It was close upon sunrise when Hassan Agha and his men threaded the
burrows of the city to the northern gate. Few moved abroad beside
themselves. Dogs slunk drowsily along by the walls, seeking lairs for
the day. Once past the gate and its stretching shadow, they all with one
accord clapped spurs to their horses.
Away they galloped, shouting, through olive groves where the sunrise
reddened one side of the knotty trunks, and awoke a pearly sheen in the
gray mistlike foliage. Past old rock tombs, past caverns fledged with
fern, they dashed in the pink of morning. From an eminence, the city
walls appeared a blue cloud line just beneath the sun. The rays smote
their shoulders with a loving hand. They were free.
Shibli rode with them by indulgence of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn, before
whom they had laid their plan overnight. The saint had heard them
listlessly, as from a distance. He had approved of everything with the
slight impatience of one in haste to be rid of questions. But not so
Zeyd, the son of Abbâs. Sure that they were bent on some iniquity,
the fellâh had done all in the power of grimaces and private signals
to arouse misgiving in his master, all in vain; till at length, with a
shrug for an obtuseness which he knew for the God-sent rind of sanctity,
he accepted the inevitable. Executing a circular bow to comprise all
the enemy, he had besought them to brighten once again the village of
his wife’s sister’s husband’s uncle, who, poor good man, would thus be
rendered the happiest of living creatures. When Hassan welcomed the
suggestion, Zeyd had praised Allah as for a favor done to himself.
He looked to harvest from the lips of his distant relative such
clear evidence of their wickedness as should convince even a saint’s
incredulity.
But Hassan was not going to seek that village until the evening. He
wished to celebrate the release from entombing walls by a day’s ride in
quest of adventure.
Letting the horses resume a quiet pace, they joked and chatted together,
while the land led them onward by waves. At length, from between
some ancient olive trees which watched a sea of corn, they beheld a
flat-roofed village with three upper chambers like towers projecting
above the herd of dwellings.
“There, in sh’ Allah, we will break our fast,” said Hassan, to the joy
of Shibli, who, from excessive delight in the ride, was very hungry.
At the foot of a little height the village crowned, were women fetching
water from the spring. Their pitchers filled, they stood to gossip,
with arms akimbo. On beholding a crowd of riders, they huddled together
in alarm. Other women, at work in the field hard by, stood up to stare
at the strangers. A man with a preposterous turban came forth from the
village, yawning, with arms upraised. He had begun to descend toward
the spring, when he, too, caught sight of the horsemen, and stood still
beneath a young fig tree, his hand shading his eyes.
“We be soldiers,” shouted Hassan, loud enough to be heard of the man in
the distance. “O women, conduct us to the house of your sheykh.”
At that the women raised a wail, and wrung their hands. The man by the
fig tree ran back whence he came.
“O Allah, have mercy. What have our men worth requiring? O my lords,
there is nothing left with us. All our beasts are dead lately of a
murrain. A blight is on our crops these many years.”
“Draw near, O rising moon,” said Hassan, ogling the youngest and most
lissome of the group. “Fear not, O delight. It is but a drink from thy
pitcher. O mothers of mighty men, give to drink to my companions. We are
not wild beasts to devour you. Why so afraid?”
A moment they hung in a flutter. Then the girl, enticed of Hassan,
took a bold step forward, giggling at her companions. She held up her
pitcher. Having drunk his fill, Hassan hugged her in his arms. She gave
but a little scream and struggled faintly, giggling. Louder screams and
laughter came from the elder women, caught in like manner. The toilers in
the field applauded the pretty game.
“By Allah, my old mouth waters. My soul is sick for desire of thee,”
said Hassan, with the pant of love. “For the sake of all you women—how
beautiful! how seductive!—we will spare this village. Say I not well,
O my children? We will ask no more of the sheykh than to make for us a
little feast to confirm friendship. My peace on you.”
At that the girl who had served Hassan set off, running with rhythmic
hips, the pitcher poised upon her head. Before the horsemen reached the
house of the sheykh, she had convoked all the men of the place to do them
honor. Impressed by her breathless, eager tale, those villagers were
ready to make a holiday, to roast a sheep, and gorge thereon till night,
to spit a dozen fowls, to boil a hill of rice. But Hassan magnanimously
bade them spare their pains. He asked only bread and curds, a few olives,
a cup of coffee, for himself and each of his following. The crowd lost
speech in wonder at his moderation. His frugal needs were at once
supplied.
