As soon as possible, which was as soon as their own riding camels
could be brought from wherever they had been hidden, the Moslem soldiers
mounted and prepared to set out. On the point of mounting Ben Akbar, Ali
was knocked to the ground by the flat of the fierce officer's sword and
informed in terms that left no room for doubt that he was Ben Akbar's
attendant. Nobody except the Pasha of Damascus was to be his rider.
Despite clear grounds for argument, Ali smothered his anger and
comforted himself with logic. There are times to fight, but on this
specific occasion logic indicated clearly that one man armed with a
dagger can hope for nothing except a very certain demise by defying
twenty men who are armed with everything. Ali walked beside the _dalul_,
a rather simple process, since the speed of all must necessarily be
regulated by the pace of the slow baggage camels, and Ben Akbar refused
to leave his friend's side, anyhow.
With nightfall, they made camp at a water hole too small to be dignified
by the title of oasis. After he had finished eating, the officer
contemptuously tossed Ali the remains of his meal and a silken cord. He
said nothing, apparently he had no desire to degrade himself by speaking
unnecessarily to anyone who was so clearly and so greatly his inferior,
but the implication was obvious. Ben Akbar must not stray.
Knowing the cord was unnecessary, Ali chose the diplomatic course. He
tied one end of the cord to his wrist and the other around the young
_dalul's_ neck. While Ben Akbar grazed, Ali sat quietly and devoted a
few fleeting thoughts to the various possibilities of a social position
that is approximately on a level with the fleas that torment camels--and
sometimes riders of camels.
While it was true that the soldiers, grouped about their evening fire,
ignored him as completely as though he didn't even exist, Ali saw no
good reason why he should ignore them in a similar fashion. He breathed
a silent thanks to Allah for blessing him with sharp ears. What those
ears heard as Ali sat pretending to doze, but alert as a desert fox,
might have a powerful influence on his plans for the future.
There were diverse possibilities. One that had already been considered
most thoroughly and at great length was rooted in the pleasing thought
that Ben Akbar was no longer a tired, hungry and thirsty _dalul_. Given
as much as a five-second start, there wasn't another camel on the desert
that could even hope to catch him.
If this was to be Ali's choice, tonight was the time for action. But
before committing himself to anything, he wanted to consider everything.
The patrol, as Ali had learned from the conversation at the campfire,
was one of several dispatched from the great _Hadj_ six days ago. Their
only purpose was to find Ben Akbar; their orders were not to return
without him.
Ben Akbar had been lost, so Ali learned, through the laxity of a
seven-times-cursed camel driver from Smyrna. His only duty, a task to
which he'd been assigned because he was one of the very few men Ben
Akbar would obey, was to watch over the Pasha's most-prized _dalul_.
Somehow or other--a soldier voiced the opinion that he'd been in
collusion with the very Druse from whom Ali had taken him--he'd managed
to lose his charge. All the soldiers gave fervent thanks to Allah
because their mission was successfully completed. Hunting lost camels
was not their idea of interesting diversion.
Ali digested the food for thought thus provided and decided, to his own
satisfaction, that his previous deduction had been entirely correct. He
had not been spared because the Moslem soldiers were compassionate, but
because not one among them knew how to handle Ben Akbar without resorting
to force. Furthermore, if Ben Akbar were not greatly esteemed, several
patrols of soldiers who might at any time be needed for other duties
never would have been charged with the exclusive task of recovering him.
While Ben Akbar moved so carefully that the silken cord was never even
taut, Ali lay back to gaze at the sky and consider the most profitable
use of the information at his disposal.
If he rode into the desert on Ben Akbar, a possibility that retained
much appeal, he need have no fear of successful pursuit. However, the
Pasha's soldiers would certainly continue their search. As long as Ben
Akbar was with him--and Ali had already decided that that would be as
long as he lived--he must inevitably be a marked man. Unless he rode
into a country ruled by some sultan or Pasha who was hostile to the
Pasha of Damascus--in which event there was a fine chance of having his
throat cut by someone who wanted to steal Ben Akbar--he would lead a
harassed and harried life.
On the other hand, if he stayed with the soldiers and went into camp, he'd
be doing exactly what he'd set out to do in the first place--he'd join the
great _Hadj_. As there seemed to be few camel drivers who knew how to
handle Ben Akbar, there was more than a good chance that Ali would make
the pilgrimage as his attendant. Since he'd already determined that Ben
Akbar would be a part of his future, regardless of what that was or where
it led him, this prospect was entrancing. In addition, once his holy
pilgrimage was properly completed, he would be entitled to call himself
Hadji Ali and to take advantage of the expanded horizon derived therefrom.
