“_A person sat demanding from God the rise of morn—when morn
rose he became blind._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
“I wish the stars could be seen,” Sir Richard said irritably, three
nights later, as he looked up at the sky, across which hung a heavy
purple cloud. Due to the intense heat, it obliterated the stars,
thereby trying the patience of the old man to the uttermost. “This
delay is simply abominable. To think, just to think, that this wind
has been blowing for nearly a week, clouding the sky and blotting out
the stars—the stars by which, if they could have been seen, I could
have proved, absolutely proved, that we are camped upon the exact spot,
between the mountains of Hareek and the Jebel Akhaf, from where the Holy
Fathers turned due south. We could have followed in their footsteps,
started to-night; think of it, could have started to-night, if only
this wind hadn’t blown. What? Try to find out what the firing meant the
other night? Nonsense, man, nonsense! We don’t want to go over all that
again. Some Arab, a solitary one. Sound carries for miles, miles in the
desert, the slightest sound. If you let a pin drop it could be almost
heard in Hutah. Absurd! The thing to do is to get _on_.” He spread out,
with an angry slap, the copy he had made of the vellum inscribed by the
Holy Palladius, and read out the Latin words by the light of an electric
torch. “It absolutely tallies,” he cried enthusiastically. “You see,
ab-so-lutely tallies! Another week, perhaps a little less, perhaps a
little more, and we should see the Sanctuary before us, if we could only
start!”
“But, Grandad,” interrupted Helen, who sat fanning herself with her
topee in an endeavour to bear with the terrible heat, which had encircled
her eyes with deep violet shadows and caused her collar bones to show
with undue prominence. “How can you be sure that that range of mountains
is the one in which the water is hidden? It seems to me to be too near
the beginning of the desert not to have been discovered before, if it is.
In fact, Abdul told me that his own brother had been within five miles of
it.”
“And why, when so close, did he not go closer still?”
“Because of the great barrier of evil the bad spirits, which live in the
mountains, have built to keep people away.”
“Exactly,” said the old man triumphantly. “We are not going to break
new ground, my dear child; we are going to break through the barrier of
superstition erected by the Arabs themselves, and which _alone_ has kept
them from the water of which they stand so badly in need in this terrible
spot.”
“It is rather appalling, I must say, without the camp fires,” said
Ralph Trenchard, who, in shorts and a silk shirt, wrestled unceasingly
with insects of all sizes and shapes which flew and crawled about them,
attracted by the light of the torch.
“However did those poor beggars get through without oils of lavender and
lemon, kerosene and smoke of sulphur to protect them from these brutes?”
He speared a spider as he spoke and flung it into the night, then took
Helen’s hand in both of his. “Why not turn in, dearest? You look tired
out, and we can’t move until the stars come out, either late to-night or
to-morrow night.”
She shook her head as she looked first at the sullen sky, then at the
huddled figures of the Arabs, sitting with their heads buried in their
burnous, and at the camels lying with their muzzles hidden in each
other’s sides. She put her finger to her lips and shook her head again,
as she glanced at her grandfather poring over the map, then at the
sentries who paced the four sides of the rough square.
The square was small and compact, with their Excellencies’ tents in
the middle, and the camels so stabled that there could be no confusion
between them and their drivers if danger should arise. To mark the four
sides of the square a tent had been pitched at each angle. In the shadow
of the one to the south a man lay with his ear to the ground. He lay like
one asleep or dead until the sentry turned, when he crawled upon his
belly back to the lines where, with the help of two others such as he,
he unhobbled certain camels and fastened them together by means of long
leather thongs buckled above the knee of the right forelegs, then let
them loose. It is an invention of Satan himself to create confusion in
a herd of camels, and has never been known to fail in the annals of the
turbulent Peninsula.
“Yes, why don’t you go and get some sleep, child?” said Sir Richard,
who paid no attention to the passing of the hours himself, having
acquired the Oriental’s gift of falling asleep when and where he wished.
“Two o’clock already! Dear me! How quickly time does pass when one is
pleasantly occupied!” He evicted something that crawled from the vicinity
of his neck and patted his granddaughter’s hand. “There’ll be plenty of
time for love-making, little one, when we get back to east winds and
frosts, so run along and take off your boots and comb your hair and
wheedle a basinful of water from Hassin. I don’t know what I should have
done without you, and I’m glad to think that there is a man _almost_ good
enough to look after you. Ah! I thought so. We’re in for a thunderstorm.
