In the morning, Iskender's face had swollen where his lord had whipped
it, half-closing one of the eyes. The chiefs of the Arabs cried out at
sight of it and asked to know the cause of its disfigurement when their
guests prepared to set forth in the morning under the escort of two
armed and mounted tribesmen. He put them off with the story of a fall
from his horse. The Frank glanced but once at his handiwork; and then
looked down and bit his lip, contrition and annoyance at war in his
demeanour. After riding long in gloomy silence, he inquired:
"What made them change?"
Iskender, wishing to take all the credit of the deliverance to himself,
and at the same time to avoid mention of Wady 'l Mulûk, replied:
"I told them you are mad."
"You told them what?" exclaimed the Emîr from frozen heights of anger.
"That you are mad, sir."
A storm of abuse, couched in language he had never heard among the
missionaries, stupefied Iskender, who had expected compliments upon his
cleverness.
"You dared to tell them I was mad." The Emîr seemed thunderstruck. He
presently announced his resolve to return at once to captivity; but
Iskender with a courage unexpected by himself, assured him that would
be to prove his madness. The palpable truth of this contention angered
the Frank, like a blow. He flushed crimson and turned upon Iskender
with whip raised.
"Leave me, you infernal fool," he cried. "Clear out, I say! Let me
never see your cursed face again! . . . Don't grin, you ape! Get out
of my sight, or I shall murder you."
Iskender turned his horse and rode off slowly with many a backward
glance of pure dismay. Who would have dreamt that his Emîr, the
easiest of men, could ever be transformed into this raging tyrant? The
tragedy of his own disgrace seemed insignificant beside the wreck of
his dear lord's intelligence. For the Emîr was mad, not a doubt of it;
Iskender had not lied in his report to the Arab sheykh. He went back
till he met the baggage animals, then turned his horse and rode beside
Mahmûd. The latter paused in his journey-chant to ask:
"What news, O my dear?"
"The Emîr has driven me away," Iskender blubbered. "He wishes never to
see my face again."
"May Allah cure him of his illness! It is sure he is possessed with
devils more than one! Be not so mournful, O my soul! After an hour,
in sh' Allah, he will have forgotten anger."
"In sh' Allah!" Iskender echoed, weeping bitterly.
The muleteer resumed his road-song, and they fared along through a land
of sunbaked rocks, where spots of shade were welcome to the eye as
springs of water, the mule-bells clanging ceaselessly, until they
scaled a ridge whence the whole rough sea of uplands could be surveyed.
Their Arab guides had stopped here, clearly wishing to return, and were
trying to make the Emîr understand their purpose by shouting in his
ears.
"Go thou, Mahmûd, and hear what they have to say. Inquire the road of
them and point it out to the Emîr," Iskender murmured.
He himself stopped short, fearing his lord's fresh anger. The Emîr had
descried him, however, and came riding towards him.
"What are you following for? Didn't I say that I had done with you?"
"Oh, sir!" Iskender burst into a flood of tears. "Haf mercy! Drife
me not away! I luf you so! and how can I leaf you in this wilderness.
You loose your way, and I--I die of fear!"
His tears and piteous words only displeased his lord the more. But it
seemed to be the livid weal upon his face that quite incensed the
Frank. The moment his eyes fell on that, his wrath leapt past all
bounds.
"You lying, cringing cur!" he yelled. "Get out, I tell you! The sight
of you's enough to drive one mad. If I catch you following again, I'll
give you such a thrashing as you never had in all your life."
With that he gnashed his teeth and rode away.
Iskender remained where he was. The two Bedawis, departing, wished
good luck to him, but swore that, for their part, they had liefer feed
on prickly shrubs than serve so mad a master. He could hear Mahmûd
objecting to go on without him, and the Frank commanding, threatening,
till with a shrug the muleteer gave way, and shouted: "Straight on!"
for Iskender's guidance. The clangour of the bells broke out anew.
Iskender waited till the little train was lost to sight, then followed
miserably. His love was very ill, there was no doubt, and needed
better tendance than Mahmûd, with the best intentions, could afford
him. The muleteer could only, at the best, cook country food, while
cleanliness and comfort were unknown to him. He could not make a bed
or clean a riding-boot. Iskender clenched his teeth and swore it
should not be. At all risks his sick lord must be made comfortable.
So when, at sundown, he came in sight of the tent, he dismounted and
tethered his horse out of sight, then walked up boldly. Mahmûd was at
the fire behind the wind screen.
"Welcome, O my eyes!" he whispered, giving place. "Allah knows I
cannot cook a Frankish supper; yet his Honour will not hear of thy
return. Now, praise to Allah, he is sound asleep, being tired from the
journey. Make no noise, however, for, if he found thee here, he might
well shoot thee. He is very mad indeed; may Allah heal him!"
Iskender stayed and cooked a tempting meal out of the provisions given
by the Arab sheykh. Then taking food and water for himself and his
horse, he returned to his hiding-place, where, in the shelter of a
rock, he spent that night.
In the dawn he listened for the sounds of starting, and heard the
mule-bells die away before he mounted. He had saved a piece of bread,
a date or two, on which he broke his fast at noon; and not long after
saw the tent shine forth, white in the yellow landscape, beside the
flat roofs of a village terracing a steep hillside. He recognised the
place as one of those where they had rested happily upon the outward
way. The sheykh received him in his house; his horse was cared for.