When he and all his company were satisfied, the villagers led them forth
with praise upon their way. At the foot of a rocky slope they said
farewell.
“What is the name of yonder shrine?” asked Hassan, pointing with his hand
to a mountain, on the summit of which, up against the sky, appeared the
form of a wely or saint’s tomb.
“His name is Neby Samwìl, may it please your Excellency,” the reply was
given by a score of voices.
“Is it a great shrine?”
The villagers shrugged shoulders, and smiled widely, glancing at one
another. It was as his Excellency pleased. Some pilgrims went there.
The cavalcade rode on by rough and stony ways, while the sun on their
backs shone hot and hotter. Wild flowers grew in beds between the rocks.
Now and then a bird cried. The hues of earth in contrast with the deep
blue sky were pale and dead, as sands beside the sea. A train of camels,
pursuing some other road, appeared and disappeared, mere dots upon the
sky line.
Coming in sight of another village, hardly separate from its surrounding
rocks, Hassan called the Thief to his side and gave some orders, heard of
Shibli, who rode near. “Take one other with thee,” were the concluding
words.
“Let me be that one,” pleaded Shibli eagerly.
“Thou, the scholar, the disciple of the Sheykh Shems-ud-dìn. Allah
forbid!”
“Nay, let me. I would show you all that I am not a coward. And in truth,
since the girl Alia is in the way of recovery, I care not what becomes of
me.”
“Go, then,” said Hassan, between a grin and a sneer. “And see that thou
support our Thief properly, else Ali, his friend, will surely beat thee.”
Shibli dropped behind with Nesìb, while Hassan and the rest of the party
rode on in earnest conference.
At entering the village, Ali, the only Arab left to them, cried aloud by
Hassan’s orders, so that all who rested from the heat looked forth at
their doors:
“O good people, O pious Muslimûn, come out and see. Lo! here be pilgrims
of distinction—holy men, none like them—men of renown. They come from
Jebel Câf, that mountain reaching into heaven, which is the boundary
of the whole earth. From Jebel Câf, I say, to visit your Neby Samwìl,
the illustrious, the blessed. It is an honor done to all your land.
Come forth and behold that which no poor man ever yet was privileged to
see—princes from Jebel Câf, which is under heaven.”
And when all the inhabitants stood gaping in their doorways:
“Come forth,” he cried, “beyond the houses. Let all see and hear alike.
This place is too narrow.”
Then, having lured them out into the open, Ali there addressed them at
great length; bidding them be good ever more, and sin never again, for
that they were now ennobled above all their fathers, having beheld the
kings of Jebel Câf, the very Gate of Heaven, who come once in a thousand
years. Their crops would increase thenceforth; all provisions in their
houses would abound miraculously. In the end, he besought Hassan to bless
them, and then rode off, leaving them perfectly bewildered.
Scarcely were they out of sight of those simpletons, when they espied
Shibli and the Thief seated under a rock beside the path, holding their
steeds by the headropes.
“It was the work of a minute,” cried Shibli, much excited. “We have
many useful things, but alas! no money. Nesìb has ten fowls which he
caught and bagged before I could have laid hand on one of them. Also,
he changed some things from house to house, so that those fellahìn may
suspect one another of the theft. He is a devil, this Thief. I had been
naught without him.”
Hassan looked hard at the speaker. “The praise to Allah,” he said, “we
have now two thieves instead of one.”
The boy’s eyes flashed with anger, and his lips parted to make answer.
The next minute his eyes swam in tears, and he hung his head, silenced.
For long he spoke no word to anyone, but rode apart in dudgeon or
despondency.
They came to a wady trending eastward athwart their road. A fairly
defined goat path ran along its hither bank. Saying they had gone far
enough in a straight line from the city, Hassan led the way upon that
narrow track, the rest following him in single file.
They had not proceeded far in the new direction ere their leader reined
up. The track was gone. But the sharp eyes of Nesìb made out a village
in the distance where they could be sure of learning the way. Hassan
resigned the post of leader to the Thief, himself riding second in the
file. He could thus converse with Nesìb without fear of being overheard.
“We have no money,” he said savagely. “Look to it that we obtain some
before evening. How can we enter the Tower, how fee the soldiers, without
money? I myself will help thee, if thou fearest a bold stroke.”
“No money.” Nesìb’s shoulders went up to his ears on the shrug of
despair. “I will do what is possible, O my dear lord! But money is not
like fowls, nor yet like flowers by the wayside. Allah witness, I can
neither catch nor pluck it. I know not beforehand where it lies. It must
come to my hand, or I cannot take it. Allah put it near me, since our
need is urgent.”
