When the cavalcade assembled without the town, this new companion came
riding upon the sorriest ass ever seen, which, it transpired, he had
borrowed from a friend. He took all the laughter at his expense in
excellent part.
His name, he said, was Zeyd the son of Abbâs. He had been born in El
Arìsh, toward the country of Masr, but had not beheld that place for
many years. Bred to the calling of a muleteer, he had led a wandering
life from childhood. It was now three years since he had settled down in
a certain village, about six hours distant from the spot where they had
found him at hide and seek with his camel. He had taken to wife a girl of
that place, and was fairly prosperous as poor men reckon.
Not half of all he said reached Shems-ud-dìn’s ears, which were strained
toward the palanquin; but a word of courteous acquiescence contented Zeyd.
They came to the end of the highlands in a bare brown shoulder thrust out
over a chasm wide and deep, no mere wady of the hills like those they
had hitherto traversed, but a trench cut below the surface of the world.
It parted the mountain lands to east and west. Upon the plain in its
depths, through mists of heat, they could see the belt of foliage coiling
like a snake, which marked the course of the river. In the south, at no
great distance, the valley widened to inclose a dazzling sheet the eye
avoided, a memorial of God’s wrath, the Sea of Lot.
Here they came up with the Circassians and Shibli, who had stopped for
consultation.
“What sayest thou, O my dear?” cried Hassan. “Shall we rest to-night in
the plain yonder; or, for the day is yet young, shall we push on nearer
to El Cûds? Decide, I pray thee.”
“Let us hasten onward,” replied Shems-ud-dìn.
His prayer all yesterday and this morning had been that Alia might die
in a house peacefully, that death might deal gently with her, as would
not be the case did she expire amid the jolt and rocking of that crazy
palanquin. He was therefore for pushing on as far as might be.
But soon after they began to descend, the path being steep and rough so
that the mules moved jerkily with frequent slips, a shriek came from
Fatmeh within the litter; and when all halted and crowded round, Alia was
discovered lifeless.
Mâs, with the ready help of Zeyd ebn Abbâs, lifted her out and bore her,
duly veiled, to where a jutting rock spread a fan of shadow. Everyone
thought her dead.
But Fatmeh, with a snort of contempt, bade them all stand back. She
removed the veil from the girl’s face, and began to chafe one of her
hands, bidding Shems-ud-dìn do the like with the other; she wetted her
fingers in her mouth and laid them to Alia’s forehead; with the result
that presently the life returned. Alia drew a gasping breath and her
eyelids fluttered.
“Praise to Allah!” cried the onlookers.
“Praise to Allah, in truth!” cried Fatmeh, with a point of scorn. “Small
praise to anyone else here present! It is the fatigue, of course, O my
poor one, O my dove! How should it be otherwise when she has been jarred
so many hours in yonder box, which would kill even a jinni, I think, with
its lurch and the creak of the poles. Let her lie in peace to-day, and
she may live to see El Cûds. Hurry on, and she will die on the way! Allah
knows that, for truth.”
There could be no further question as to where they should halt for the
night. Alia was carried back to the litter, and they resumed their march
down into El Ghûr.
They reached the plain a little before noon, and dismounted near a
village of seeming ant hills at the foot of a thicket, on this side the
ford. Here food was procured for the sick girl—curds and fruit, and
rice boiled with the daintiest parts of a fowl—of which she took but a
mouthful ere resigning the dish to Fatmeh. But she drank deep from a
pitcher of cold pure water, and lay back, seeming refreshed. The women
abode in the litter set down in the shade of some trees, the hovels of
the village appearing to Shems-ud-dìn far too wretched to receive them.
The repast ended, Hassan and the rest crossed the river and strolled off
in various directions. Only Shems-ud-dìn and Zeyd ebn Abbâs stayed with
Mâs beside the litter. The last named busied himself in constructing
a rough booth with boughs and reeds and grass, and garments borrowed
from one and another. Shems-ud-dìn sat in a state between prayer and
meditation, observed with reverence by his new disciple. The soothing
voice of Fatmeh, the voice of a nursing mother lulling her babe to sleep,
blent with the coo of doves among the trees. A knot of villagers watched
from a distance, impressed by the stillness of the strange men.
At length, when shades grew long to eastward, and Mâs, having finished
his work, had gone to bathe in the river, Zeyd ventured to say:
“Deign to teach me somewhat, O my master.”
“In the name of Allah, gladly,” consented Shems-ud-dìn, starting to
consciousness.
Taking suggestion from the scene around them, he told of Lût and
Ibrahìm the Friend, and how Allah destroyed the wicked cities which
once stood where now the bitter sea shone gold to the setting sun. The
villagers—men, women, and little children—approached to listen, edging
nearer shyly, like wild things fascinated, till they formed a half-circle
before the narrator. Soft breathed “Ma sh’ Allah!” punctuated his
discourse. The Circassians, returning by twos and threes, lounged upon
the ground within earshot. “It is a great saint, hear him! None like
him in all the world!” they whispered to the breathless fellahìn; till
Shems-ud-dìn observed how they whispered among themselves, and ceased
speaking, in some annoyance. Till then he had been scarce aware of their
presence. It was no time for preaching, his sorrow told him, nor for
aught else wherein his soul took pride.
The villagers stole up, one by one, to kiss his hand, and he suffered
it, but begged them to withdraw; which they presently did, with many a
backward look. Certain of the women returned at nightfall, bringing
slabs of bread, and earthen bowls full of curds and cooked meats, which
they set upon the ground near him. They stayed not to haggle over the
price, but took what was offered them and went away.
