From visiting his daughter’s grave, Shems-ud-dìn sauntered round by the
walls of the city till he came to that rocky steep, at the top of which
he had preached to the negroes. He took a path that ran down slantwise
into the wady, and the embattled walls were soon lost to sight. Mâs and
Zeyd, the son of Abbâs, followed him implicitly, though at a discreet
distance, and when at length he crossed his legs in the shade of a little
bluff, they took example from him and did likewise.
The sheykh’s face was coldly serene as he gazed on the sunburnt rocks,
among which rose ancient tombs strange of shape. He had sat there in
peace about an hour when a shout disturbed him. It fell from the rocks
above, and ruffled his countenance as a stone the surface of a pool.
Other shouts ensued. He recognized the voice of Hassan, the laugh of
Shibli. Men came scrambling down the rocks. With scarce an effort he
admitted the call for patience, and his brow smoothed again.
“Allah comfort thee, O sheykh,” cried the foremost of the Circassians.
“May the wound to thy soul be healed. May that treacherous Frank perish,
his house be burnt, his parents dishonored. Already we have done
something to avenge thee. In sh’ Allah, we have made him quake a little.”
“I hear words of no meaning,” said Shems-ud-dìn, who had risen. “What
intend you by such talk?”
Dismayed by the stern front opposed by their saint to news they had
deemed most welcome, the men herded, silent and abashed, pending the
arrival of their chief who, being elderly and stiff at the joints, used
caution in the descent from rock to rock. At length Hassan, breathless,
slid down among them.
“O beloved, how great the grief. How I sorrow with thee,” he exclaimed
in accents of condolence. “By Allah, it seems ten years since last I saw
thee.”
“It is in truth some days, and thou art welcome, O my dear. But say, what
is this of which thy companions prate—some outrage done to the hakìm, my
benefactor?” Shems-ud-dìn stood erect, severely questioning. His eyes met
Hassan’s steadily.
The Guardian of the Frontier hung his head as at the Last Day. But soon
recovering, he told the story of the riot, representing it as a game, a
little pleasantry at the expense of one who had deserved much worse at
their hands; for had he not obtained their presents by a false pretense?
“As for naming him thy benefactor, O scion of a noble house, I grieve to
hear thee thus exalt the dirt beneath thee. Hast thou not paid him as
though he had performed his covenant? Surely he is thy debtor. Remains
the affront to thee and all of us here.”
“I laugh for pity,” said Shems-ud-dìn, with a fleeting smile. “In the
case of some other than myself, I might laugh with amusement, for the
thing is ludicrous. Is it not a stock expedient with the provokers of
mirth to throw the punishment for crime upon some good man and simple,
most innocent thereof? I alone have sinned, and lo! you visit my sin upon
this physician, whose fault has been excess of kindness. Shall I not own
obligation? I offered the half of my fortune; I struck no bargain with
him beforehand; he could have claimed the half of me. Yet, when it came
to the reckoning, he asked but his just due, and named all the items in
account. Which of you, in his place, would have dealt so gently with a
stranger?
“You assail his house, assault, affright him. By what right, I demand
to know? Are you, and not I, in account with him? Hear the words of
Allah. You know the korân, ‘He that shall err, shall err only for his own
soul, nor shall any laden be charged with another’s burden’; and again,
‘The fate of every man is tied about his neck.’ By what right, then, do
you meddle with the things which concern me only? Is your sympathy for
me so great that, seeing I have sinned, you must sin yourselves more
abominably?... Go, O Zeyd. Speed to the house of that worthy infidel.
Express to him my regret for the disturbance caused to his house by
these, my too ardent sympathizers.”
“Ready, O my master.” Zeyd moved to obey, but laggingly, and with the
mien of one much loath. For Zeyd prized the eloquence of Shems-ud-dìn
above all jewels. The fine words, accurately pronounced by the scholar,
sang of love to his soul, which languished as a bride expectant. And
never had Shems-ud-dìn spoken as now he spoke, with such authority, such
inspiration in the choice of fitting words. Zeyd grudged that feast
to the Circassians, to Mâs, to fickle Shibli. He alone could quite
appreciate it; and he must go. He went very slowly.
The other listeners, disconcerted by the attitude of their saint, still
more by an unwonted smile which flickered round his lips, had not a word
to reply. Sarcasm was a weapon they all feared, and it was the weapon
least expected from so mild a man. But what they took for sarcasm in this
instance was, in truth, but the natural expression of one new-weaned from
earthly longing, whose mind now dwelt with Allah and beheld the things of
earth from an immeasurable height.
He went on to speak to them of his own sin, quoting, “Man prays for evil,
as he prays for good, for man is unthinking”; when all personal feelings
became lost in pure admiration of his golden gift. His language grew so
refined, his mind soared so near to heaven, that they, his hearers, could
only gasp and praise the Lord.
“Hear the supreme khatìb. O my soul, the heavenly preacher,” panted one
and another.
