“_The hole which he made opened into a granary._”—ARABIC
PROVERB.
She did not dine with the Arabian that night nor any other night, and
when, one evening, some seven days later, completely restored to health,
she walked out to the edge of the platform to ascertain the cause of the
shouting of men, barking of dogs, and occasional firing of rifles, Namlah
crept up behind and urged her to go in.
“Orders have come. Her Excellency is to remain inside her chamber until
other orders come giving her her freedom.”
“But what is it all about?” inquired Helen, as she reluctantly entered
her room.
Namlah spat, or, rather, made a sound as though she spat, before replying.
“Zarah the Merciless makes an excursion into the Robaa-el-Khali.” She
pointed towards the cleft through which the desert in the starlight
showed like the face of a veiled woman. “Allah grant that she remain
there, a food for vultures, as have remained so many. She is a liar, a
thief, a murderess. Allah guide the knife through her black heart.”
A spirit of rebellion, of adventure, of recklessness, showed in Helen’s
eyes as she questioned the little woman who had repeated all she had
heard the night she had spied through the window and had so urgently
counselled silence and watchfulness and patience.
“Yea! Excellency! she leads the men. The men and beasts laden with
provision and water and ammunition wherewith to make a camp between this
and the scene of the fighting have departed these many hours. Ah! she is
as cunning as the jackal. She relies not upon chance. She has always a
place of refuge to fall back on if the fight goes against her, or if the
men are in need of food for themselves or their guns. How long she will
be gone? I know not; maybe a few hours, a night, a week—who knows?”
“The Nubian, has he gone too?”
Namlah laughed shrilly.
“Ha! the knotter of shoe-strings, the eater of dust, behold he has gone
these may days upon some secret journey. He held conclave of great length
with the woman who rules us with a rod fashioned in the nethermost
_Jahannam_. They sat under the starlight so that I could not approach,
Excellency; they spoke softly so that I could not catch their words from
the rock behind which I lay concealed.”
She smiled up into Helen’s face when, under the strain of the suspense in
which she had lived for the last ten days, she took the servant by the
shoulders and shook her none too gently.
“I can’t bear it much longer, Namlah!” she said in her pretty, broken
Arabic. “I can’t bear the uncertainty, I can’t bear the silence, the
waiting, with nothing to do to kill the terrible hours. I simply cannot
bear it. For danger to myself I do not fear, I do not care. Cannot I find
the way out so that I can escape? Can I not?”
There was no one in sight, there was certainly no one within hearing, up
there in the eyrie so near the stars, but the little woman ran first to
the right and then to the left and then into the room before she sidled
up to Helen and whispered.
Is not intrigue as the breath of life in the East?
“Her Excellency must take exercise, must walk under the stars to-night
whilst _she_ is abroad.” She spread her fingers wide and down in the
direction of the path leading across the quicksands. “Her Excellency must
walk, even if it be amongst the rocks where the shadows lie blackest.”
Helen looked intently at the little woman, who gazed out of the doorway
with an air of seraphic innocence.
“I could not find my way down there, Namlah! I should fall or get lost
or——”
Namlah trotted to the door and stood with her hand shading her eyes,
looking out towards the desert.
“Yet is there one, Excellency, who without eyes walketh safely amongst
the rocks. One without eyes, but with much wisdom upon his tongue and
goodness in his heart, who walketh ever without fear in the great
darkness; one who yearneth to help those whose backs have suffered from
the whip or whose hearts have suffered from the power wielded by that
daughter of _Shaitan_!” She crept close to Helen and whispered in her
ear: “One who likewise craveth to hurt, to wound, to kill, in revenge.”
Helen shivered at the hate in the little woman’s voice, but she
understood. She had learned the history of the blind man from Namlah;
once when, restless and unable to sleep through anxiety, she had walked
out on to the platform she had seen him in the grey light of the dawn,
standing midway on the steps, his face raised to her abode; once Namlah
had lain a few flowers on the silken coverlet, had whispered, “patience
brings victory to the blind and the prisoner,” and had retired to her
pots and pans with finger on lips.
The body-woman walked to the edge of the platform and beckoned to the
white girl she loved, and pointed to a silvery cloud of sand far out in
the desert.
“Yonder she rides,” she whispered. “May the sand choke her! May the
scorpion sting her heel! May....” She smiled up at Helen and shrugged
her scarred shoulders in the expressive Eastern way. “But of the luck of
such, Excellency, is it written, ‘throw him into the river and he will
rise with a fish in his mouth.’ Yet will her turn come; the tide cannot
remain at the full, the sun must set. Behold! I descend to the river,
whilst the men and women make merry in her absence, to fetch water for
her Excellency’s bath, leaving her alone, to walk amongst the rocks, in
the protection of Allah!”