Towards sunset he approached the tent. Mahmûd, from afar off,
signalled that the coast was clear.
"The Emîr has wandered off among the rocks," he told Iskender. "There
is no cooking to be done this evening, he has no appetite except for
fruit and arac. His sickness tightens hold, it is well seen. Enter
now, I pray thee, and make straight the bed. I cannot do it in the
manner thou didst teach me. I myself must go into the village and buy
fruit of some kind."
Iskender made the bed with loving touches, full of thoughts of his dear
lord. He was finishing the work, when a shadow came across the sunset
at the tent-mouth. The Emîr stood there as one transfixed with horror.
Iskender clasped his hands, and drooped his eyes. An oath rang forth,
a fierce hand clutched his throat, a whip descended on his back and
limbs; it burnt like fire. Iskender, maddened, closed with his
assailant, wrenched the whip from his hand and flung him off. The Emîr
fell heavily. Iskender flung away the whip, and fled in terror.
What had he done? The Emîr was weak through illness. His known
inferior in strength had thrown him easily. Iskender would have shed
his life-blood to recall the blow, would have borne the beating to the
end unflinching. He prayed to Allah that no hurt had come to his
beloved. Returning after dark, he interrogated Mahmûd, who assured him
the Emîr was just the same, no worse, no better. That was some small
comfort.
Sadly he followed in his loved one's track, through places which had
seen his former glory, secreting himself always in the village next to
which the tent was pitched, and stealing forth at evening, when the
Emîr rested, to cook the supper and consult Mahmûd.
"His madness grows much worse," the man informed him. "He throws
things at my head and often beats me, because I cannot do things that
are not my business, or fail to understand his words. My soul is angry
sometimes, and I long to show my strength; but behind the weakest of
these Franks there is the consul standing; and indeed it were a sin for
any man to punish one so afflicted. His face is yellow, his hands
shake. I often fear that he is going to die!"
"Allah forbid!" exclaimed Iskender fervently. It was his daily prayer
that they might reach the town and its conveniences before his sickness
quite disabled the Emîr. It seemed as if this prayer was to be
answered. They had returned to within a few hours of their
starting-place, and had pitched their tent upon the coastland plain at
the foot of the hills, when Iskender one morning, in his hiding-place,
listened in vain for the accustomed noise of starting. Alarmed at
length, he quitted cover, and drew near the tent. Mahmûd sat out
before it in the sunshine, cross-legged, and staring gravely at his
mules, which were browsing the coarse grass. From time to time he
pushed his turban back to scratch his head with a perplexed expression.
"Allah is merciful!" he exclaimed at sight of his friend. "The Emîr
still lags a-bed. He will not hear me, though three times I have
coughed from soft to loud in his presence, and knocked the chair
against the table with progressive noise. His sleep seems troubled,
for I hear him utter unknown words. God grant that he may awake
refreshed and free from madness!"
Iskender advanced on tip-toe to the tent and entered its deep shadow.
The Emîr turned on the small camp-bed and spoke his name
affectionately. With a bursting heart Iskender flung himself upon the
ground, confessing all things, asking pardon for his crimes. It was
long ere he realised that his beloved was not present, that what had
greeted him so friendly was the demon of delirium. His very marrow
froze on the discovery.
Then, in that moment of his greatest need, his thoughts flew straight
to his old foes, the missionaries. Though harsh and arrogant in times
of health, they had not their like in the land for kindness when a man
was ill. He told Mahmûd to take the horse of the Emîr and ride for his
life to the Mission.
Having seen the messenger depart he went back into the tent, and sat
down on the ground beside the sick-bed. He sullied his face with
earth, and moaned to Allah. When some fellâhîn from the village near
at hand became spectators of his grief, he asked them to provide fresh
milk, a lot of it, having heard that milk was salutary in the treatment
of a feverish illness. The milk was brought to him, with scorn of
payment. He gave a cupful to the Emîr, and repeated the dose at
intervals thereafter, with ceaseless prayers to Allah for his lord's
recovery.
It was the third hour after noon when he heard foreign voices and the
tramp of several beasts before the tent. The priest of the Mission
entered gravely with the Sitt Carûlîn. The Sitt Hilda followed,
looking fresh and tempting despite the sorrow painted on her face.
Iskender sprang to greet them, giving praise to Allah; at such a time
he had no thought of bygones; but the ladies turned from him in
disgust; the Father of Ice bade him begone and hide his infamy. Going
out in obedience to that harsh command he found a litter with two mules
waiting in charge of Mahmûd, in addition to the thoroughbred horse of
the missionary and the donkeys of the two ladies, which were guarded by
Costantîn, the father of Asad.
"May Allah comfort thee, O Iskender!" exclaimed the muleteer fervently.
"May Allah have mercy on thee, rather," chuckled Costantîn malignantly;
"for thou art like to suffer death for this last exploit!"
Iskender scarcely heard. He ran until he was out of their sight, and
then lay down among some rocks and wept his fill. When he returned
towards the camp an hour later, meaning to make himself useful
unobtrusively, it was to find nothing left on the spot where all his
interest in life had been so lately concentrated except an empty tin
and some bits of paper. That, and the ashes of their last night's
fire! He stood a long while staring fixedly at these memorials.