AT THE FOOT OF THE KIOBEH
"Forward--to Uargla!" Monte-Cristo had exclaimed when he became aware of
the loss of his son. Medje urged her horse close to that of the count;
he noticed her, and a dark suspicion took possession of him.
"Go back, you traitress!" he angrily exclaimed. "You have delivered my
son over to the Khouans."
A deadly pallor overspread Medje's fine features, and sobbing bitterly
she let her head fall on the horse's neck.
"Oh, master!" she said, "why do you accuse me?"
"Pardon me, child," said Monte-Cristo gently; "sorrow for the loss of my
dear son has made me crazy. Oh, if I could only find him again."
"Courage, dear master, courage! Our horses are as swift as the wind. You
will conquer the Khouans. The lion-killer is invincible!"
After an exhausting ride of three long hours they beheld the minarets of
Uargla. Monte-Cristo divided his men in two companies; one he commanded
with Jacopo and Medje, the other he placed in charge of Coucou. Their
muskets were loaded, and hardly had the count arranged his plan of
attack, than the gates of Uargla were opened and a band of horsemen rode
forward to meet him. The Frenchmen allowed the Arabs to approach close
to them and then fired their first salvo. A second one followed, and
through the narrow streets the Count of Monte-Cristo and his men entered
Uargla. A scene of indescribable confusion ensued. The Arabs fled in all
directions.
In the meantime Coucou at the head of his little company had entered
through the eastern door, and, having to avenge the murder of his
friends, he struck blows to the right and left.
"This for Jacques! This for Pierre! This for Jean! Back, you brown
devils!"
When Monte-Cristo had reached the foot of the Kiobeh, Medje said:
"It is here."
"Light the torches!" commanded Monte-Cristo.
It was done.
"In the name of Allah, the merciful and charitable God," exclaimed the
count.
Three times he repeated the words. For a time all was silent. After a
while the door of the fortress opened and Maldar appeared on the
threshold.
"Who are you, who comes here as an enemy?"
"Let us not fight with words," replied Monte-Cristo. "It was your people
who first attacked us."
"Blood has flowed," replied Maldar, coldly; "and it falls back upon your
head."
"Your people have made prisoners; sneakingly surprised people at night
and carried them away. What have you done with these prisoners?"
"They are dead."
"All?"
"All!"
"All dead?" exclaimed Monte-Cristo, trembling. "Woe to you, if you have
spoken the truth."
"You are false servants of the prophet," cried Medje, "and Allah's
eternal curse will rest upon you. Have you heard?" she added, turning to
Monte-Cristo's companions; "the wretch says he has murdered all the
prisoners."
"In the devil's name!" exclaimed Coucou. "He shall pay for that."
"You acknowledge that you were cowardly enough to murder defenceless
men," said Monte-Cristo, after a pause, to Maldar; "have you been so
base as to kill an innocent child?"
"Are you speaking of your own son?"
"Yes. Is my son dead?"
"Your son still lives," replied Maldar.
Monte-Cristo uttered a cry. His son lived and was behind these walls.
"You are Maldar. You have enjoyed my hospitality. What crime have I
committed that you should punish me through my child?"
"The crime of your race! You are a son of France."
"You say I am a son of France. Have you not served that country too?"
"Only dissimulation. I waited for a favorable opportunity."
"What will you do with my son?"
"The decision depends on you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Come with confidence to us," replied Maldar, earnestly. "In the
citadel I will discuss your son's ransom with you."
"Do not go, master," cried Coucou; "they are laying a trap for you."
Monte-Cristo strode, nevertheless, toward the door.