession of

ghastly, pallid shapes, moving silently as one man. It seemed that he

had a moment’s insight into the hidden mysteries of earth, that this

gliding march of a vast, fiendish army, unsuspected of men, had been

going on ever since the world began, and would continue unbroken till

the Last Day. The horror of it was not new to him. He had experienced

it before many times, but could not remember when or under what

circumstances.

Was not Abdullah himself an evil spirit? And the soldier who had lifted

his donkey—was he not an afrìt in disguise. There was no doubt of it

now as he recalled their faces.

In his despair he thought lovingly of Hasneh. Why—oh, why had he cast

her off? To his fevered brain she seemed desirable as on the day when

he had first beheld her, a young girl, at play with other maidens on

the seashore. He would have given the half of this treasure which was

killing him for a touch of her hand, for the sound of her voice.

Once he stood still in an open place. He had a mind to lighten his

trousers by flinging all his wealth upon the ground. It was for that

the hordes of darkness were tormenting him. He cried aloud that all

of them might know his purpose, and bade them swear a solemn oath

that they would let him go in peace. But there came no answer; only

a jackal’s cry out of the distance, ending in three short yaps. It

rang derisive—very like a laugh. At that Saïd grew dogged. Since not

a jinni of them all would swear, it was their look-out and he would

keep the treasure. For two seconds he felt courageous and knew that

there were trees about him rustling peacefully in the moonlight.

Fear breathed hot on him again and he ran, a hideous whisper in his

ears. The balm of the silky Eastern night had no sweetness for him.

Shifting the sack of his trousers from aching hand to hand, striving

to keep his mind intent upon the name of Allah, he fled on. The trees

thinned about him; the gardens gave place to vineyards; the vineyards

thinned in their turn with spaces of waste land between; the wide

plain rolled out before him with soft undulations to some low hills on

the horizon floating in pale haze. The boundless silence throbbed in

his ears like the pulse of a living creature. The plain whitened in

the moonshine. Here and there, as the ground waved, there were ribs

of velvet gloom. A lonely tree, a peasant’s hovel, a dark patch of

cultivated land, a square-built khan, a knoll, a jutting boulder—the

least object was distinct with a black shadow on the smooth-rolling

expanse.

With a clear view all round him and no shades to irk his fancy, Saïd’s

panic subsided to a holy awe and he slackened his pace. He was very

weary, the weight of his wealth seeming more than he could bear. The

howl of a wakeful dog was wafted to him from the distance. In the

quarter whence it came black specks were discernible upon a rising

ground. It was an encampment of Bedawin or gipsies, Saïd supposed, and

instinctively turned his face thitherward. But care for his treasure

and the fear of marauders prevented him, and he held straight on.

There was already a bite of dawn in the air when he came to a large

khan, square-built and frowning like a fort, and caught the welcome

tinkle and stamp of beasts in a stable. There was a well before the

gate, watched by a great sycamore-tree. The door was open. Saïd stole

among the beasts in the yard and found a snug nook amid a pile of

bales. With a sigh of contentment he curled himself up and fell fast

asleep.

He dreamed.

It was the last day, or he was newly dead; he knew not which. He was

lying spellbound in a place of tombs. Mustafa lay not far from him

with a great stone at his head. Veiled women flitted to and fro like

phantoms. He knew without looking that Hasneh was among them, and his

soul yearned after her. On either side the stone stood an angel, black

and shadowy, with a mace in his hand. There was a balance between them,

hanging in the air, and they were weighing the works of Mustafa. All

that was good went into the one scale and all that was evil into the

other. The faces of the examiners were set and moody, as those of men

who watch a grave issue. Ever and anon they beat the old man’s head

with their maces, so that he shrieked frightfully. Saïd sweated cold

with fear lest Mustafa should lose Paradise, and also for his own turn,

which was to come.

“This soul is lost, O brother,” said one, gravely. “Thy scale kicks the

beam, though each deed placed there counts two of what is placed in

mine. Allah is just!”

The other was thoughtful for a space. All at once his stern face

brightened. A glory like moonlight emanated from it, flooding all the

plain.

“See!” he cried, pointing towards the city. “There is blood—blood

of the heathen!—blood of unbelievers!—blood of the enemies of our

Master! There is a great pool of it, and it is counted to him for

righteousness!”

