“_Under every downhanging head dwells a thousand
mischiefs._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
Namlah had been superseded.
No suspicion whatever attached to her, but, whether her curses had been
too potent or the blow of the water-jar too much for him, the man who had
partaken of much good red wine the night of Helen’s attempted escape had
died.
That, in connexion with certain gossip concerning Namlah’s friendship
and enthusiastic praise of the white woman, decided Zarah. She sent her
packing, without warning, and in her stead put a villainously ugly, surly
negress incapable of speech, much less of a kind thought or deed, who
proceeded to follow the prisoner at a distance wherever she went, thereby
rendering speech with blind Yussuf impossible.
Knowing that Helen must pass the great rock on her way down to the river
to bathe, as was her custom just after sunrise, Yussuf sat himself down
in its shadow the morning after Namlah’s dismissal, with intent to tell
the prisoner the reason for the change in the body-woman and to warn her
to be on her guard. He lifted his head at the sound of her footsteps,
then frowned, though no one else could possibly have discerned the other
almost noiseless tread made by bare feet, one of which pressed the ground
more heavily than the other.
Judging correctly the distance between the two women, he put his finger
to his lips and whispered “_A’ti balak_” as he salaamed.
Be careful!
The change in her body-woman, combined with Yussuf’s warning, caused
Helen’s anxiety to increase, until her days became a burden of suspense
and her nights a nightmare of troubled dreams in which she saw her lover
lying dead or wounded in the desert or a prisoner in the hands of some
lawless tribe.
She would not allow herself to think of her position nor of her future,
but she made a vow in the depths of her valiant heart that, no matter
what was in store for her, no matter how the Arabian might cajole or
threaten, she would not show a sign of the anxiety which consumed her,
nor write a word of the letter which she knew would bring her lover, if
he lived, hot-foot, to her.
Then Zarah, who had not given up hopes of getting the letter from the
girl and who waited for the return of Al-Asad from his quest, showed
herself suddenly friendly, and Helen gladly responded to her invitations,
to visit the kennels and the stables and the rest of the erstwhile
monastery.
True, she had been forbidden to wander amongst the rocks or to climb to
the beginning of the cleft or to ride either horse or camel; true, also,
that the surly negress followed her wherever she went, so that, in spite
of the extra liberty, she felt herself more closely guarded and more
carefully watched than ever. Still, the days passed more quickly and her
friends amongst the dogs and their grooms became almost too numerous to
be counted.
Upon her first visit to the kennels, unaccompanied by Zarah, the head
groom, who worshipped the dogs, reluctantly offered her the whip without
which his mistress would not enter the door when upon her visits of
inspection.
“What for?” asked Helen, as she looked over his shoulder to where the
famous greyhounds and the dogs of Billi stood watching her.
“Out of fear, Excellency; they may be dangerous.”
“Fear of what?”
The head groom did not reply, but spread his fingers in a gesture against
the evil memory of the woman the dogs hated, and rushed to save Helen
from them when, barking and leaping, they threw themselves upon her in
instant friendliness in response to her call.
In the days following she visited the kennels upon every possible
occasion, until even Rādi, the bitch, fawned at her feet in love and the
grooms ran to greet her at the kennel door.
Through the order forbidding her to ride, the grooms of the horse and
camel stables became smitten of a grievous jealousy as they listened to
the tales of the white woman’s graciousness recounted to them by the head
groom of the kennels.
“Dogs! Yea! perchance she has knowledge of the dog, but _ride!_ pah! O
brother, what knows she of the Nejdee? What would she avail against the
vagaries of the desert horse?”
“Wilt thou make a bet, O my brother?”
Which is a perfectly absurd question to ask an Arab, who will gamble with
his last coffee bean if he has nothing of more value in hand.
The bet spread, dividing the camp into two factions which were ready to
fight over it upon the slightest provocation. The grooms of the stables
were backed by their friends; the grooms of the kennels had an equal
following; they all showed a catholic and reckless taste in stakes, which
ranged from marriageable daughters, through money, jewellery and weapons,
down to emaciated poultry.