Only one small cloud of doubt prevented Ali from choosing this latter
course without further hesitation or thought. The Moslem officer's voice
had been laden with more than casual respect when he referred to Al Misri,
or The Egyptian. The casual pronouncement that The Egyptian was to have
the pleasure of executing Ali might be, and probably was, just another
attempt to intimidate him. But this was the Syrian _Hadj_. As such, it
differed distinctly from the Moslem pilgrimage that originated in and
departed from Cairo, Egypt. Every Syrian knew that Egyptians are inferior.
The very fact that a responsible and high-ranking officer of the Syrian
_Hadj_ possessed the sheer brazen effrontery to call himself The Egyptian,
plus the strength and authority to command respect for such a title, was
more than enough to mark him as a man apart. Doubtless he was a man of
firm convictions that were translated into action without loss of time. If
he had, or if he should develop, a firm conviction that Ali dead was more
pleasing than Ali alive--
Ali finally decided to go in with the soldiers and trust Allah. His
decision made, he lay down, arranged his burnous to suit him and went
peacefully to sleep.
In the thin, cold light of very early morning, he came awake and, as
usual, lay quietly before moving. The silken cord that was tied to his
wrist and Ben Akbar's neck was both slack and motionless; the _dalul_
must be resting. The dagger and pilgrim's robe were safe. Reassured
concerning the state of his personal world and possessions of the
moment, Ali sat up and looked toward Ben Akbar.
No more than a dozen feet away, the young _dalul_ was standing quietly
where he had finished grazing. An ecstatic glow lighted Ali's eyes. Ben
Akbar's recuperative powers must be as marvelous as his speed and
endurance. He scarcely seemed to be the same spent and reeling beast
that Ali had led into ambush yesterday morning. After only one night's
rest and grazing, even his hump was noticeably bigger.
Ali joined the other Moslems at morning prayer, stood humbly aside as
they saddled and mounted and started the baggage camels moving and fell
in behind with Ben Akbar. Nobody paid the least attention to him; if he
planned to escape, he would not be fool enough to make the attempt by
day.
Four hours later, the travelers looked from a hillock upon the great
_Hadj_.
A sea of tents, like rippling waves, overflowed and seemed about to
overwhelm a broad valley. There were no palms or any other indication of
water. Obviously, this was a dry camp--one of many on the long, dangerous
route--and dry camps were the primary reason why so many baggage camels
were needed. But even with thousands of baggage camels burdened with food
and water, often there was not enough. Falling in that order to thirst,
bandits, disease or hunger--or succumbing to the desert itself--a full
third of the pilgrims with any _Hadj_ might die before reaching the Holy
City.
Save for a few tethered camels and some horses, there were no animals in
sight. Ali knew that the majority had been given over to herders and
were in various pastures. The picketed camels and horses were for the
convenience of those who might find it necessary to ride.
For the most part, the camp would rest all day. Only when late afternoon
shadows tempered the glaring sun would it come awake. Then, guided by
blazing torches on either flank, at the mile-or mile-and-a-half-an-hour
which was the swiftest pace so many baggage animals could maintain, it
would march toward Mecca all night long.
Impressive as the camp appeared, Ali knew also that it was just a small
part--though one of the wealthier parts or there would not have been so
many tents--of the great _Hadj_. There was not a single valley in the
entire desert spacious enough to accommodate the five thousand humans,
and the more than twenty thousand beasts, whose destination was the Holy
City of Mecca.
After a brief halt, the officer led his men down into the camp. There
were few humans stirring, and those who were regarded the returning
patrol with complete indifference.
In the very center of the camp, before a huge and luxurious tent that,
together with its furnishings, must require a whole herd of baggage
camels just to transport it, the officer dismounted, handed the reins of
his riding camel to a soldier and entered the tent. The remainder of the
patrol formed an armed circle around Ali and Ben Akbar.
Wishing he could feel as unconcerned as he hoped he appeared, Ali sought
to ease the tension by observing and speculating. This tent, he
presently decided, was not headquarters for the Pasha himself. Though
the Pasha's tent couldn't possibly be much more luxurious, it would be
surrounded by the camps of other dignitaries, and the whole would be so
well-guarded by soldiers that nobody could have come even near. Ali
guessed that this was the headquarters of Al Misri, and that they were
in a camp of officers and lesser notables.