At that Saïd waxed faint with relief. Hasneh bent over him and peace

dropped from her like a precious ointment. The vision faded. There

was sweet music of bells—a caravan passing in the distance. With a

deep sigh he awoke to a deafening clangour of real camel-bells and the

pungent reek of a stable.

It was quite dark and a little chilly. But the khan was astir, and

through the gate he could see a white eye of dawn opening over the edge

of the desert. Men with lanterns moved sleepily among the beasts. A

group of camels were being laden with black millstones, each of which

it took four men to lift and hold in position, while a fifth lashed it

fast with a strong rope. The task was enlivened by a chant panted in

cadence, invoking the help of a holy dervìsh long since in Paradise.

Another and more numerous train of camels had just arrived. They were

laden with sacks of corn and seemed to have been journeying all night,

for the drivers were stiff and surly. With them was a woman of wretched

appearance, who stood timidly in the gate, trying to dispose her

tattered veil so as to conceal her face.

A bare-legged hostler threw a coarse jest at her in passing. An idler

pinched her arm and tore aside her veil, vowing he was sick for love of

her. But a sturdy old man, one of the camel-drivers with whom she had

come, interfered. He pushed her insulter away roughly, saying that she

was a good woman and none should vex her while he was by.

In the hope of a quarrel, Saïd stole forward among the beasts and

merchandise, careful to lift the sack of his trousers above contact

with any of the coils of rope, halters and saddles which cumbered the

ground. The other camel-drivers stopped work and gathered about the

disputants. But the aggressor was a coward, or he thought the woman

not worth a fight, for he slunk off, muttering that he knew not she

belonged to any man there. Her champion contented himself with nodding

his head after him and explaining pithily, in a long growl, how he

would have punished obstinacy. Their forms moved black in the gateway;

beyond them was the grey dawn upon the plain.

“The woman is thine, O sheykh?” asked one who stood by with a lantern.

“No, by Allah!” answered the champion, with a shade of defiance; “but

I hold her as a dear daughter. When I cut my foot upon a stone in the

neighbourhood of Mazarìb and thought to die for loss of blood, she used

me tenderly and rent her veil that my wound might be softly bandaged.

No, she is not my woman, but was given into my care by the men of Beyt

Ammeh beside Nablûs. There is a strange story belonging to her.”

At the name of Beyt Ammeh, Saïd pricked up his ears. Observing the form

of the woman narrowly, his heart leapt so that it became a lump in his

throat.

“The story, O sheykh! Deign to tell us the story!” urged the

bystanders. Unnoticed, Saïd joined the press about the narrator.

“Know that this woman had a husband, a fisherman, whose name was Saïd.

He set out on a journey to Damashc-ush-Shâm, the woman with him. In a

lonely pass of the mountains between Beyt Ammeh and the sea he met a

man called Farûn riding on a camel, asleep. Then Saïd, being a joker,

picked up a stone from the path and flung it at Farûn so that he fell

to the ground. And as he lay there, stunned and bleeding, Saïd took all

the money that he had and beat him somewhat with a stick, and so left

him.

“Saïd went on his way rejoicing until he came to the village of

Beyt Ammeh. There, his woman being faint, he entered the house of a

certain fellah, who took pity on her and let her lie on his own bed.

After that, as they sat smoking and conversing, the lord of the house

questioned Saïd, saying, ‘Didst meet in thy road hither one riding on

a camel? Behold, my brother, Farûn by name, is gone this day to the

coast with a load.’ Then Saïd—a clever fellow, by Allah!—answered

thoughtfully, ‘Yes, it is true; I met such an one. I found him by the

road in a sad plight. His blood was upon the stones of the path. He had

been robbed and almost killed by wicked men. I stayed a little to bind

his wounds, and gave him money—all that I had. I caught his camel and

set him upon it. Then I blessed him and came on hither.’

“At that the lord of the house praised and exalted Saïd above all the

sons of Adam. He besought him to abide there several days. But Saïd,

pretending that his brother was dead in Damashc-ush-Shâm, said that he

must hasten to claim the inheritance. Nevertheless, since his woman was

sick, he entreated that kind man to take care of her until she should

recover her strength. The lord of the house agreed gladly, and when

he had given Saïd to eat and drink, he blessed him and let him go. He

paid great honour to the woman for the sake of the mercy shown by her

husband to Farûn, his brother. But after two days Farûn returned, and

then, as you may guess, his mind was changed. All the men of Beyt Ammeh

cursed that clever joker who, having first robbed and beaten Farûn, had

then left his sick woman to the care of Farûn’s brother. They kept her

for two months, making her the common drudge of all, supposing that

Saïd would return or send to fetch her, when they would have slain him

or his messengers as the case might be. But he was too clever for that.