News of the bet came to Zarah’s ears the day upon which Al-Asad returned
with the report that Ralph Trenchard was safe, had started for the
Sanctuary accompanied by one Abdul, and had been sighted near the scene
of the battle, which meant that he was but a day’s journey behind.
She cursed in her heart that interest in Helen should have been aroused
at such an inauspicious moment, then instantly, little knowing that
the girl’s horsemanship equalled, even surpassed, her own, conceived
a diabolically cunning plan by which she could bring about her death
before Ralph Trenchard’s arrival, and without, withal, arousing suspicion
amongst the men.
Helen wanted to ride, the men wanted her to ride; well, ride she should,
and to her death.
Lulah, the black mare, had been pronounced untamable. Descendant of the
mare who had brought the Sheikh to safety, likewise descendant of the
mare who had been the cause of Yussuf’s blindness, she was as black of
temper as she was of coat.
Three people out of the whole camp had been able to ride her the entire
length of the plateau.
Zarah, Bowlegs, and the Patriarch.
Not one of the others who had taken the risk even of trying to mount
her had escaped injury. Each one had been thrown, considering himself
lucky if he escaped with slight concussion; there had been broken bones
a-plenty and one broken neck.
That made the beginning and end of the plan.
If Helen succeeded in getting across the saddle she would of necessity
be thrown; she must be. She might break her neck, in which case all the
trouble would be over; or she might be stunned, in which case she would
look like dead, which would serve as well.
Brigands do not worry themselves overmuch about such details as
heartbeats; scruples do not exist in a jealous woman’s heart.
Neither was there time to lose.
She sent for the head groom of the stables.
“Lulah the Black, mistress?” The man raised a face of consternation as
Zarah finished speaking. “Mistress, she is not fit; she is as wild as a
bird on the wing; she is possessed of the devil. One of thy slaves even
now lies sick of the meeting of her teeth in his shoulder.”
Zarah put an end to his protestations by the simple method of smiting him
across the mouth.
“And I will saddle her with my own hands upon the day of sport to-morrow,
O my son, and thou shalt hold her near me until I give the signal.
Likewise shalt thou and others make a pretence of mounting her, a
pretence only. And see that thou makest no mistake, lest thou beareth the
burden of my litter for a space.”
The morrow came, bringing a horseman who carried the news of the
disappearance of the white man and his servant in the locust storm.
In her rage against Fate Zarah decided to countermand the sports; then,
fearful of angering her men and aching to find an object upon which to
vent her fury and the agony of as big a love as she was capable, once
more changed her mind and decided to carry out the programme.
* * * * *
“_Beaten—but to-day beater._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
“The shadow of the great locust storm has fallen upon Zarah the
Beautiful!” whispered Bowlegs to Yussuf’s Eyes as they watched the sports
with all the enthusiasm and delight of the Arab’s heart, which upon
occasion can be so childlike. The dumb youth nodded his head and smiled
and tapped a description of Zarah’s face upon his blind friend’s arm,
whereupon Yussuf laughed loudly and long and rubbed his slender hands
together at the thought of the Arabian girl’s discontent.
She reclined in her litter this late afternoon, swung upon the shoulders
of four prisoners, her face as black as thunder; she flung herself
irritably from side to side, and used her whip smartly upon the backs of
the men—who had stood in the sun for an hour or so—when, by shifting the
litter, they tried to alleviate the pain of the wounds it made in their
shoulders.
It was her favourite form of punishment for trivial offences, and she
kept Al-Asad, the muscular half-caste, close at hand, so that he should
be in readiness to take the place of the first one of the four who should
collapse under the combined torture of the heat and the weight of the
jewel-encrusted ivory litter. She had no reason to use the whip upon his
back. His mighty muscle made nothing of the weight; his negroid blood
withstood the heat of the sun; his abnormal love caused him to find joy
in the task, blinding him to the smiles, rendering him deaf to the titter
which the humiliation of his task invariably drew from his friends, who
loved the mighty man and grieved over his insensate passion.