Twenty minutes after he entered the tent--Ali guessed shrewdly that he
had been allowed to cool his heels for a decorous interval--the officer
backed out. He bowed, a curious and somehow a ludicrous gesture for anyone
so fiery, and held the tent flaps open. When a second man emerged, the
officer stepped humbly to one side and waited whatever action the other
might consider.
Short and squat, at first glance Al Misri seemed a shapeless lump of
human flesh that has somehow been given the breath of life. His silken
robe hung loosely open. Uncovered, his massive head seemed to be
supported directly on his shoulders, without benefit of or need for a
neck. It was bald as an egg. He plopped a date into his mouth and chewed
it as the soldiers moved respectfully back to give him room.
Yet Ali needed only one glance to tell him that Al Misri was far more
than just a funny little fat man who chewed dates in a rather disgusting
manner. His grotesque body was enveloped in an aura not unlike that
which enfolded Ben Akbar. Al Misri commanded because it was his destiny
to command.
He came near, spat the date pit into Ali's face and spoke to the
officer. The latter conveyed the message to Ali.
"Even though Al Misri prefers to kill vermin, you are granted your life.
You win this favor, not through compassion, but because you are able to
ride a _dalul_ that kills other men."
Ali remained silent, as was expected of him. Al Misri gave the officer
another message for the captive camel driver.
"The other keeper of the _dalul_ let it stray," the officer announced.
"The keeper died in a fire, a very slow fire that was kindled at dawn,
but the keeper still nodded his head at high noon. You are now keeper of
the _dalul_. Take care that it strays not."
Without another word or a backward glance, Al Misri turned and waddled
back to his tent. The officer disbanded his men.
Ali led Ben Akbar to pasture at the edge of camp.
* * * * *
The travelers came to Tanim, far enough outside Holy Territory so that
there was no possibility of desecrating it, but near enough to furnish a
convenient stopping place for donning the _ihram_, in the cool of early
morning. Not all who had been with the _Hadj_ when Ali finally joined
it--and not all who had since come from one place or another--were still
present. Many good Moslems who would never see the Holy City had died
trying to reach it.
Ali reflected curiously that some of the more devout were dead, while
some who seemed to regard this holy journey in anything except a pious
light were very much alive. A merchant who had come all the way from
Damascus, and who was about to don the _ihram_, deferred the ceremony so
that he might bargain about something or other with another merchant
from Smyrna. Though they were all Moslems--except for The Jackal, Ali
thought quickly--obviously the true light burned brightly for some and
dimly for others.
Ali wondered uneasily about the category in which he belonged. He
worried about the fact that he did not feel greatly different from the
way he had felt while out on the caravan routes or in the bazaar of The
Street Called Straight. He thought he should feel something else.
Though many had died, his pilgrimage had been almost luxurious. He had
nothing at all to do except watch over Ben Akbar, which was simplicity
itself because the powerful young _dalul_ wanted nothing except to be
where Ali was. Though Ali was forbidden to ride, the Pasha of Damascus,
the only human worthy of riding Ben Akbar, had allowed himself to be
carried all the way to Mecca in a sedan chair. Seeing the Pasha once,
and from a distance, Ali decided, to his own satisfaction, at least,
that he had not asked to ride Ben Akbar for the simple reason that he
couldn't. Judging by the Pasha's looks, he'd have trouble riding an
age-broken baggage camel.
Always together, Ali and Ben Akbar had walked all the way. It had still
been the easiest of walks since, as long as he took care of Ben Akbar
and kept himself in the background, Ali was assured ample food and
water. With the finest of care and nothing to do, Ben Akbar was at the
very peak of perfection.
With appropriate ceremony, Ali donned the _ihram_ and ran a mental tally
of the things he must not do until the _Hadj_ came to an end. He must wear
neither head nor foot covering. He must not shave, trim his nails--But
there was nothing in the entire list that forbade taking Ben Akbar with
him. Ali remained troubled, nevertheless because, try as he would, he was
unable to achieve what he considered a necessary level of piety.
Rather than feeling spiritually uplifted by what had been and what was
to be, he could think only that, very shortly, he would have the right
to call himself Hadji Ali.