Next morning, before the start, Shems-ud-dìn offered money to the lord of
the house; but the old fellâh thrust back his hand.
“Is the honor nothing in thy sight? Give a little to my neighbors on
account of thy companions, and my peace with thee.”
Shouts of good will went after the departing guests. Shems-ud-dìn’s heart
was lighter than on the night before. He neared his journey’s end; Alia
seemed no worse; and the shortcomings of Abd-ur-Rahman appeared excusable
by daylight.
Suddenly, from a hilltop, they beheld the city. Contained in shadowy
walls, its roofs clean burnished by the morning sun, it was a sight to
catch the breath. The Dome of the Rock, three parts shadowed, bloomed
aloof in its noble precinct. Here and there amid the throng of buildings,
some little polished surface caught the light and flashed, a diamond. The
whole seemed the masterpiece of some worker in silver or ivory, rather
than an old city built at divers times by men unknown to one another.
Of tacit accord the cavalcade had halted to admire, when a hubbub arose
among the Circassians. Two dead fowls had been discovered beneath the
cloak of Nesìb—fowls stolen from the village they had just left. Loud
were the cries of shame. Hassan struck the thief on the head with the
butt of his carbine, stunning the wretch, who would have fallen had not a
loving comrade sustained him. He took the birds and gave them to one more
trustworthy, with orders to return to the village and pay the price of
them.
“Oh, the sin! Oh, the shame of it!” groaned Shems-ud-dìn.
But Hassan, chancing to overhear, objected, saying:
“Be not too sad, O my soul! Nesìb is a thief even as thou art a saint.
It is Allah’s will upon him. He has stolen slippers from the gate of a
mosque. And he has his uses. Not for nothing do I admit an Arab in my
troop. There are but two of them now among us, Nesìb and one Ali, the
friend of Nesìb. Nesìb would not join without Ali, and Nesìb is so useful
that we accepted Ali, who serves no purpose on earth, but only hangs
upon Nesìb. Ah, our Thief is clever! He would steal the food out of your
mouth, and your belly none the wiser.”
Shems-ud-dìn smiled at the description; and their talk continued in a
pleasant strain till, having crossed a dry torrent bed in the wady, they
began to ascend.
They had lost sight of the city all save the walls, which ran along the
top of the rocks above them. Shems-ud-dìn’s face fell sad once more, as
he mused upon the mystery of fate, and the uncertainty of what awaited
him up there within.
Lepers and other beggars, seated beside the broad, made road, howled to
them for alms. Men with donkeys and mules and camels passed up and down
before them. The toll of a mighty bell echoed among the stony hills—the
bell of the Resurrection, explained Zeyd ebn Abbâs, calling the Nazarenes
to prayer. Everything announced their approach to a great city such as
few of them had seen in all their lives. Shibli’s excitement knew no
bounds. He kept galloping on in front and returning to tell what he
had seen, asking answerless questions, laughing and shouting like one
possessed.
“Stop! Stop, I say! Are you deaf, all of you? What do you, wearing arms,
so great a company? Show your teskerehs before I let you pass.”
A soldier stood out before them in the gate of the city, while two more
issued yawning from the guardhouse.
Shems-ud-dìn proffered his teskereh, but the sentry scouted it.
“That allows you to travel; good. By what authority do you travel armed
like soldiers?”
“Look hither. Canst read?” said Hassan loftily; and he held out a copy of
that old firmàn naming him Guardian of the Frontier, which he was in the
habit of carrying about to confute the skeptical.
“What is this?”
“Canst thou not see? It bears the Tûghra, the handmark of Power.”
“Is it some antique?”
“Dog! Dost scoff at the hand of the Padishah? Let pass, or thy punishment
shall be horrible. Know that we have with us a greater man than thou ever
sawest in all thy life of sin——”
“Is it this man?” broke in the soldier impudently, pointing with his
finger at Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, who, on his miserable donkey, in his
ragged clothing, cut the sorriest figure imaginable.
“Pig!” snarled Hassan. “I will ride thee down!”
“Have the kindness only, and thy punishment is sure. Once in there, thou
and thy friends are caught in a box.”
“Deign but to listen. Knowest thou one Abd-ur-Rahman Bey, a yezbashi of
the garrison?”
“Of course. What is that to thee?”
“I will tell thee. This holy sheykh beside me is his father. Now let
pass.”
“Gently, gently, O my uncle. That is good, what thou sayest—excellent—I
ask no better. Only—I do not believe it. He of whom thou speakest is a
great one. Everything is known about him; yet I never heard that he owned
a father living, much less do I look to see his father riding up from
nowhere in the midst of a crew of rascals without proper teskerehs—Ma sh’
Allah!”
The final exclamation was uttered in a frightened whisper. The speaker
stood back hastily with his comrades, sprang to attention, and presented
arms.
The road described a right angle under the gateway, so that no one
standing without could see through into the street. The guard had stood
for some seconds rigid, nosing their rifles, ere he whom they thus
honored could be seen of Shems-ud-dìn. Even then, in the young officer
advancing toward him, one white-gloved hand on his sword hilt, not
running nor manifesting the slightest emotion, he was slow to recognize
his only son.
Abd-ur-Rahman came to his father’s stirrup and kissed his hand with the
same formality which had marked his approach. He murmured:
“Welcome, and twice welcome, O my father.”
At sound of his voice a cry went up from within the litter close at hand;
but Abd-ur-Rahman seemed not to hear it.
“Thou didst receive my letter,” said Shems-ud-dìn, as they passed in
beneath the massive gateway.
Abd-ur-Rahman, still at his stirrup, answered:
“In this hour I received it. It should have been delivered to me last
night, but for the obtuseness of the doorkeeper at the house where I
dwell. As to thy question concerning Frank physicians, I know nothing
of the matter. I inquired on my way hither, and have learnt that there
exists a hospital kept by one of them. Thou wilt find its direction
written on this paper, as also that of a khan where thou mayst find
room enough. What was told thee regarding the present fullness of the
city concerns not the Muslim quarter. I hope that my sister will be
soon healed, and that thou wilt be blest in thy stay here. Now, with
permission, I must leave thee. I will seek thee after noon at the khan.”
“Allah be with you now and always, O my son.”
As he watched Abd-ur-Rahman stride off down a side street of many arches,
Shems-ud-dìn wondered what it was that so oppressed his soul.