She was surrounded by slaves who cast terrified glances at her wrathful
countenance as they performed their various tasks. At her head two
Abyssinian maidens, nude save for the scarlet sashes which girt them
about the middle, stood upon low pedestals like glistening black
statues of Venus, fanning her with fans of snow-white ostrich feathers;
boys, slim, dark-eyed, with slender hands and feet, offered her cool
drinks, sweetmeats and fruits upon trays of beaten silver; girls, slim,
dark-eyed, with slender hands and feet, threw perfumed water into the air.
Helen sat some way off upon a pile of cushions in the shade of a rock,
making a sharp contrast in her dilapidated but well-built Shantung
breeches and knee-length coat with the Arabian’s almost barbaric
splendour; and many a glance was cast at her from the serried ranks of
men, who looked with interest upon the beautiful white prisoner, about
whom Namlah had, most unwisely, ecstatically and so unceasingly talked.
That morning had come the invitation to witness the sports, to which she
had responded with alacrity, to find herself, of a sudden, the object of
interest to many hundreds of men, and a prey to uneasiness at the sight
of Zarah’s mocking smile and the memory of Yussuf’s whispered warning.
Her hair shone like gold against the dark rock background. She laughed at
the men’s encounters in the “_Jerzed_,” and clapped her hands at their
marvellous dexterity with spear and rifle and revolver; but she kept her
eyes away from the spot where the four bare-headed men underwent torture
in the terrific heat of the sun.
She had begged Zarah to spare them; she had entreated with clasped hands,
and with pitying eyes had lain her handkerchief upon the nearest wounded
shoulder, which is a foolish thing for a beautiful girl to do when she
is the prisoner of a beautiful woman famed for her cruelty throughout a
land which is not exactly noted for the gentleness of its methods. She
had retired to the pile of cushions and had sat down with eyes averted
from the terrible picture of the beautiful, insolent woman who had
imperiously bidden her to mind her own business, and had brought her whip
down sharply upon the backs of the two front, undersized, under-nourished
Armenians.
She sat quite by herself, so that she could not ask the meaning of the
mighty shout which went up when Zarah raised her right hand, sparkling
with jewels in the sun. The men in the back rows pushed towards the
front, and those in front pushed their ambitious brethren back with
oaths, so that a pitched battle seemed imminent, in which some part of
the grievances, not only of the seats but also of the stables and the
kennels, might be settled.
Peace fell with a great suddenness when Zarah sat forward and beckoned
Al-Asad. She looked at the warring factions for a long moment, during
which they sat as though carved out of the mountainside; then she smiled
slowly and nodded her head and raised her right hand twice, upon which
the men awoke once more, as from a trance, and yelled.
Helen rose to her feet and clapped her hands, heedless of the eyes which
flashed from her to Lulah, the black, superb Nejdee mare, as she was led
forward, seemingly with as much wickedness in her as a lamb. The men
nudged each other and took on fresh bets with the neighbouring enemy
as they remarked upon the stirrups swinging from the wisp of a native
saddle. “Stirrups!” ejaculated a groom of the stables to one of the
kennels. “And thou say’st that the white woman _rides_?”
“The _Inglizi_ ride not without stirrups!”
“Then they ride not at all!”
“With or without stirrups, O brother, thou knowest that that black
she-devil Lulah is not to be ridden; yet will I make thee a bet of this,
my silver-handled knife, against the silver ring of no value upon thy
finger that yon white woman rides the Satan-possessed mare.”
The two men placed the stakes at their feet just as, with a short run,
one of the stable grooms flung himself into the saddle, and fell off
the other side as the mare reared, jerking the head groom, who held the
halter, off his feet.
Then ran men from all sides, eager, from sheer love of horses and of
sport, to try and dominate the beautiful creature that lashed out on
every side, squealing with what they thought to be anger, and what Helen
knew to be pain. And slowly, inch by inch, the litter tipped to one side
as one of the undersized, under-nourished Armenians succumbed to the
agony of his hurt, until Zarah, white with rage and cursing volubly,
stepped hurriedly out as the other three dumped the litter just as their
companion fell. She did not wait, so great was her rage, to upbraid them;
instead, longing to hurt, to kill, in her wrath, she walked straight up
to Helen, who stood watching the mare pawing the ground.
