The approaching advent of the Jew had introduced a new element of danger
into the enterprise. If he should reach the village before Ingleton was
released, clearly the game was up. Instead of getting a good sleep, Tom
lay awake, talking over the situation with Oliphant. He got Abdul to
describe the kasbah, but the description was so vague--the Moor when he
lived in the village having taken the stronghold for granted--that he
felt incapable of making any plans without seeing the place for himself.
When he made this suggestion Oliphant scouted it.
"For one thing," he said, "it's too dangerous; for another, where do I
come in?"
"Of course I should have to take Abdul--or rather he would have to take
me; and however dangerous it would be for two, it would be still more
dangerous for three. If you'll stay and keep an eye on the airship, I'll
take advantage of the moonlight and go and have a look round. Your turn
will come, you may be sure of that. If I don't come back, you know how
to set the machine going. Scoot back to the yacht, and get Mr. Greatorex
to make straight for Tangier."
"There'll be a pretty row about this before we've done with it! All
right!--if you _will_ go. But I say, they'll spot you for a foreigner if
any one catches sight of you--in those clothes."
"Yes; I forgot that. I wish I'd provided myself with a rig-out in the
Moorish style."
Here Abdul produced from the folds of his djellab a small bundle, which,
being unrolled, proved to be a long grey garment with a pair of yellow
shoes wrapped in it.
"You're a brick, Abdul!" cried Tom. "You guessed I'd want something of
this sort, eh?"
"Yes, master. I could only get one."
"So you're out of it for the present, anyhow, Oliphant. Well, good-bye.
If we're lucky we'll be back by the morning; if not--you know what to
do."
Five minutes later Tom, swathed in the djellab, disappeared over the
brow of the hill with Abdul. He carried his revolver; the Moor had only
a knife. In his unfamiliar garment Tom found it by no means easy to make
the descent down the rough precipitous path; but Abdul went first,
picking the easiest course, and both arrived safely at the bottom.
Then they began their march to the village. It was a toilsome journey,
and Tom found the Moorish slippers a very inconvenient footgear. A long
tramp, and another steep climb, brought them to the wall of the village,
which was built on the slope of the hill. The gates had been shut at
sunset, Abdul explained: that was the Moorish fashion. Tom perceived
that the wall was utterly dilapidated: in that respect Ain Afroo was
typically Moorish. In many parts the parapet had fallen to pieces, and,
for any protection it afforded, the wall might as well not have been
there. It gave easy foothold to a climber, and Tom indulged a hope that
the kasbah might prove to be in equally bad preservation.
From what Abdul had told him, Tom guessed that the stronghold lay at the
upper extremity of the village, about eighty or ninety yards from the
wall. The Moor's knowledge of the place enabled him to lead Tom to a
spot where it would clearly be an easy matter to climb the battlements.
Secure in their remoteness, and in the fact that no hostile force could
come within many miles of the village without being instantly announced,
the inhabitants kept only a perfunctory watch. A few men, Abdul said,
were regularly on guard at the north-east and south-west corners; but no
attempt was made to watch the walls in general. Knowing the state of the
defences, this fact gave Tom some amusement. With walls so ruinous the
gates were the last places at which unauthorized ingress or egress would
be made. The whole place was still sleeping, and would sleep until the
muezzin from the mosque gave the call to prayer. Abdul declared it was
quite safe to enter the village so far as its human inhabitants were
concerned, though there was a risk that some pariah dog might be
wakeful. Taking his courage in both hands, Tom climbed up the wall after
Abdul, and descended on the other side; then, keeping in the black
shadows cast by the moon, the two made their way through round archways
and narrow alleys to the outer wall of the kasbah.
The village was very silent. It might almost have been an abode of the
dead. Only the screech of night-birds beyond the walls broke the
stillness. Tom held his breath--and his nose, for sanitary authorities
are unknown in Morocco, and heaps of refuse here and there spoke
forcibly in the night air. The two intruders crept stealthily round the
walls of the kasbah, against which small shops and outbuildings that
Abdul called _inzella_ were built, except before the principal
entrance--a large gateway through which two or three men could ride
abreast. In front of this gateway was a wide, open square, with low
shops under a colonnade on the other side.