Helen watched the little woman descend the steep steps, balancing a great
earthenware jar skilfully upon her head; noticed that she stopped for a
moment near one gigantic boulder which lay to the right of the steps;
listened to her singing as she made the rest of the descent down to the
water, which looked like a ribbon of silver run through a purple velvet
curtain, then entered the room, which was really a prison cell, pulled a
sheet of dark blue silk from her bed, and ran out on to the ledge.
She did not hesitate.
That the woman might be a spy did not once enter her head, and if it had,
under the strength of her love and her anxiety, she would doubtlessly
have thrown caution to the soft night wind and risked her life in an
endeavour to find out if there was not some way of escape by which she
could return to the man she loved.
Her own clothes, cleansed and pressed by Namlah’s busy fingers, had been
returned to her, so that she stood, a beautiful picture of an English
girl, in the strangest of strange surroundings, looking down into the
shadows out of which, she prayed, help might come to her.
Afraid of her outline against the sky, fearful of dislodging some stone
to send it clattering down the steps, she wrapped the blue sheet round
herself and descended slowly, carefully, pausing to listen, standing to
peer into the ink-black shadows on every side, and down to the plateau
where, by the light of torches and of fires, she could see men and women
passing to and fro.
She had almost reached the great boulder, when she stopped and drew the
dark silk still tighter and peered about uneasily, as she tried to locate
a soft hissing sound which came from some spot quite near to her.
Through bitter experience she had learned the ways of Arabia’s scorpions,
centipedes, wasps and flies; had fled in terror from the one and only
_aboo hanekein_ she had encountered, a fat, poisonous brute of a spider
with formidable pincers, and wrestled vainly against the great variety
of ants which the Peninsula offers; of locusts she had but the slightest
acquaintance, and of the deadly vipers, the _Rukla_ and the _Afar_, which
abound in rocks she had only been warned that afternoon.
Yet for fear of someone mounting the steps she dared not remain where she
was, and had just decided to risk the few yards which would bring her to
the boulder, when once more she caught the hissing sound.
And then from sheer relief she almost laughed.
“_Sit!_” whispered Yussuf from the shadows. “_Ya Sit! Sit!_”
She crept forward and round the boulder to where stood the blind man, who
had been perfectly aware of her noiseless descent. She did not shrink
at the terrible face, twisted and scarred, which looked down upon her;
rather did her heart go out to the maimed man as she laid her hand upon
his arm and called him by name.
“I trust you, Yussuf,” she said simply, which is quite one of the best
ways of winning the heart of an embittered man.
“Her Excellency _can_ trust me!” whispered Yussuf as he salaamed. “Namlah
and I are brother and sister in affliction. I have lost the light of
these mine eyes, she has lost the light of her life, her son, in the
grievous battle. To ease our hurts we seek to help thee, gracious lady,
so that upon her return the woman who rules us may find ashes in the
taste of her victory and gall in the wine of her success. The plans are
laid, have been laid this long while. I will carry her Excellency over
the secret path and out into the desert, then will I return for Namlah
and the camels, which are hidden and waiting these many hours, the
swiftest and most docile _hejeen_ in the stables.”
“Now? At once?” asked Helen, trembling with excitement. “But how can you
guide us across the desert?”
“Thy servant rides by the wind.” He lifted his sightless face to the
star-strewn sky and smiled. “’Tis from the east, _Sit_. Let it blow
in our faces, and we go towards the east until the sun sets after the
passing of two days, then we go north upon the path to Hutāh, passing the
field of the battle where the accursed offspring of the devil lifted the
white woman.”
Overpowered with gratitude, almost speechless with amazement as the
weight of her fear was lifted from her, Helen trembled, under the shock
of the sudden realization of her hopes and, desirous that he should share
in her happiness, caught the man’s hand in entreaty.
“You will come with us? You will let me and his Excellency, the man I am
going to marry, look after you, make you happy, make you forget, you and
Namlah?” She laughed softly, aglow with love and hope. “Gratitude is a
small, a very small, word, Yussuf, and it cannot express what I would say
in thanks.”
Yussuf smiled as he shook his head. Such words were rare in his ears; of
such brotherly love, excepting for that in his own heart, he had had no
knowledge.
“I will take thee, _Sit_, to within sight of the oasis, then must I
return. My task is not finished, will not be finished, until the spirit
of Zarah the Cruel has returned to the _Jahannam_ from which it came. We
must hasten by a path known only to me. I will lift her Excellency over
the rough places and carry her safely across the parts where danger lies.