“You say you can r-r-ride anyzing, Helena, my dear-r-r school fr-rien’,”
she said sweetly, standing slender and straight, at the English girl’s
side, whilst the men broke ranks and rushed across the plateau so as to
overhear the conversation.
“So I can, Zarah. But you know there’s something wrong with that mare.
It’s not all nerves.”
“She has never-r-r been r-r-ridden befor-r-e, Miss Veter-r-inar-r-y,
that’s all zat is ze matter wiz her-r-r. Why do you not have a tr-r-y?”
“Why not indeed? I had a bucking waler at home once, which was miles
worse than that mare. Tell the men to stand clear, and tell the one
holding her to turn her head from me. I don’t want her broadside on.”
Final and terrific betting took place as the men heard their mistress
issue the last orders and rushed back to their places; then complete
silence fell as Helen walked towards the mare, then bent to adjust a
strap on her riding-boot. She looked back suddenly at Zarah and caught
the expression of her face, and bent and adjusted yet again the strap
upon her boot.
She could not interpret the Arabian’s mocking smile, but she understood,
in a lightning flash of intuition, that she was to uphold her country’s
reputation for riding in the eyes of the finest horsemen in the world,
and, great horsewoman that she was, became suddenly lost to everything
outside a fierce determination to do her country credit.
“My last goat to thy new shoes,” a groom of the kennels whispered
feverishly to his neighbour at the sight of Helen’s laughing face as she
backed a yard or so; he nearly broke the neighbour’s arm in the terrific
grip he gave it when Helen ran, caught the mane, vaulted into the saddle,
and throwing her left leg over the beautiful black head, slipped to the
ground on the off-side just before the beast reared with a scream.
“_Wah! wah!_” yelled the men. “_Wah! wah!_” and rose to their feet and
fought each other in their great excitement.
“Allah gives us the victory!” yelled a groom of the stables. “If she
cannot even sit a horse, how can she ride? Hasten, O my brother, with a
cushion upon which this white woman may rest safely upon the earth!”
“‘Advice given in the midst of a crowd is loathsome,’” quoted brother,
his hand upon his knife, which he forgot to draw as he watched Helen. She
stood talking to the mare; she beckoned a child with a tray of dates,
and took a handful and held them out. The mare stretched her beautiful
head and sniffed at them, then nibbled them, showing the red depths of
her nostrils; then, when Helen gave a pull at the saddle, lashed out and
flung herself sideways.
“I thought so,” said Helen.
For quite ten minutes she stood talking to the mare, until the men began
to fidget and grumble and Zarah to laugh; then she spoke sharply to the
groom who held the rope halter.
“Hold on tight, I am going to take the saddle off.”
Zarah made a quick step forward as Helen patted the satiny flank, working
her hands towards the heavy buckle. There came a yell from everyone as
she seized it and hung on to it until it was undone, just as the groom
hung on to the rope halter, despite the slashing hoofs and the mare’s
violent efforts to be rid of these people who so tormented her.
Helen whipped the light saddle off the mare’s blood-stained back and held
it up, turning it first to Zarah, who laughed, and then to the men, who
literally howled execrations.
“You brutes!” she cried. “You cowardly brutes! Look! The point of a nail,
which pricked the mare each time the saddle was touched. Come here.” The
head groom ran forward, salaaming, protesting that he knew nothing about
it all, speaking the truth, for a wonder. “You say you did not saddle
the mare. Then why don’t you look after the men under you? Take it!” She
flung the wisp of a saddle full in the man’s face, so that the buckle cut
his cheek, upon which the place resounded with shouts of joy and peals of
laughter, which stopped when she raised her hand.
“I ride her bare-back,” she cried, and smiled at the men when, with the
Arab’s proverbial inconstancy, they yelled encouragement.
She stood patting the mare, stroking the quivering back, lightly touching
the superficial wound until the animal became accustomed to pressure on
the spot; then she took the halter and trotted the beautiful beast down
the full length of the plateau, whilst the men sighed with joy at the
sight.