The gateway was shut. It had massive iron doors. Stealing to the further
side of it, Abdul touched Tom's arm, and pointed to a small dark window,
unglazed, scarcely more than a slit in the wall, some twenty-five feet
above their heads, and a yard or two back from the parapet, which, as
the Moor had already explained, extended right round the kasbah,
enclosing a kind of terrace. It was the window of the guest-chamber, and
there, Abdul had suggested, the captured envoy was confined.
The entrance to the guest-chamber would be from the terrace within the
parapet. The floor above was occupied by the sheikh and his family; the
floor below was devoted to the servants and the guard. Even as Tom
looked, a figure passed slowly along the terrace, and the moonlight
glinted on a steel musket barrel. It was clear that the guest-chamber
was carefully guarded--a proof, it seemed, that Abdul's suggestion was
correct. Drawing Tom out of earshot, Abdul said that special orders must
have been given, or the sentry would certainly not tramp up and down at
this hour of night. Tom learnt afterwards that the Moorish soldier's
idea of sentry-go is a long nap in the nearest doorway.
"Is there no entrance to the guest-chamber from within?" asked Tom.
Abdul confessed that he did not know. He had never set foot within the
walls. But he had once taken refuge for the night, on one of his
journeys through the country, in a ruined kasbah of somewhat similar
appearance, and there a door led from the guest-chamber into a small
vestibule, which gave access to the upper floor and the roof above.
Flitting silently across the square, Tom and the Moor took post under
the shadow of the colonnade on the farther side, which ran at right
angles to the wall of the kasbah. Within it was a row of shops, now shut
and barred. There, leaning against one of the stout columns, within the
black darkness of the Moorish arch, Tom scanned the kasbah, looming
white in the moonlight, and meditated.
To get into communication with the prisoner seemed absolutely hopeless.
No one could force an entrance into the sheikh's strong place. Was it
possible to gain the assistance of some one within? Might not Hamet Ali,
Abdul's friend, act as intermediary between Tom and some servant of the
sheikh's? The cynical saying, "Every man has his price," was literal
truth in Morocco: such was the impression Tom had gained from his
reading. But he knew enough of oriental ways to be sure that the fixing
of the price would be a long and tedious affair. If the Moor were asked
to name it, he would suggest a sum far in excess of what he would
ultimately accept; while however large a sum were offered, it would
prove only the starting place for long haggling. Indeed, the larger the
bribe, the more likely it would be to excite the cupidity of the agent,
and to encourage him to stand out for yet higher terms.
In spite of the difficulties, Tom would have been inclined to attempt
this means if it had not involved serious delay, and still more serious
risk to both Abdul and himself. Hamet Ali lived on the far side of the
town. Abdul would have to make his way there, waken his friend, explain
the circumstances, overcome a probable reluctance to meddle, fix a price
with Hamet Ali, and another for the sheikh's servant. Every move would
be attended with danger. A Moor's house is a castle in miniature. Any
attempt to rouse the inmates at this dead hour of night would
necessitate so much noise and clatter as to disturb the neighbourhood.
The night was wearing on, and before Abdul could, with reasonable regard
to secrecy, obtain access to his friend's house, daylight might be upon
them. The Moors are early risers, and even if all went well, and Tom and
the others stole forth from the village before dawn, they would almost
certainly be seen and ridden down as they crossed the wide rocky spaces
that surrounded the place. But the most serious consideration of all was
that of time: it would not be possible to get into treaty with any one
inside the kasbah before Salathiel ben Ezra appeared on the scene. Then
the enterprise was doomed to failure.
Tom was anxiously discussing with himself the pros and cons when Abdul
plucked him by the arm.
"Day is near, master," he whispered. "We must go by the way we came."
Tom was reluctant to own himself beaten; but there was clearly no hope
for it. Gathering his djellab about him, and pulling the hood over his
head, he followed Abdul with quick, noiseless footsteps across the
square.
* * * * *
Ahmed Hûk, apprentice to Hamadi ben Ibn, the swordsmith of Ain Afroo,
had spent a restless night. His head throbbed; he could not sleep; he
wished he had not smoked so much hashish when his work was done for the
day. The air of the little shop was close and oppressive; and after
hours of wakefulness, turning from side to side in the vain effort to
find sleep, Ahmed got up and quietly unbarred the little wicket in the
door, careful not to disturb his master, who was snoring loudly within a
few feet of him. Perhaps a little fresh air from the outside would cool
his heated brow.
