Maïeddine did not try to see Victoria, or send her any message.
In spite of M'Barka's vision in the sand, and his own superstition, he
was sure now that nothing could come between him and his wish. The girl
was safe in the marabout's house, to which he had brought her, and it
was impossible for her to get away without his help, even if she were
willing to go, and leave the sister whom she had come so far to find.
Maïeddine knew what he could offer the marabout, and knew that the
marabout would willingly pay even a higher price than he meant to ask.
He lived in the guest-house, and had news sometimes from his cousin
Lella M'Barka in her distant quarters. She was tired, but not ill, and
the two sisters were very kind to her.
So three days passed, and the doves circled and moaned round the minaret
of the Zaouïa mosque, and were fed at sunset on the white roof, by hands
hidden from all eyes save eyes of birds.
On the third day there was great excitement at Oued Tolga. The marabout,
Sidi El Hadj Mohammed ben Abd el Kadr, came home, and was met on the way
by many people from the town and the Zaouïa.
His procession was watched by women on many roofs--with reverent
interest by some; with joy by one woman who was his wife; with fear and
despair by another, who had counted on his absence for a few days
longer. And Victoria stood beside her sister, looking out over the
golden silence towards the desert city of Oued Tolga, with a pair of
modern field-glasses sent to her by Si Maïeddine.
Maïeddine himself went out to meet the marabout, riding El Biod, and
conscious of unseen eyes that must be upon him. He was a notable figure
among the hundreds which poured out of town, and villages, and Zaouïa,
in honour of the great man's return; the noblest of all the desert men
in floating white burnouses, who rode or walked, with the sun turning
their dark faces to bronze, their eyes to gleaming jewels. But even
Maïeddine himself became insignificant as the procession from the Zaouïa
was joined by that from the city,--the glittering line in the midst of
which Sidi El Hadj Mohammed sat high on the back of a grey mehari.
From very far off Victoria saw the meeting, looking through the glasses
sent by Maïeddine, those which he had given her once before, bidding her
see how the distant dunes leaped forward.
Then as she watched, and the procession came nearer, rising and falling
among the golden sand-billows, she could plainly make out the majestic
form of the marabout. The sun blazed on the silver cross of his saddle,
and the spear-heads of the banners which waved around him; but he was
dressed with severe simplicity, in a mantle of green silk, with the
green turban to which he had earned the right by visiting Mecca. The
long white veil of many folds, which can be worn only by a descendant of
the Prophet, flowed over the green cloak; and the face below the eyes
was hidden completely by a mask of thin black woollen stuff, such as has
been named "nun's veiling" in Europe. He was tall, and no longer
slender, as Victoria remembered Cassim ben Halim to have been ten years
ago; but all the more because of his increasing bulk, was his bearing
majestic as he rode on the grey mehari, towering above the crowd. Even
the Agha, Si Maïeddine's father, had less dignity than that of this
great saint of the southern desert, returning like a king to his people,
after carrying through a triumphant mission.
"If only he had been a few days later!" Saidee thought.
And Victoria felt an oppressive sense of the man's power, wrapping round
her and her sister like a heavy cloak. But she looked above and beyond
him, into the gold, and with all the strength of her spirit she sent out
a call to Stephen Knight.
"I love you. Come to me. Save my sister and me. God, send him to us. He
said he would come, no matter how far. Now is the time. Let him come."
The silence of the golden sea was broken by cries of welcome to the
marabout, praises of Allah and the Prophet who had brought him safely
back, shouts of men, and wailing "you-yous" of women, shrill voices of
children, and neighing of horses.
Up the side of the Zaouïa hill, lame beggars crawled out of the river
bed, each hurrying to pass the others--hideous deformities, legless,
noseless, humpbacked, twisted into strange shapes like brown pots
rejected by the potter, groaning, whining, eager for the marabout's
blessing, a supper, and a few coins. Those who could afford a copper or
two were carried through the shallow water on the backs of half-naked,
sweating Negroes from the village; but those who had nothing except
their faith to support them, hobbled or crept over the stones, wetting
their scanty rags; laughed at by black and brown children who feared to
follow, because of the djinn who lived in a cave of evil yellow stones,
guarding a hidden spring which gushed into the river.