That accounts for the sky and this oppressiveness.”
He turned and looked due south, childishly pleased that he had caught the
distant rumbling before the others; then looked up at Ralph Trenchard,
who had leapt to his feet, jerking Helen up beside him.
“Do you hear it now? Of course, the storm may pass us by.”
“The storm’s not going to pass us by!” answered Ralph Trenchard sharply.
“That sound has nothing to do with thunder; it’s the sound of horses
galloping on sand. Remember I did my bit in Egypt and know what I’m
talking about, and they’re not far off either. Take Helen to your tent
and stay there, so that I can know where you are. Don’t leave it. Quick!
Oh, damn the fool!”
A sentry had fired into the pitchy darkness.
The Arab is inclined to impulsiveness with firearms when left to himself,
but he is a born fighter and a magnificent fighter when properly armed
and led. He will fight to the death for a cause, for a bet, for nothing
at all; he loves fighting, and does not own himself beaten until death
overtakes him or he is rendered incapable of movement through wounds.
The camp seethed.
Now that the danger was upon them the men were in high fettle at the
prospect of a fight. If they died—well, _kismet_! It would be because
their hour had come. If they lived, the great English Sheikh would
reward them bounteously for having so well defended her Excellency their
mistress. They were well armed, the ammunition plentiful, and the young
English Sheikh a man among men to lead them into battle. So they yelled
in response to the yelling of the distant enemy, and loosened their
knives and examined their rifles whilst calling upon the Prophet to allow
the battle to be long and bloody and the reward great.
The camp had not been caught unprepared, and all might have gone
exceeding well if it had not been for the half-dozen camels which the
spies had fastened together with leather thongs. Panic-stricken, they
rushed amongst the others standing helpless on account of the hobbles,
entangling them, binding them one to the other as they fought to get
free.
“Rifle all right, darling? And yours, sir?”
Ralph Trenchard paused for an instant at the tent, then ran to take his
place amongst the men who watched the magnificent picture before them,
withholding their fire by his orders.
A torch flared suddenly in the far distance, and another, and yet
another, until a line of orange flame swept across the sky towards the
camp, rising and falling at regular intervals as though borne upon the
crest of some gigantic wave.
From underneath the flaming line came the thunder of many hoofs and the
shouting of many men, invisible in the darkness. Then showed dimly the
shape of a white horse ridden by a woman, and behind her horses and men
sweeping down to the attack.
Glittering from head to foot with jewels, shouting with her men, Zarah
the Cruel, the mysterious woman of the desert, rode her favourite
stallion native-wise, guiding him with her knees, ripping his satiny
sides with golden spur to keep him a length ahead of those she led.
“_Ista’jil! Zarah! Ista’jil! Zarah!_”
The men shouted the battle-cry and the Arabian’s name unceasingly as they
drove their horses at full gallop over the billows of sand, holding aloft
their throwing spears, upon the points of which lighted torches flared.
Little cared she that the line of light made a splendid target for the
enemy hidden in the darkness; little cared she what happened to those
around her so long as tales of mystery and power about her were carried
throughout the Peninsula, across to Egypt, and up to Turkey and far away
to India.
She raised her spear when a volley from the camp brought men and
horses crashing to the ground, and turning to Al-Asad, who rode at her
right hand, shouted an order, which he repeated, whilst the men yelled
“_Wah! Wah!_” as they raised their spears and whirled them above their
heads, until the sky seemed full of great circles of fire and the earth
possessed of demons.
There came the crash of a second volley from the camp just as Al-Asad
raised his hand, and the spears, with flaming torch upon the points,
flashed like meteors in a semicircle through the air, to fall in the
centre of the camp.
“They surround us, Excellency!” shouted Abdul, who had left the
screaming, fighting camels to their fate so as to stand by the side of
the white man he had learned to love and respect during the long weeks
they had passed together. “Watch her, that thrice accursed daughter of
pigs; she makes the point from which her men deploy.”
As the men spread out on each side of her Zarah reined the stallion in,
holding him, rearing and plunging, upon one spot, seemingly indifferent
to the bullets which rained about her, spitting up the sand at the
animal’s feet, bringing her men and her horses to the ground. She laughed
aloud and raised her spear twice above her head as the tent to the north
caught fire, lighting up the smallest detail of the inferno. In the fire
and the smoke caused by the torches falling amongst the packs and tents
Ralph Trenchard and his men worked like demons to loosen the great water
skins, whilst the camels shrieked and fought and tore at each other in
their agony, as the spears hurled by the enemy were buried in their
sides or in the ground, or in the breasts of the Arabs who fought so
desperately for life.
