THE MESSENGER
For the rest of the day she kept the cabin, chafing with anxiety to
know what was toward and the more racked by it because Sakr-el-Bahr
refrained through all those hours from coming to her. At last towards
evening, unable longer to contain herself, she went forth again, and as
it chanced she did so at an untimely moment.
The sun had set, and the evening prayer was being recited aboard the
galeasse, her crew all prostrate. Perceiving this, she drew back again
instinctively, and remained screened by the curtain until the prayer
was ended. Then putting it aside, but without stepping past the Nubians
who were on guard, she saw that on her left Asad-ed-Din, with Marzak,
Biskaine, and one or two other officers, was again occupying the divan
under the awning. Her eyes sought Sakr-el-Bahr, and presently they
beheld him coming up the gangway with his long, swinging stride, in the
wake of the boat-swain’s mates who were doling out the meagre evening
meal to the slaves.
Suddenly he halted by Lionel, who occupied a seat at the head of his
oar immediately next to the gangway. He addressed him harshly in the
lingua franca, which Lionel did not understand, and his words rang
clearly and were heard—as he intended that they should be—by all upon
the poop.
“Well, dog? How does galley-slave fare suit thy tender stomach?”
Lionel looked up at him.
“What are you saying?” he asked in English.
Sakr-el-Bahr bent over him, and his face as all could see was evil and
mocking. No doubt he spoke to him in English also, but no more than a
murmur reached the straining ears of Rosamund, though from his
countenance she had no doubt of the purport of his words. And yet she
was far indeed from a correct surmise. The mockery in his countenance
was but a mask.
“Take no heed of my looks,” he was saying. “I desire them up yonder to
think that I abuse you. Look as a man would who were being abused.
Cringe or snarl, but listen. Do you remember once when as lads we swam
together from Penarrow to Trefusis Point?”
“What do you mean?” quoth Lionel, and the natural sullenness of his
mien was all that Sakr-el-Bahr could have desired.
“I am wondering whether you could still swim as far. If so you might
find a more appetizing supper awaiting you at the end—aboard Sir John
Killigrew’s ship. You had not heard? The Silver Heron is at anchor in
the bay beyond that headland. If I afford you the means, could you swim
to her do you think?”
Lionel stared at him in profoundest amazement. “Do you mock me?” he
asked at length.
“Why should I mock you on such a matter?”
“Is it not to mock me to suggest a way for my deliverance?”
Sakr-el-Bahr laughed, and he mocked now in earnest. He set his left
foot upon the rowers’ stretcher, and leaned forward and down his elbow
upon his raised knee so that his face was close to Lionel’s.
“For your deliverance?” said he. “God’s life! Lionel, your mind was
ever one that could take in naught but your own self. ’Tis that has
made a villain of you. Your deliverance! God’s wounds! Is there none
but yourself whose deliverance I might desire? Look you, now I want you
to swim to Sir John’s ship and bear him word of the presence here of
this galeasse and that Rosamund is aboard it. ’Tis for her that I am
concerned, and so little for you that should you chance to be drowned
in the attempt my only regret will be that the message was not
delivered. Will you undertake that swim? It is your one sole chance
short of death itself of escaping from the rower’s bench. Will you go?”
“But how?” demanded Lionel, still mistrusting him.
“Will you go?” his brother insisted.
“Afford me the means and I will,” was the answer.
“Very well.” Sakr-el-Bahr leaned nearer still. “Naturally it will be
supposed by all who are watching us that I am goading you to
desperation. Act, then, your part. Up, and attempt to strike me. Then
when I return the blow—and I shall strike heavily that no make-believe
may be suspected—collapse on your oar pretending to swoon. Leave the
rest to me. Now,” he added sharply, and on the word rose with a final
laugh of derision as if to take his departure.
But Lionel was quick to follow the instructions. He leapt up in his
bonds, and reaching out as far as they would permit him, he struck
Sakr-el-Bahr heavily upon the face. On his side, too, there was to be
no make-believe apparent. That done he sank down with a clank of
shackles to the bench again, whilst every one of his fellow-slaves that
faced his way looked on with fearful eyes.
Sakr-el-Bahr was seen to reel under the blow, and instantly there was a
commotion on board. Biskaine leapt to his feet with a half-cry of
astonishment; even Asad’s eyes kindled with interest at so unusual a
sight as that of a galley-slave attacking a corsair. Then with a snarl
of anger, the snarl of an enraged beast almost, Sakr-el-Bahr’s great
arm was swung aloft and his fist descended like a hammer upon Lionel’s
head.
Lionel sank forward under the blow, his senses swimming. Sakr-el-Bahr’s
arm swung up a second time.
“Thou dog!” he roared, and then checked, perceiving that Lionel
appeared to have swooned.
He turned and bellowed for Vigitello and his mates in a voice that was
hoarse with passion. Vigitello came at a run, a couple of his men at
his heels.
“Unshackle me this carrion, and heave it overboard,” was the harsh
order. “Let that serve as an example to the others. Let them learn thus
the price of mutiny in their lousy ranks. To it, I say.”
Away sped a man for hammer and chisel. He returned with them at once.
Four sharp metallic blows rang out, and Lionel was dragged forth from
his place to the gangway-deck. Here he revived, and screamed for mercy
as though he were to be drowned in earnest.
Biskaine chuckled under the awning, Asad looked on approvingly,
Rosamund drew back, shuddering, choking, and near to fainting from
sheer horror.
She saw Lionel borne struggling in the arms of the boatswain’s men to
the starboard quarter, and flung over the side with no more compunction
or care than had he been so much rubbish. She heard the final scream of
terror with which he vanished, the splash of his fall, and then in the
ensuing silence the laugh of Sakr-el-Bahr.