“A babe can lead a horse,” scoffed the equivalent of a British
stable-lad; “let us wait until she essays to scramble to the back, even
as a monkey scrambles up a pole.”
But Helen had no intention of emulating the monkey; she intended riding
that mare if she died in the attempt. She took the beautiful creature
round the full circle, caused by the men sitting in a ring, at a trot,
then at a gentle canter, then caught the mane and vaulted across the bare
back.
“_Now_, God,” cried Helen, “help me _now_!”
Which was her somewhat unusual prayer in time of stress.
The spectators held their breath as the mare bucked madly in an effort
to dislodge the girl; then they yelled again and again as she reared and
bucked and flung her heels up until Helen leant against the satiny back.
It was a magnificent exhibition of horsemanship, but the men scattered
like chaff before the wind when Lulah the Black suddenly made a dash
through them straight for the river edge; and they shouted bets one to
the other upon the white woman’s chance of life and death as she almost
shot over the mare’s head when she stopped suddenly on the very brink,
with slender forelegs wide spread; then wheeled and raced back to the
arena, where she bucked to the far end, then wheeled and broke into a
furious gallop, which strenuous exercise lasted for some considerable
time, until it changed to a canter, then subsided to a trot, when the
men, carried out of themselves with enthusiasm, rushed and surrounded the
pair.
Zarah, with a face like a night of storm, had just beckoned Al-Asad to
order him to quell the humiliating tumult, when the sentry from the cleft
in the rocks came running down the narrow path.
“It is a solitary rider, O mistress,” he panted as he fell at Zarah’s
feet, “upon a far-spent camel. He hangs over upon his own knees, he
guided not the beast, which even now flounders deep in the sands of
death. But the space of three of thy servant’s hands to the west, O Great
One, and the camel stood safely upon the hidden path. I cannot see the
face of the rider, but his raiment is that of the white race, and I ran
to tell thee, O mistress, as thou didst command me.”
Zarah gave an order to Al-Asad and beckoned the head groom of the
stables, who stood at a distance nursing his wounded cheek.
“The stallion, Abyad, on the instant,” she said sharply.
The man ran at uttermost speed to the stables, whilst Zarah, taking no
notice of Helen, walked swiftly to the beginning of the narrow path
leading up to the cleft, as Al-Asad strode through the men, hurling them
roughly to each side, until he reached the mare.
“Behold, O white woman,” he said curtly, “thou art to return to thy nest
near the skies and to remain within until thy mistress sends for thee.
The black woman with the gait of a lame hen will keep guard over thee,
and if thou dost attempt to walk out, even upon the narrow way outside
the door, then——”
The men whispered amongst themselves as Helen slipped from the mare’s
back and walked slowly to the steep steps, being far too wise either to
notice the peremptoriness of the Nubian’s manner or to attempt to disobey
Zarah’s orders.
She climbed up and up to her nest near the sky, where the surly negress
awaited her, whilst the men followed the Nubian as he ran to overtake his
mistress, who drove her stallion as fast as he could scramble up the
steep mountain path.
It was a wonderful sight to witness, and one that, in spite of her
brutality and cruelty, endeared her to her men.
She rode her favorite Nejdee, a white stallion of purest breed, standing
fifteen hands, which is a height never exceeded in this perfect horse.
She rode him without saddle or stirrup, and barely lifted the halter-rope
which, with the Nejdee, always takes the place of bit, guiding him by
knees and voice, urging him on, as she rode to save the man she loved.
The stallion slithered and scrambled like a goat down the other side of
the spot where the spear, thrown at the Arabian girl’s father, stuck fast
in a cleft between two rocks, whilst the men fought each other for the
best point of vantage from which they could watch either the sinking of
the camel and its rider, who looked as one dead, or his rescue by the
indomitable woman who ruled them.
And all were too intent upon the sport of the moment to notice a faint
movement amongst the rocks to the east, where the shadows were heaviest.
“It _is_ a white man, and the camel’s belly sinketh in the sand,”
whispered Namlah to Yussuf. “She, our mistress, and may the hyenas pick
her bones, rides out to save him.”