He had not stood more than a few minutes at the wicket, and was already
thinking of returning to his charpoy, when he noticed, in the moonlight
on the other side of the square, two figures turn the corner by the
kasbah opposite, coming from the direction of the village wall. They at
once disappeared into the shadow thrown by the great wall of the
building, but something in their movements aroused the curiosity of
Ahmed. Why were two wayfarers abroad at so late an hour? The matter was
not his concern; still, he would remain at the wicket a little longer,
to see if the two night-walkers reappeared.
His view was somewhat broken by the rows of pillars supporting the
colonnade in front of the shops of which his master's establishment was
one; but through the interval between two of them he did at last see the
two forms moving with rather suspicious quickness across the illumined
square, and, what was more interesting to him, they were seemingly
coming in his direction. Were they thieves, he wondered? He could hardly
believe it, for the village was small; they could scarcely escape
detection; and the sheikh's ingenuity in punishments was notorious even
in Morocco, where torture is a fine art.
With instinctive caution Ahmed closed the wicket, leaving only a slit
just wide enough for him to peep through. In a few moments he heard the
slight rustle of the strangers' garments, and saw their dark forms
clearly outlined against the moonlight. They had come under the
colonnade and halted within two or three yards of him, behind one of the
pillars. They whispered a little together, then were silent for a space,
then whispered again: and now Ahmed was interested indeed, for, low as
their tones were, he overheard a word or two, and they made him jump;
they were certainly not in the Moorish tongue. His master's business had
taken him more than once to Dár al Beida, and he had heard such words
used by the N'zrani--the unbelievers who were suffered to pollute the
city by their presence. How came it that here, in Ain Afroo, a village
where no unbeliever ever set foot save a dog of a Jew now and then
(though truly there were one or two infidel wretches now safely confined
in the kasbah)--how came it that two men, good Moors and followers of the
Prophet, to all appearance, were speaking in the tongue of the infidel?
It was perplexing, to say the least, and undoubtedly worthy of the
attention of Hamadi his master.
Leaving the wicket, Ahmed silently groped his way to the charpoy on
which the swordsmith was sleeping, and gently awakened him. In a low
whisper he conveyed the news of his discovery. Hamadi at once rose, and,
trusting to the pitch darkness of the colonnade, opened the wicket
fully, and listened with all his ears.
* * * * *
Tom and Abdul had no sooner crossed the square than the bolts of the
shop door opposite which they had been standing were softly drawn back,
and Hamadi, followed by his apprentice, glided barefoot after them. Each
bore a sword--good weapons, as Hamadi, who had made them, well knew.
Hamadi saw a vision of great prosperity and high favour with the sheikh.
He would follow up the strangers, if strangers they indeed were, to the
house where they harboured. There he would leave Ahmed to keep watch,
while he himself sped to the kasbah and told what he had seen. Without
doubt the sheikh would reward him handsomely.
By the time Hamadi and his boy had left the shelter of the colonnade,
the strangers had turned the corner of the far side of the square; but
the pursuers ran quickly across the open space and gained the corner
while their quarry was still in sight.
Tom and his companion, picking their way with all caution through the
dark, uneven, dirty passages that led from the kasbah to the outer wall,
went out slowly. Every now and again they stumbled over a loose cobble
or a heap of refuse; then there was a little noise that might betray
their presence to any one who happened to be within a few yards of them.
At such times Abdul would throw a hurried glance back; well he knew what
their fate would be if they were captured.
Suddenly he edged a little closer to Tom and whispered--
"Men follow us!"
By this time they were almost within reach of the wall. Tom was alive to
the danger in which the pursuit had placed them. Descending the wall,
they would have to grope for foothold. Before they could get clear, the
pursuers would have come up behind, and might either topple down upon
them loose boulders from the wall, or, if they bore firearms, have them
at their mercy. The two hurried their steps.
"They are close behind--two men!" whispered Abdul.
Tom glanced to each side along the wall. There was no convenient place
in which they might take refuge with any prospect of eluding their
pursuers. They were now hasting along at a half run beneath a long wall
that possibly enclosed some gardens of houses backing on the ramparts.
Here and there this wall was broken by a doorway; but the gates, when
Tom tested them by a push, were always closed. Abdul was making for the
spot at which they had entered the village; it was the nearest, indeed
the only practicable, place of descent. But to descend, with the
pursuers upon them, would be dangerous, perhaps fatal. To leave this
place of exit, and move farther along the ramparts or back into the
village, would be almost equally dangerous and would lose precious time.