“Ma sh’ Allah!” said Hassan Agha, with his thunderous laugh. “It is good
to travel with a holy one. To-morrow, it is likely, we shall find coined
gold instead of stones in our path. Know also, O light of my eyes, that
our enemies are delivered into our hands, an easy prey. The Lord knows we
must thank thy sanctity for it, under Allah. Some dwellers in the House
of Hair camp ahead of us within that crease of the mountain to be seen
from here. My own eyes have beheld them. And one, a pilgrim to Neby Mûsa,
who stood near, told me all there is to know concerning them.
“They are infidels, coming of a southern tribe which of old was perverted
from the Faith; and they go now to keep the feast of the Nazarenes, which
is nothing but a battle between two rival factions of that sect, decided
annually in the church, called the Resurrection, in El Cûds. This fight
is all their observance; for the rest, they have no religion more than
other wild beasts. It is good to exterminate such men. In sh’ Allah, we
shall slay every one of them or ever they behold the city. So shall my
sons be avenged!”
“Be not so wicked in thy thoughts,” said Shems-ud-dìn sternly. “What are
these men to thee? These slew not thy sons!”
Hassan shrugged up his shoulders, and began to roll a cigarette.
“Am I Allah, to tell one sparrow from his brother?”
“Thou wouldst not shed innocent blood!”
“Is their blood innocent? Allah knows: let Him decide. I know that men
like to these in appearance slew my two sons ten years ago....”
Shems-ud-dìn arose quivering. “Now Allah reckon with thee at the Last
Day! Fight while we travel together, and I leave thee without a blessing!
Allah witness, it is my last word!”
“Well,” growled Hassan after a long pause, “let there be truce for a day
or two till we arrive in El Cûds. There, if they push against us in those
narrow streets, I cannot swear to restrain the hands of my followers. But
till then, peace. Thy blessing is dearer than the blood of dogs, beloved!”
“Good,” said Shems-ud-dìn; and, wrapped in his white cloak, he lay down
to sleep upon the ground before the bower which Mâs had built, where
slept the women.
So it befell, on the morrow, that a troop of horsemen overtaken upon the
mountain road went unmolested. The men had swarthy faces, dark eyes of a
smoldering fire, and they spoke pure Arabic with a husky voice. There was
a little friendly rivalry, racing of horses and the like, between them
and the Circassians; but that was all.
“What doest thou?” inquired Shems-ud-dìn of Zeyd ebn Abbâs, who rode with
his eyes shut, muttering.
“I pray to Allah,” was the reply; and a little later, when they had
parted from the tribesmen: “I praise Allah,” he said.
“Thou doest well, O my son.”
At a lonely khan, where the midday halt was made, they found a company
of Frankish travelers, taking food from off a white cloth spread upon a
flat rock. It was a desert place. Blond crags towered up wan against the
rich blue; the world seemed of two plain colors—earth and sky. The Franks
made a great clatter with knives and forks upon plates of tin or some
other metal. They laughed loud and vacantly, rousing echoes among the
cliffs. They stared rudely at the newcomers, the palanquin in particular
attracting their curiosity. They pointed with knife and fork at the
object of their attention; and one who stood by, having the countenance
of an Arab but the voice of a Frank, gave them information in their own
jargon.
When the foreigners had done eating, they clambered up among the rocks
and began to throw down small stones, laughing consumedly for no reason.
Their guide was left alone upon the level space before the little khan.
Hassan approached him and entered into conversation.
“Surely the Franks are possessed with devils,” said Shibli to the sheykh
excitedly. “See, they laugh at nothing, they throw stones at nothing,
yet rejoice in their vanity. They reject the means which Allah has
provided, and eat with strange implements hard to manipulate, making of
their necessity a game of skill. And their raiment. Saw a man ever such
clothes? The women, more especially; if, indeed, they be women! Look now,
I beseech thee, O my master.”
“Wherefore look, O my son?” said Shems-ud-dìn listlessly. Whereupon Zeyd,
the son of Abbâs, groaned like a camel, supposing those women to be
sinful beyond the common.
Anon Hassan returned from the dragoman, bearing a face of news. He threw
himself on the ground, as one heart-weary, ere observing:
“The Holy City is full to overflowing, according to that dog. Allah help
all of us to find a lodging. The Nazarenes fill every nook, and a cake of
bread is sold for a week’s wages. In sh’ Allah, it is not all true, what
the hog has told me.”
“Allah help us, in truth!” cried Shems-ud-dìn. “We shall arrive too late
to seek at once the Frank physician. And the city is set on a hill—the
air of it is keen. My child will surely die. Allah teach us how to
proceed.”
“I will tell thee, O my master, and you also, O companions of my lord,”
exclaimed Zeyd ebn Abbâs suddenly, with a joyful face. “The brother of
my wife’s sister’s husband’s father dwells not far from the Holy Place,
on this side, at a village of the hills. He is not a rich man, but deign
to stay the night with him, and not he only, but the whole of my wife’s
family will be honored.”
Shems-ud-dìn took the speaker’s hand affectionately, saying:
“Daily do I praise Allah for the loving kindness of the poor. Surely God
has sent thee, O Zeyd of the open heart. The Lord increase thy wealth and
hold thee ever in His keeping.”
He rose then, and went to tell the women of Zeyd’s offer and his
conclusion to accept it. A cry of “Praise to Allah!” escaped from both
occupants of the litter. After the glimpse they had just obtained of
Frankish manners, neither Alia herself nor Fatmeh was in haste to behold
the Frank physician.