“Have they no rifles?” yelled Trenchard.
“Yea, verily! But the daughter of swine would take the white people alive
for ransom,” yelled back Abdul. “We are surrounded, Excellency. To the
glory of Allah we die fighting.”
Trenchard gave one quick look over his shoulder towards the tent where,
outlined against the light of the fire, Sir Richard and Helen stood
shoulder to shoulder with smoking rifles in their hands. “Fire!” he
shouted, as Zarah raised her spear and threw it with unerring aim.
“Out knives and fight to the death!”
He yelled the order which transports the Arab to the seventh heaven of
delight as the spear buried itself in Sir Richard’s gallant old heart,
and the enemy moved suddenly and swiftly down upon them.
“Fall back and give no quarter!” he shouted again, unwitting in the din
and turmoil of a party of Bedouins which, attracted by the red glow in
the sky and the sound of firing, raced towards the scene of battle from
the west.
Shouting encouragement, firing until his rifle became too hot to hold,
Trenchard backed slowly towards Helen, who knelt clasping her grandfather
in her arms. Wounded, shouting, the men fell back slowly to form a square
round her Excellency the white woman, who had accounted for more than
one of the enemy and who, in her bravery, was to be ranked with the most
famous of _hadeeyahs_, even Ayesha, the wife of Mohammed the Prophet,
whilst the spy who had loosened the camels worked his way sideways until
he stood close behind the white man for whose capture alive a great
reward had been promised.
“Stand fast, men, they’re on us!” shouted Trenchard as, with a ringing
yell, the enemy charged, just as the six camels, their long leather
thongs burned through, shrieking and maddened with the agony of their
burns and wounds, rushed the gallant square.
“God have mercy upon us!” Helen cried as she sprang to her feet to watch
the terrible sight of horses and camels fighting to the death, making an
impassable wedge separating her from Ralph Trenchard.
Outlined against a background of orange light, they looked like mighty
prehistoric beasts as they reared and plunged, falling to their knees,
scrambling to their feet, shrieking as only horses and camels can
shriek, in pain and fear. Sick to the heart, she tried in vain to
catch a glimpse of the man she loved, whilst Zarah, with Al-Asad at her
side, rode round and round the camp, shouting the battle-cry, yelling
encouragement to those of her men who were left alive to fight.
Just for the moment Helen stood searching vainly for her lover, her ears
deaf to the din of the battle, her eyes blinded to the terrible sights,
then flung herself down beside the old man she loved so deeply. Where
she loved she had no fear, neither could any task be too hard for her
to undertake for the loved one’s welfare, so that she knelt beside Sir
Richard and gently drew out the spear which had pierced the gallant
heart. When she understood that it had for ever ceased to beat she
gathered him up into her strong arms and kissed his white hair. She held
him so, just for a little while, as her mind uncontrollably raced back
through the happy years spent with him; then she laid him down upon the
desert sand and, picking up her rifle, rose to her feet.
She was of those for whom great danger holds no terror. Thrice blessed
indeed are they upon whom that great tranquillity descends in the midst
of danger; who, steadied and exhilarated by peril, help those around them
by their unwavering calm.
She stood, with the dead man at her feet, waiting to help the living man
she loved as he fell back slowly towards her, fighting desperately.
Where the men met they fought without quarter, regardless of the
hammering hoofs, the tearing teeth, the foam and blood and welter of the
animals. Stripped to the waist, black with grime, fighting at such close
quarters that he could scarce tell friend from foe, Trenchard fought,
using the butt-end of his revolver, with Abdul by his side, whilst the
Bedouins approached nearer and nearer, unseen on account of the smoke,
unheard in the din.
“Thy wife!” shouted Zarah, leaning towards Al-Asad and pointing to Helen,
who stood alone with her back towards them, nauseated at the sight of
a bay mare and a wounded camel in death grips. The camel had reared and
flung itself upon the mare, meeting its teeth just below her ears, whilst
she, lashing out until great rents were torn in the dying camel’s belly,
tried vainly to free herself from the paralysis which crept over her
through the vice-like grip upon her spine.