On Miluda's roof there was music, which could be heard from another
roof, nearer the minaret where the doves wheeled and moaned; and perhaps
the marabout himself could hear it, as he approached the Zaouïa; but
though it called him with a song of love and welcome, he did not answer
the call at once. First he took Maïeddine into his private reception
room, where he received only the guests whom he most delighted to
honour.
There, though the ceiling and walls were decorated in Arab fashion, with
the words, El Afia el Bakia, "eternal health," inscribed in lettering of
gold and red, opposite the door, all the furniture was French, gilded,
and covered with brocade of scarlet and gold. The curtains draped over
the inlaid cedar-wood shutters of the windows were of the same brocade,
and the beautiful old rugs from Turkey and Persia could not soften its
crudeness. The larger reception room from which this opened had still
more violent decorations, for there the scarlet mingled with vivid blue,
and there were curiosities enough to stock a museum--presents sent to
the marabout from friends and admirers all over the world. There were
first editions of rare books, illuminated missals, dinner services of
silver and gold, Dresden and Sèvres, and even Royal Worcester; splendid
crystal cases of spoons and jewellery; watches old and new; weapons of
many countries, and an astonishing array of clocks, all ticking, and
pointing to different hours. But the inner room, which only the intimate
friends of Sidi Mohammed ever saw, was littered with no such incongruous
collection. On the walls were a few fine pictures by well-known French
artists of the most modern school, mostly representing nude women; for
though the Prophet forbade the fashioning of graven images, he made no
mention of painting. There were comfortable divans, and little tables,
on which were displayed boxes of cigars and cigarettes, and egg-shell
coffee-cups in filigree gold standards.
In this room, behind shut doors, Maïeddine told his errand, not
forgetting to enumerate in detail the great things he could do for the
Cause, if his wish were granted. He did not speak much of Victoria, or
his love for her, but he knew that the marabout must reckon her beauty
by the price he was prepared to pay; and he gave the saint little time
to picture her fascinations. Nor did Sidi Mohammed talk of the girl, or
of her relationship to one placed near him; and his face (which he
unmasked with a sigh of relief when he and his friend were alone) did
not change as he listened, or asked questions about the services
Maïeddine would render the Cause. At first he seemed to doubt the
possibility of keeping such promises, some of which depended upon the
Agha; but Maïeddine's enthusiasm inspired him with increasing
confidence. He spoke freely of the great work that was being done by the
important societies of which he was the head; of what he had
accomplished in Oran, and had still to accomplish; of the arms and
ammunition smuggled into the Zaouïa and many other places, from France
and Morocco, brought by the "silent camels" in rolls of carpets and
boxes of dates. But, he added, this was only a beginning. Years must
pass before all was ready, and many more men, working heart and soul,
night and day, were needed. If Maïeddine could help, well and good. But
would the Agha yield to his influence?
"Not the Agha," Maïeddine answered, "but the Agha's people. They are my
people, too, and they look to me as their future head. My father is old.
There is nothing I cannot make the Ouled-Sirren do, nowhere I cannot bid
them go, if I lead."
"And wilt thou lead in the right way? If I give thee thy desire, wilt
thou not forget, when it is already thine?" the marabout asked. "When a
man wears a jewel on his finger, it does not always glitter so brightly
as when he saw and coveted it first."
"Not always. But in each man's life there is one jewel, supreme above
others, to possess which he eats the heart, and which, when it is his,
becomes the star of his life, to be worshipped forever. Once he has seen
the jewel, the man knows that there is nothing more glorious for him
this side heaven; that it is for him the All of joy, though to others,
perhaps, it might not seem as bright. And there is nothing he would not
do to have and to keep it."
The marabout looked intently at Maïeddine, searching his mind to the
depths; and the face of each man was lit by an inner flame, which gave
nobility to his expression. Each was passionately sincere in his way,
though the way of one was not the way of the other.