For a spell she stood there with horror and loathing of that renegade
corsair in her soul. Her mind was bewildered and confused. She sought
to restore order in it, that she might consider this fresh deed of his,
this act of wanton brutality and fratricide. And all that she could
gather was the firm conviction that hitherto he had cheated her; he had
lied when he swore that his aim was to effect her deliverance. It was
not in such a nature to know a gentle mood of penitence for a wrong
done. What might be his purpose she could not yet perceive, but that it
was an evil one she never doubted, for no purpose of his could be aught
but evil. So overwrought was she now that she forgot all Lionel’s sins,
and found her heart filled with compassion for him hurled in that
brutal fashion to his death.
And then, quite suddenly a shout rang out from the forecastle.
“He is swimming!”
Sakr-el-Bahr had been prepared for the chance of this.
“Where? Where?” he cried, and sprang to the bulwarks.
“Yonder!” A man was pointing. Others had joined him and were peering
through the gathering gloom at the moving object that was Lionel’s head
and the faintly visible swirl of water about it which indicated that he
swam.
“Out to sea!” cried Sakr-el-Bahr. “He’ll not swim far in any case. But
we will shorten his road for him.” He snatched a cross-bow from the
rack about the mainmast, fitted a shaft to it and took aim.
On the point of loosing the bolt he paused.
“Marzak!” he called. “Here, thou prince of marksmen, is a butt for
thee!”
From the poop-deck whence with his father he too was watching the
swimmer’s head, which at every moment became more faint in the failing
light, Marzak looked with cold disdain upon his challenger, making no
reply. A titter ran through the crew.
“Come now,” cried Sakr-el-Bahr. “Take up thy bow!”
“If thou delay much longer,” put in Asad, “he will be beyond thine aim.
Already he is scarcely visible.”
“The more difficult a butt, then,” answered Sakr-el-Bahr, who was but
delaying to gain time. “The keener test. A hundred philips, Marzak,
that thou’lt not hit me that head in three shots, and that I’ll sink
him at the first! Wilt take the wager?”
“The unbeliever is for ever peeping forth from thee,” was Marzak’s
dignified reply. “Games of chance are forbidden by the Prophet.”
“Make haste, man!” cried Asad. “Already I can scarce discern him. Loose
thy quarrel.”
“Pooh,” was the disdainful answer. “A fair mark still for such an eye
as mine. I never miss—not even in the dark.”
“Vain boaster,” said Marzak.
“Am I so?” Sakr-el-Bahr loosed his shaft at last into the gloom, and
peered after it following its flight, which was wide of the direction
of the swimmer’s head. “A hit!” he cried brazenly. “He’s gone!”
“I think I see him still,” said one.
“Thine eyes deceive thee in this light. No man was ever known to swim
with an arrow through his brain.”
“Ay,” put in Jasper, who stood behind Sakr-el-Bahr. “He has vanished.”
“’Tis too dark to see,” said Vigitello.
And then Asad turned from the vessel’s side. “Well, well—shot or
drowned, he’s gone,” he said, and there the matter ended.
Sakr-el-Bahr replaced the cross-bow in the rack, and came slowly up to
the poop.
In the gloom he found himself confronted by Rosamund’s white face
between the two dusky countenances of his Nubians. She drew back before
him as he approached, and he, intent upon imparting his news to her,
followed her within the poop-house, and bade Abiad bring lights.
When these had been kindled they faced each other, and he perceived her
profound agitation and guessed the cause of it. Suddenly she broke into
speech.
“You beast! You devil!” she panted. “God will punish you! I shall spend
my every breath in praying Him to punish you as you deserve. You
murderer! You hound! And I like a poor simpleton was heeding your false
words. I was believing you sincere in your repentance of the wrong you
have done me. But now you have shown me....”
“How have I hurt you in what I have done to Lionel?” he cut in, a
little amazed by so much vehemence.
“Hurt me!” she cried, and on the words grew cold and calm again with
very scorn. “I thank God it is beyond your power to hurt me. And I
thank you for correcting my foolish misconception of you, my belief in
your pitiful pretence that it was your aim to save me. I would not
accept salvation at your murderer’s hands. Though, indeed, I shall not
be put to it. Rather,” she pursued, a little wildly now in her deep
mortification, “are you like to sacrifice me to your own vile ends,
whatever they may be. But I shall thwart you, Heaven helping me. Be
sure I shall not want courage for that.” And with a shuddering moan she
covered her face, and stood swaying there before him.
He looked on with a faint, bitter smile, understanding her mood just as
he understood her dark threat of thwarting him.
“I came,” he said quietly, “to bring you the assurance that he has got
safely away, and to tell you upon what manner of errand I have sent
him.”
Something compelling in his voice, the easy assurance with which he
spoke, drew her to stare at him again.
“I mean Lionel, of course,” he said, in answer to her questioning
glance. “That scene between us—the blow and the swoon and the rest of
it—was all make-believe. So afterwards the shooting. My challenge to
Marzak was a ruse to gain time—to avoid shooting until Lionel’s head
should have become so dimly visible in the dusk that none could say
whether it was still there or not. My shaft went wide of him, as I
intended. He is swimming round the head with my message to Sir John
Killigrew. He was a strong swimmer in the old days, and should easily
reach his goal. That is what I came to tell you.”
For a long spell she continued to stare at him in silence.
“You are speaking the truth?” she asked at last, in a small voice.
He shrugged. “You will have a difficulty in perceiving the object I
might serve by falsehood.”
She sat down suddenly upon the divan; it was almost as if she collapsed
bereft of strength; and as suddenly she fell to weeping softly.
“And... and I believed that you... that you....”
“Just so,” he grimly interrupted. “You always did believe the best of
me.”
And on that he turned and went out abruptly.