The only other course open to them was to tackle the problem of
disposing of the pursuers. Tom nervously fingered his revolver; but a
shot would rouse the whole village and multiply the pursuers perhaps
fiftyfold.
While Tom was feverishly attempting to hit on some means of dealing with
the two men, these, unaware that they had been seen, were already
reckoning up the profits of a successful coup. As soon as Hamadi the
swordsmith saw that the men in front were making for the ramparts, he
guessed at once that they were intruders from the outside, and he also
guessed the point at which the exit was to be made. This was not the
first time that the place had been used as a means of getting in and out
of the village by night. More than once it had happened that the
villagers, at feud with neighbouring mountaineers, had crept out at
night to settle their scores, returning safely within the walls before
daybreak. The fact that the gates were closed and no one could pass
during the night was prima facie evidence of their innocence. It was
even said that the sheikh had settled accounts with a hostile neighbour
in the same way. The swordsmith therefore was quite justified in shaping
his course on the assumption that the two men in front of him would
climb down the ruined part of the wall, and he would be in ample time to
deal with them when they were clinging precariously to the face of the
stonework.
The only fault in his calculation was that he did not reckon with the
sharp eyes of Tom's companion. Thus it was that, passing incautiously
one of the recessed doorways leading on to the gardens, he suddenly saw
a thousand brilliant lights flash before his eyes, his sword flew from
his grasp, and he reeled dizzily to the ground. Tom's muscles were
hardened by much exercise in engineering workshops, and Hamadi, though a
big man and strong, as befitted one of his trade, was not prepared for
so surprising an attack. Before he could recover his wits Tom was upon
him, pressing the cold barrel of his revolver to his ear. The man,
although dizzy, had still enough intelligence left to know what this
meant, and he lay quite still while Tom pondered how he could at the
same time secure his vanquished foe and lend assistance to his
companion, who was now hotly engaged with the apprentice. Abdul,
however, needed no help. Before Tom had time to decide upon his own
course, the young Moor, taking full advantage of the darkness that
neutralized the effect of his enemy's longer weapon, dodged in beneath
the latter's guard, and got home a shrewd thrust in the forearm. Ahmed,
yelling lustily, dropped his sword, spun round, and set off down the
ramparts at full speed before Abdul could repeat his stroke.
[Illustration: HIS SWORD FLEW FROM HIS GRASP, AND HE REELED DIZZILY TO
THE GROUND.]
Tom breathed more freely. He had at any rate, he thought, gained a few
minutes. The yells of the Moor were not likely to bring help
immediately. While a shot would undoubtedly have raised the guard at the
kasbah, and brought a party in hot haste to the spot, the cries of a man
yelling would probably only cause a certain sleepy curiosity. A Moor
never puts himself to unnecessary trouble, and it would certainly not be
worth while to pay much attention to a brawl between men who had smoked
too much hashish. But there was still need for haste, so with Abdul's
assistance Tom trussed up the fallen swordsmith with workmanlike bonds
made of his own garments, and in another minute was beginning the
descent of the wall.
They were only halfway down when they heard an uproar in the village.
The apprentice had lost no time in gathering a band to continue the
pursuit. Yet Tom could not hurry his flight, for a false step would mean
at least a broken arm, and in all probability a broken neck. With Abdul
close behind he picked his way down the broken masonry, the shouts
growing ever nearer and more menacing. At last they reached the bottom.
Then, Abdul leading the way, they hurried along the foot of the wall.
They durst not yet leave its shelter, for the moon, though now sinking
in the sky, still threw sufficient light to betray them if they
attempted to cross the open space towards the hillside.
Crouching low as they went, they heard the pursuers halt at the place
where they had descended. But now they had reached a welcome patch of
stunted bush which promised needful cover. Plunging into this, still
keeping low so that their heads should not show above the scrub, they
strode away at right angles to the wall. Abdul's knowledge of the
country served him well. Descending the hill, they were soon out of
danger. Then up and down little eminences, over brooks, through patches
of wood, they pressed on, always bearing slightly to the right until
they struck the true course. Almost in a bee-line, they made for the
hill where Oliphant was anxiously awaiting them, and arrived there just
after dawn, tired out, and not a little disappointed with the barren
result of their night's work.