In his love Maïeddine was true, according to the light his religion and
the unchanging customs of his race had given him. He intended no wrong
to Victoria, and as he was sure that his love was an honour for her, he
saw no shame in taking her against what she mistakenly believed to be
her wish. Her confession of love for another man had shocked him at
first, but now he had come to feel that it had been but a stroke of
diplomacy on her part, and he valued her more than ever for her
subtlety. Though he realized dimly that with years his passion for her
might cool, it burned so hotly now that the world was only a frame for
the picture of her beauty. And he was sure that never in time to come
could he forget the thrill of this great passion, or grudge the price he
now offered and meant to pay.
Cassim ben Halim had begun his crusade under the name and banner of the
marabout, in the fierce hope of revenge against the power which broke
him, and with an entirely selfish wish for personal aggrandizement. But
as the years went on, he had converted himself to the fanaticism he
professed. Sidi El Hadj Mohammed ben Abd el Kadr had created an ideal
and was true to it. Still a selfish sensualist on one side of his
nature, there was another side capable of high courage and
self-sacrifice for the one cause which now seemed worth a sacrifice. To
the triumph of Islam over usurpers he was ready to devote his life, or
give his life; but having no mercy upon himself if it came to a question
between self and the Cause, he had still less mercy upon others, with
one exception; his son. Unconsciously, he put the little boy above all
things, all aims, all people. But as for Saidee's sister, the child he
remembered, who had been foolish enough and irritating enough to find
her way to Oued Tolga, he felt towards her, in listening to the story of
her coming, as an ardent student might feel towards a persistent midge
which disturbed his studies. If the girl could be used as a pawn in his
great game, she had a certain importance, otherwise none--except that
her midge-like buzzings must not annoy him, or reach ears at a
distance.
Both men were naturally schemers, and loved scheming for its own sake,
but never had either pitted his wits against the other with less
intention of hiding his real mind. Each was in earnest, utterly sincere,
therefore not ignoble; and the bargain was struck between the two with
no deliberate villainy on either side. The marabout promised his wife's
sister to Maïeddine with as little hesitation as a patriarch of Israel,
three thousand years ago, would have promised a lamb for the sacrificial
altar. He stipulated only that before the marriage Maïeddine should
prove, not his willingness, but his ability to bring his father's people
into the field.
"Go to the douar," he said, "and talk with the chief men. Then bring
back letters from them, or send if thou wilt, and the girl shall be thy
wife. I shall indeed be gratified by the connection between thine
illustrious family and mine."
Maïeddine had expected this, though he had hoped that his eloquence
might persuade the marabout to a more impulsive agreement. "I will do
what thou askest," he answered, "though it means delay, and delay is
hard to bear. When I passed through the douar, my father's chief caïds
were on the point of leaving for Algiers, to do honour to the Governor
by showing themselves at the yearly ball. They will have started before
I can reach the douar again, by the fastest travelling, for as thou
knowest, I should be some days on the way."
"Go then to Algiers, and meet them. That is best, and will be quicker,
since journeying alone, thou canst easily arrive at Touggourt in three
days from here. In two more, by taking a carriage and relays of horses,
thou canst be at Biskra; and after that, there remains but the seventeen
hours of train travelling."
"How well thou keepest track of all progress, though things were
different when thou wast last in the north," Maïeddine said.
"It is my business to know all that goes on in my own country, north,
south, east, and west. When wilt thou start?"
"To-night."
"Thou art indeed in earnest! Thou wilt of course pay thine own respects
to the Governor? I will send him a gift by thee, since there is no
reason he should not know that we have met. The mission on which thou
wert ostensibly travelling brought thee to the south."
"I will take thy gift and messages with pleasure." Maïeddine said. "It
was expected that I should return for the ball, and present myself in
place of my father, who is too old now for such long journeys; but I
intended to make my health an excuse for absence. I should have pleaded
a touch of the sun, and a fever caught in the marshes while carrying out
the mission. Indeed, it is true that I am subject to fever. However, I
will go, since thou desirest. The ball, which was delayed, is now fixed
for a week from to-morrow. I will show myself for some moments, and the
rest of the night I can devote to a talk with the caïds. I know what the
result will be. And a fortnight from to-morrow thou wilt see me here
again with the letters."
"I believe thou wilt not fail," the marabout answered. "And neither will
I fail thee."