At the entering in of the village Nesìb had spied from afar, grew a fine
tree, beneath which, at the hour of their approach, lay two sturdy youths
asleep. These being awakened, one of them gladly undertook to guide their
honors to a place whence the road ran clear to El Cûds. For half an
hour he led them in and out among the stony hills till, near a village
superior in size and structure to any they had yet seen, he set them on
a wide track and pointed out their direction. Receiving some small coins
for his services, he cried on Allah to increase their wealth.
“May Allah heed him,” muttered Hassan, “for he has our last dinâr.”
The sun was still high when they learnt from some other wayfarers that
they were again near to the city and within a short hour of the village
of Zeyd’s relation. Hassan bade Shibli and the rest go on thither, while
he and Nesìb attended to some business they had to transact in common.
With laughter and knowing looks, the troop rode off.
Hassan and the Thief urged their horses up a small, steep hill, from the
top of which they beheld the city, and much country on all hands. Beneath
them in the dale they had just left were many olive trees a-shimmer in
the sun, which cast a filigree of shade upon the field and on the bridle
path which wound among them. Having secured their horses out of sight,
they sat to watch that path.
At last, when from long watching he had dropped to sleep, old Hassan was
aroused by an exclamation from the Thief at his side. He presently became
aware of figures moving upon the path, drawing near out of the distance.
He perceived a fat man bestriding a tall black jackass, and beside him
a servant, walking, holding a sunshade over the fat one’s head. The
donkey bore full saddlebags, to judge from the angle of projection of his
rider’s legs. And the fat man kept clutching the bosom of his robe, as if
that, too, were not empty.
“Come, O my lord. Let us descend,” hissed Nesìb. “Yon old man has our
money. Watch his hands; observe his glance of fear to every side.
Y’Allah!”
They stole rapidly down the hill, making use of every scrap of cover.
Long before the fat man and his servant reached the place of their
descent, two simple men, an old and a young, sat by the roadside, beneath
a wall that fenced the olive yards, holding one another’s hand, enjoying
innocent converse in that shady spot. The younger of the twain crooned a
love song with closed eyes.
All at once, as the black donkey came ambling by, the pair sprang up
suddenly, while the elder presented a large and very curious pistol at
the rider’s head.
Upon that, seeing the miscreants were two, himself but one, the servant
turned and fled with the open sunshade. A minute later, when the fat man
lay on the ground, puffing and cursing beneath the clever hands of Nesìb,
Hassan saw that servant afar off, frantically endeavoring to climb a
tree, while the parasol, still open, adorned the ground close by, seeming
some strange white flower.
At that instant Nesìb swore roundly. The fat man had bitten deep into the
wrist of his despoiler.
“Pig of a citizen!” yelled the Thief. “I will tear thy beard out. I will
stab thy filthy eyes.”
He kicked his victim, and would have leapt upon the hill of fatness had
not Hassan Agha restrained him.
“Nevertheless, he shall be punished, and that at once,” said the
Circassian. “We asked but his wealth; Allah witness, we bore no grudge
to this man more than to any other. But now, since he curses me and has
bitten my companion, the case is altered.”
So saying, he removed the saddlebags from the donkey’s back, then,
letting go the bridle, drove his dagger into its flank. The black jackass
screamed, plunged, and careered away.
Nesìb, meanwhile, was employed in tearing the raiment off the fallen fat
one, now quite paralyzed with rage. The despoiled gasped and gurgled
convulsively.
“O Allah, help! Shall men rob and outrage the Câdi of El Cûds, within
call of the city, and live? May Allah burn the abode of your wickedness.
By Allah, I shall be revenged. The day will come when I shall send you
forth to death. All robbers return to me. I am the Câdi.”
“Câdi or pig, thou hadst no right to bite my hand,” replied Nesìb
severely.
Having stripped him to his silken shirt and his voluminous drawers of
white calico, Nesìb, for a further insult, hoodwinked him with his own
turban, and bound together his wrists and ankles with strips cut from the
clothing taken from him. Then after Hassan he climbed back over the wall.
From a discreet place they watched what should befall. They saw the
servant clamber down from out his tree of refuge and, hesitating, with
fearful glances, approach his master. They saw him fumble with the bonds.
They heard the fat man’s scream of rage, when at length he could rise;
and observed him spit upon that servant, striking his face repeatedly, so
that the coward fell on his knees and howled for mercy. They waited to
see no more, but, full of quiet mirth, crept on their way.