“_Bism ’allah!_” yelled Al-Asad, as Helen raised her rifle. “Behold! is
she the maid to be the mother of sons? Let us take her to blind Yussuf as
his part of the spoil.” He yelled again in sheer admiration as a double
report rang out and the fighting beasts dropped; then rode down upon
Helen as she reloaded, and lifting her, swung her, fighting like a tiger,
across the saddle.
He laughed exultantly as he held her down, pressing her hands against her
neck with his left hand until she was almost suffocated, and her knees
down with his right hand, whilst his horse, guided by the pressure of his
knees, raced back to where Zarah waited, laughing and shouting remarks
which, fortunately, were not heard above the uproar.
“Behold, she is for thee—thy mate,” she cried; “and I—look
thou—look—look—behold _my_ mate, alone amongst wolves.” Al-Asad, who
could hear no word of what she said, looked to where she pointed, then
laughed savagely when she screamed in an agony of fear.
It happened in a second.
Flames suddenly burst from the tent to the east, leaping to the very sky,
against which, for one instant, Ralph Trenchard, with Abdul at his side,
stood out clearly.
Zarah leant forward, revolver in hand, and fired—too late. From out the
heap of dead and dying the spy had sprung, felling Ralph Trenchard to the
ground with a blow from the handle of a throwing knife behind the ear, to
fall himself with Abdul’s knife in his side.
Then friend and foe turned and, shoulder to shoulder, faced the onslaught
of the new terror which fell upon them out of the night, whilst Abdul
flung himself down upon the body of the white man he loved, and ripping
the cloak from a dead Arab, covered him and pulled him under the
sheltering bodies of two dead camels.
Zarah turned in her saddle and emptied her revolver into the group of
Bedouins who, lying upon their horses’ necks, raced down upon her; then
shouted to Al-Asad and, giving the stallion his head, fled for her
life. They did not skirt the camp; they rode right through it and over
everything they encountered in their path, heedless of the curses called
down upon them by the wounded they trampled underfoot. Out into the
coming dawn they sped, guided by the stars for which Sir Richard had so
ardently longed, with the limp body of the English girl as their sole
reward for the disastrous night.
* * * * *
The stars went out and the sky lightened down in the east as the Bedouins
sat in a circle, taking counsel together.
The camels and horses that were fit for use stood hobbled, placidly
ruminating or fretting and fidgeting, near the spot where the west tent
had stood; the prisoners lay groaning on the ground, or sat, with the
fatalism of the East, awaiting their sentence.
The sky was covered, as far as eye could see, with vultures, whirling
and swooping, settling as near as they dare to the feast awaiting them,
or standing motionless until some noise or movement sent them flying in
flocks skywards, an offence against the glory of the heavens.
The unconscious form of Ralph Trenchard lay at the feet of the Bedouin
chief, whilst Abdul, by his side, craftily bargained for their lives.
“A man of much wealth thou hast seized, O my brother! A great sheikh in
a country where the towns are paved with gold, the bazaars are full of
jewels, and the streets of houris of the greatest beauty.”
“Perchance ’tis true; but how know we that he will give us of his wealth
once we have nursed him back to life and allowed him to depart from us?”
Abdul turned in the direction of Mecca and lifted his hand.
“By the beard of the Prophet I swear it, by the wind and the wool and
the honour of the Arab I swear it, knowing him of whom I speak. In the
name of my father and my father’s fathers I will stand as bond for this
man’s honour. My life for his word, O brother; and life is sweet, even
unto those who are born in lowliness. There is much wealth upon the backs
of the camels, for behold! the fire has but touched the covering. It is
thine in return for his life.”
“It is mine already, O brother!”
Abdul played his trump card.
“Yea, if thou darest to take it. If thou wilt listen to me it will be
thine without the fear of questioning from the king of the great white
race, who knows the movements of each one of his subjects and meteth out
death to those who slay his children or keep them prisoner. I am the
white man’s servant; let me but nurse him back to health, heal his wounds
and allay his fever so that he may start upon the quest of the white
woman he loves, and I will pour the tale of thy goodness into his ears in
such wise that peace and plenty will be thine for ever more. Is it not
written, brethren, ‘He is the chosen of the people who rejoices in the
welfare of others’?”
So it came about as it had been written that, after many hours the birds
of prey drew closer to the scene of tragedy, whilst Abdul, holding his
master gently in his arms, followed the Bedouins upon camelback as they
rode slowly away across the path by which they had so swiftly come.