By Allah, he is a devil! He had no care for this woman, for it seems

she is barren.

“So at last, weary of her sighs and weeping, they delivered her over to

us as we passed through their village, telling us her story and giving

us a little money to take her to Es-Shâm. They charged us, if ever we

should meet with Saïd the Fisherman, to slay him without ado for the

affront put upon their village. But I admire the rogue. He is a famous

joker—what say you?… By my beard, he is a devil!”

In the midst of the laughter at his cleverness, Saïd pushed through

the group and confronted the woman. “Welcome, and thrice welcome, O

Hasneh!” he cried. “Praise be to Allah, thou art alive and in health!

My heart has been very sad for thee all this long time. I am rejoiced

to find thee once again, O my soul!”

Throwing up her arms, with a shrill cry, she fell on his neck and wept.

“It is Saïd the Fisherman!”—“Saïd the Joker!”—“Saïd the Devil!” “How

came he hither?” was whispered in tones of awe; as who should say,

It is His Majesty the Sultàn—His Excellency the Basha. Men pressed

forward to touch but the hem of his robe, to get but a glimpse of his

face; so that Saïd began to fear lest the fulness and weight of his

trousers should be remarked. He saluted the company, and circling

Hasneh with his arm, led her out into the brisk air of the dawning.

At the angle of the wall which looks towards the desert they sat down

on their heels side by side. He told of the awful night he had just

passed, and she listened, with patient eyes devouring him.

“I am rich, O my beloved!” he cried, plucking at a dew-drenched

thistle. “I will buy a fine house where we shall dwell together. Thou

shalt rule over a numerous harìm. I have a sweet girl—a beauty!—the

daughter of a Christian pig who is slain. She shall be thy handmaid

to do thy bidding. Let us abide here to-day, for while the tumult

continues there is neither buying nor selling in the city ….”

He paused, thoughtful, remembering the burial of Mustafa and his duty

to be present. But reflecting that men would suppose him with the

slayers, and excuse him for the cause of the Faith, his brow cleared

directly and he continued,—

“To-morrow, or the next day, we will return thither, when thou shalt

help me to choose a grand house, and shalt see the girl Ferideh of

whom I spake. She is sweet, I tell thee—a perfect pearl. But thou art

mistress of my fancy—that is understood. Now, in the name of Allah

relieve me of some part of this treasure which bruises my legs and

impedes my going.”

The prospect seemed very bright to Hasneh. She ceased to grieve that

her veil was torn. Gladly she opened the bosom of her robe and bestowed

the half of their riches in the pouch she wore there. The transfer

made, Saïd rose and took a turn to enjoy his novel lightness. The well

and the sycamore-tree grew rosy, casting long blue shadows. The wide

plain was barred and flecked with pink.

“O Saïd, dost thou remember the fig-tree and our house among the

sandhills by the sea?” murmured Hasneh; and then, with a blissful sigh,

her eyelids closed against the sun’s first ray, “Allah is Merciful!”

END OF PART I

NOTES TO PART I

TIME TABLE

A. D. Year

of the

Hejra

(Lunar)

622 (16th of July) The flight of Muhammed the

Prophet from

Mecca to Medina —

1831 Ibrahìm Pasha, adopted son of

the Khedive Mehemed Ali,

conquers Syria. Battle of Konia 1256–7

1831–1840 A time of great prosperity for all

classes, Christians and Moslems

alike, under an enlightened

government —

1840 Syria signed back to the Sultàn

at Conference of London —

1858 Bombardment of Jedda by the

French as a punishment for

the massacre there 1275

1860 (March-April) Saïd leaves his native town, his

house and his fig-tree by the

seashore —

1860 (June) The Maronites attack the Drûz and

are slaughtered all over Lebanon 1277

1860 (June-July) Great massacre of Damascus 1277

1860 (September) Execution of Ahmed Pasha, Wâly of

Damascus, for culpable incompetence

shown during the massacre 1278