The way is open, the night is clear, we——”
He stopped abruptly at the sound of voices raised in anger, and feeling
for Helen, gripped her tight about the wrist.
Namlah’s voice seemed to rise in a screaming crescendo, in ratio to the
steps she climbed, accompanied or followed by someone upon whom she
poured out the vials of her wrath.
“Nay! thou wine-bibber,” she shrilled. “What if thy mistress did place
the safekeeping of the white woman in thy useless hands? Nay! thou shalt
not push me to the side of this accursed path so that thy legs, which may
Allah strike with numbness, may carry thee with speed to the post thou
didst forget in thy drunkenness. Keep thou behind me, lest I break the
jar upon thy empty head and waste the precious water upon thy unclean
body, which is fit carrion for the birds of prey. What sayest thou? Thou
wouldst but look upon the white woman? So that thou mayst see her with
thine own eyes? Verily shalt thou, if thou canst see for the wine with
which thou hast filled thy vile and accursed body.”
Yussuf lifted Helen bodily into his arms.
“‘If thou seest a wall inclining, run from under it.’” He quoted the
proverb as he carried her swiftly up the mountainside by a steep short
cut, as sure-footed as a goat, as certain of his path as if he had eyes.
“It is not the hour, but let her Excellency remember that Yussuf is her
servant in all things.” He put her gently on her feet upon a ledge from
which she could climb to the platform. “Remember, too, that when the hour
does strike, then will Yussuf strike also. ‘Patience brings victory to
the blind and to the prisoner.’”
A few moments later Helen stood just inside the doorway, listening to the
violent altercation upon the steps.
There came the crash of a breaking jar, torrents of execration and
imprecation, then silence, and, in spite of her disappointment, she
smiled as she watched Namlah, slowly and with much dignity, climbing the
steps, with a dripping wet individual in the rear.
“Seest thou the white woman with thine own eyes? Yea! Then sit thou
there, thou dog!” cried Namlah at the top of her voice. “Nay, upon the
second step. Wouldst force thy company upon thy betters? And may Allah
strike thee with cold for having forgotten thy duty to thy mistress, so
that thou diest of palsy before the dawn.”
There was a twinkle of laughter in the depths of the brown eyes as she
combed the prisoner’s golden hair.
Is not intrigue as the breath of life to the Oriental?
* * * * *
“_He swims in a span of water._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
At that very hour Al-Asad, disguised as a holy man, sat in the camp of
the Bedouins who had befriended Ralph Trenchard.
True, the holy man’s body was somewhat well covered, as though he had not
unduly deprived himself of food in the ecstasy of his religion, and his
feet in fairly good trim, considering the length of the pilgrimage he was
making on foot to Mecca; also, upon close inspection, might the rents in
his one garment be attributed to a blunt knife rather than to time.
But there are many kinds of holy men criss-crossing desert places,
depending entirely upon the charity of chance-met Arabs for sustenance
and the will of Allah for a safe arrival at their journey’s end. The
tattered handkerchief fluttering from the end of the staff can be traced
by the keen-eyed, approaching or retreating, for miles in the desert’s
clear atmosphere, and heartbeats never fail to quicken at the chance
encounter with the solitary human who wends his way across the burning
sands, alone with his God.
As to others, so to Ralph Trenchard, sitting outside his tent, came that
feeling of great respect which the sudden appearance of these mystics
arouses in those who have the wherewithal to allay their hunger, and a
place upon which to lay their heads at night; and with the respect, a
great curiosity to read the secrets of a mind which allows so emaciated
a body to endure and survive days of endless wandering and starvation
and nights under heaven’s starlit roof. Al-Asad sat motionless, his eyes
fixed upon space, whilst his stomach rebelled against the rice in the
wooden bowl at his feet, and his whole being longed to get back to the
spot, in the far distance, where he had hobbled his well-laden camel.
Fearful of news of his search being transmitted through space to the ears
of those he sought, he had been forced to act up to his disguise and to
travel many weary, sandy miles on foot to various Bedouin camps, and to
eat many bowls of insipid rice, washed down his gasping throat with muddy
coffee, whilst abstracting the news he wanted from his unsuspicious host
by subtle questioning.
He had rejoiced to the innermost part of his being when, whilst humbly
asking alms from the Bedouin chief, he had seen Ralph Trenchard out of
the corner of his eye.