All at once there burst a sobbing cry from out the rocks above, the cry
of one at the pang of sensual enjoyment.
“Ah, ah! his lips are gold. Gems shower from them. O my eyes! O Allah One
and Unaccompanied!”
The preacher paused and glanced upward. A disreputable tarbûsh, garnished
with a dirty rag by way of turban, peeped above a neighboring crag.
“O Zeyd,” cried the sheykh severely, “art thou not sped then? Since it
irks thee to do my bidding, Mâs goes instead of thee.”
“Nay, I go, O my lord.” The face and shoulders, half the form of Zeyd,
popped up very suddenly. “But oh, what words! What treasure! O blessed
day!” He was seen to scale the rocks with alacrity.
His master smiled; and even in the moment of displeasure there had been
that about his mouth and in his eyes which showed that the mind despised
its own vexation.
Shems-ud-dìn continued to speak of sin, and the need of good works, and
of the judgment, when a book shall be given to each of the sons of men
wherein he shall read his own account for good or evil.
The sun of noon burned overhead, yet none stirred to escape its rays.
Above the wady, a gash in the rugged landscape, a hawk hovered, seeming
motionless. Faint sounds came wafted from a village on the yonder steep,
of one color with the rocks to which it clung.
At length a growth of noise above them excited curiosity. Some of the
circle rose and scanned the height.
“Ma sh’ Allah!” cried Hassan. “A bird must have carried the fame of thy
discourse into the city, O beloved, for much people watch us from the
rocks.”
“Allah! What was it flashed there, behind that stone?”
“By the Korân, there are men all about us, moving secretly.”
Hassan Agha tugged at his white mustache.
“Let us be walking,” he commanded. “Show no concern, my children, nor
fight, for the foe is numerous. With thy leave, O beloved, we will return
to the city together.”
Shems-ud-dìn, undismayed, took the hand held out to him, and walked with
his old friend slowly along the path which wound upward among the rocks.
“Stand, all of you.”
From beside an ancient tomb two soldiers stood forth suddenly, barring
the way. At that Hassan railed:
“What ails you, O my dears? Has the sun addled your wits that you venture
to command this holy man, a great one, no less than brother to the
renowned Milhem Pasha, whom Allah preserve.”
Soldiers were now all about them, joking good-naturedly. There had been
no resistance, and they were grateful, for it was very hot.
“Allah witness how I grieve for you,” laughed one in whom Hassan
recognized the Bimbashi Muhammed. “But to sift the innocent from the
guilty is not our business. That belongs to the judge; let him see to it.
By Allah, thou art out of luck, old fox. This is no jesting matter like
ours of the other night.”
The man held his tongue, for a superior officer now approached them,
scrambling up from below. Hassan scanned the features of the newcomer
eagerly, but sighed; it was not Abd-ur-Rahman.
“With what are we charged?” he inquired, scorn born of indignation making
the words a sword thrust.
“By my life, I know not for certain,” came the light rejoinder. “There is
talk of a riot and a man slain, an old negro, the slave of a Jew of some
sort, who is an English subject. It is a word from the English consul
that has fluttered the Mutesarrif; we do not move so quickly in the cause
of true belief. A sin, as my brother—who is religious—rightly says.
But what would you? The infidels—Jew and Christian—outnumber us here
in the proportion of ten to one; and they have strong and unscrupulous
protectors in the Powers of Europe. To keep the mastery we must sometimes
throw a crumb. May Allah cleanse you of the charge.”
Shems-ud-dìn heard these words and many others; but their purport
remained vague to him. He perceived only, and with a species of
exultation, that he was called upon to exhibit that strength in
resignation which now informed his whole being. On the broad road,
beneath the echoing gate, in the rough-paved streets, he heard the murmur
of a crowd, restless, inquisitive. Here it surrounded them, there dropped
behind. Of a sudden, in a sunless place, a man cried suddenly:
“O Hassan Agha! O holy Shems-ud-dìn! O Allah most high! What thing do
we behold?” The voice went along with them, shouting questions, till at
length it fawned in entreaty. “O lords of kindness! O soldiers brave and
good! Take us also, for the crime is ours.”
“Since thou and thy friend desire the scourge, the prison, even death,
perhaps, who am I to gainsay thee, O father of two bad legs?” laughed
the captain of the guard; and Nesìb the Thief, sustained of Ali, came in
among them.
At the door of the Mehkemeh, several of the curious slipped in with the
prisoners, for these were too plentiful for the soldiers to keep strict
count, though the trial was ordered to be secret.
The hall, murmurous with their voices, struck dark on Shems-ud-dìn. It
was some time ere he could see the likeness of the judge; but at length
he discerned a fat man seated in apparent dejection upon a dais, a
scribe before him, and on his right hand one but little leaner, who wore
Frankish clothes beneath his fez, and appeared in the best of spirits—a
servant of the English consul, it was whispered.