“May he be saved,” whispered back the blind man, “and may she make her
bed to-night in the depths of the sands in his stead. Linger thou, O
Namlah, until we know the will of Allah, the one and only God, concerning
this white man; then must thou flee, lest thy absence from amongst the
women be noticed.”
As Namlah said, the camel lay upon the quicksands, screaming with fear,
struggling and fighting, biting at the sands which were slowly sucking
it down, whilst Ralph Trenchard sat with his head on his knees, which,
holding the peak of the saddle in a deadly cramp, had prevented him from
falling in the last stretch of the waterless journey through hours of
burning sun.
The stallion stood near the spear, shivering in the fear of the death
he knew to surround him. He had crossed the path more times than his
mistress could remember, and he knew that he would have to cross in the
end, driven by the agony of the golden spurs in his sides, just as he
always crossed in the end, no matter how strenuously he resisted. But he
stood and shivered and rolled his gentle eyes until a sharp jab brought
him to his hind feet, then another, which sent him dancing, curvetting
down the path. His long silvery mane and tail blew out in the evening
breeze like silken streamers, his dainty, polished hoofs flashed in
the red light of the setting sun, and he pricked his small ears at the
screams of the camel, as he went down the path and turned, spurred by the
beautiful, relentless woman until they faced the rocks.
Zarah’s eyes were wonderful to behold as she leant far over and touched
Ralph Trenchard on the shoulder. They were tender and sweet and fearless,
until into them shot an agonizing look of terror as she clutched the
stallion’s silvery mane and leant farther over still and caught the man’s
hair in her fingers and pulled back his head and looked down into the
terrible face with the closed eyes.
Then she grasped his collar with her right hand and pulled on the
rope-halter with her left, as she dug the spurs into the stallion’s sides
so that he reared and backed until, for fear of falling over onto the
camel, she had perforce to let go her hold on the man who sat stiffly,
with his head on his knees, as the camel sank inch by inch to its death.
She sat back, with an agony of horror stamped on her face, which was
beautiful under the power of her love, and sent a ringing cry over to the
men gathered to watch the fight.
“_Bil-’ajal_, Asad,” she called. “_Bil-’ajal! bil-’ajal!_”
Al-Asad leapt from the rock to the hidden path and raced to his
mistress’s bidding, swiftly, surely, heedless of the death which awaited
him on the first false step, eager to help the woman he loved, even in
the task of rescuing the man to whom she had given her heart.
“Give me space, O mistress!” he cried, as he stood with one foot upon the
path and the other upon the back of the camel’s saddle and gripped Ralph
Trenchard round the waist. “Nearer, O mistress, and place the stallion’s
silver hair within my hand.” The shouts of the men rang out over the
desert as they watched the desperate fight, as the Nubian put out all his
mighty strength and pulled just as Zarah drove in the golden spurs until
the stallion reared. “Thy dagger, O mistress,” he cried, as he let go his
hold upon the mane and sprang back upon the path. “The white man’s knees
break under the strain.” He seized the razor-edged, jewelled dagger and
stood once more with his foot on the back of the camel’s saddle and bent
and felt in the sands, which pulled at his hands and arms as he sawed at
the girth.
He sawed through the girth on both sides and cut the ropes, and holding
the jewelled dagger between his teeth, bent and took hold of the saddle
as the sands rose to the level where the animal’s mangy tail began. He
had a few minutes in which to perform the mighty deed, and Namlah gripped
Yussuf’s hand and the men made the wildest, maddest bets upon the outcome
of the struggle.
He placed both hands under the back of the saddle and tipped it forward;
it was free; then gripped the back pommel and the front pommel and looked
up at the woman he loved.
“Back, O mistress! Back, lest I break the stallion’s legs!”
The muscles of his back and chest and arms rippled, then tautened, then
stood out in great knots.
He lifted the saddle a few inches and let it fall back and shifted his
slender hands; lifted it higher and higher until it rested for a second
upon his bent knees; then, to the sound of the men’s mighty shouting,
made one superhuman effort and, just as the sands touched his feet, with
a great swing of the shoulders flung the saddle and the senseless rider
to safety upon the narrow path.