His quest was at an end. He had but to get into communication in some way
with the white man and arouse his interest, then leave the rest to the
foolishness of a race which, as his mistress had told him, taught its men
to look upon women as an almost sacred charge. He rose, and with hands
uplifted turned to the four quarters of the globe, his keen eyes sweeping
the camp for sign of the lynx-eyed Abdul, whilst the Bedouins drew back
out of respect for his holiness.
On catching sight of the servant at the back of his master’s tent,
Al-Asad squatted upon his haunches and muttered to himself, letting the
beads of Mecca run swiftly through his fingers whilst his crafty mind
searched for the best way to start the business without arousing the
servant’s suspicions.
He scraped up the last handful of rice, being careful not to leave one
single grain, and forced it down his rebelling throat, then rose and
crossed slowly to a black patch of shadow, in which he sat himself, well
aware that the eyes of the whole camp, especially those of the white man,
were upon him. He sat motionless for awhile as though in thanksgiving for
the nauseating meal, then made a gesture, upon which, with little cries
and great jostling, the whole camp, men, women and many children, crowded
about him, then, with the chief in the centre, sat themselves down in a
semicircle at the respectful distance demanded by the holy one’s piety.
Ralph Trenchard strolled to the extreme end of the right side of the
semicircle. He was wholly restored to health, a prey to intense anxiety,
and upon the eve of his departure for Hutah, where he intended calling
upon the aid of the entire Peninsula for the recovery of Helen, and
felt thankful for anything which might serve to distract his tormented
mind. Abdul gave a final look round his master’s tent, which consisted
of camel-skins thrown over four upright poles, and ran quickly to his
master’s side.
He had done his best to dissuade his master from the rash proceeding
of trying to discover her Excellency’s whereabouts, had preached the
doctrine of fatalism as known in the East, and had at last resigned
himself to the inevitable and sworn, in the secret places of his faithful
heart, to stick to the white man through thick and thin.
The visit of a holy man creates a welcome diversion in a camp where
meals of dates, muddy coffee, and, if luck is in, a sickly mess of
boiled camel flesh as _pièce de résistance_ form the only break in the
long, monotonous hours when fighting is not toward; the advent of a holy
man who deigned to open his lips except in prayer was to be reckoned a
miracle.
Abdul moved close to Ralph Trenchard at the holy one’s first words.
“Are any of thy children wounded, O my Son?” The words came faint and
slow, as though spoken by one who had almost lost the power of speech. “I
have with me an ointment of great power.” Al-Asad searched amongst his
rags and produced an alabaster pot, which had once contained rouge and
had been bought by Zarah in Cairo, but which now reeked to high heaven
of rancid camel fat mixed with aniseed.
“Nay! Father!” replied the chief, whilst his children whispered amongst
themselves. “Those that were wounded are healed, those that were sick are
recovered. Whyfore asketh thou? How knowest thou that they have been in
battle?”
Al-Asad barely suppressed a chuckle as he pressed the lid down upon the
distressing concoction and stored it once more about his person. He made
no answer. He sat motionless, as though lost in meditation, until Ralph
Trenchard could have fallen upon and shaken him back to a consciousness
of his surroundings.
“A moon ago I prayed upon the site of a great battle, O my Son!” murmured
Al-Asad slowly, after some long while and as though he had but just
heard the question. “There was naught but bones and this.” He once more
searched amongst his rags and looked at some object, which he did not
disclose to view, and took no notice of a quickly suppressed movement at
the right end of the circle as Abdul gripped Ralph Trenchard by the arm.
“I have asked those I have met upon my path if they knew aught about that
combat. Nay, my Son! interrupt me not, the hour is slipping into eternity
and I must be gone.” The chief, who had been anxious to tell what _he_
knew of the fight from personal experience, bowed in obedience and spread
his hands. “It was a fight between white men and the woman of whose
dire deeds the desert rings. All were killed but a white woman, who,
grievously wounded and nigh unto death, was made prisoner and taken to
the mountains known as the Sanctuary, which lie but a day’s journey and
a night’s journey to the south of the spot where they fought, and where
dwells the woman of evil repute.”
He rose as he spoke, standing a dim and arresting figure in the shadows,
and stretched out his hand.
“This I perceived glittering in the sun, midway between the mountains
and the battlefield, upon a path marked in the sand by the swift passing
of two camels. It is of too great a value for one who lives upon the
words of the Prophet of Allah, the one and only God. Perchance wilt thou,
my son, take it in return for thy charity to the humble pilgrim.”
He placed the locket in the chief’s hands, and in the scramble of the
entire camp to get a better view of the gift, crept behind the tent
and disappeared into the night, where, once sure that he was beyond
the chief’s range of vision, he emulated the ostrich in speed until he
reached the spot where he had left his well-laden camel.