“_Tyrannical, cheating, of ill omen._”—ARABIC PROVERB.
The overpowering heat of the day had given place to the lesser heat
of early evening as the sun sank behind the western edge of the
mountain ring. The interior of the ring looked like the inside of some
rough-edged, painted flower-pot, with grey, purple, blue-black foundation
and sides of green and richest reds and browns, melting to saffron,
topaz, amethyst and rose, crowned by great peaks which seemed to flicker
in the terrific heat radiated by the sun-scorched rock. Little golden,
pink and crimson clouds, faintly stirred by the blessed evening breeze,
sailed serenely across a sky of deepest blue which stretched, a gorgeous
canopy, above the heads of the men seated on the ground or up the gentle
incline rising from the plateau.
Those opposite the steps down which Zarah would have to pass sat with
knees to chin, placidly chewing _kaat_ or smoking red or black _sebel_
and longer pipes with big, open bowl.
Those to the north and south of the steps sat sidewise, also contentedly
chewing or smoking, with eyes fixed upon the steep path.
There was no laughing, no gambling, no betting upon the outcome of
the different sporting items in the tournament for which they had
foregathered. They were strangely quiet, with a certain expectancy in
their eyes and a vast amount of meaning in their expressive gestures as
they commented upon and argued about the tales the Nubian had spread
anent their mistress’s strange behaviour of the night before.
“_Bism ’allah!_ upon the very edge, with one eye upon the running water
into which the Lion thought she desired to throw herself, and one eye
upon the white man, who, by the wool! is a man of strong heart, even if
he be an infidel.”
Bowlegs laughed as he stretched his circular limbs and pressed himself
against his neighbour so as to make room for Yussuf as he came towards
them, led by “His Eyes,” down the path made for him through the serried
ranks.
“Welcome, brother, thou true believer in the shaven crown,” cried the
handsome youth who had been swung like a club, and who had not followed
the precepts of the Prophet to the extent of shaving his head. “Hast
heard that the white woman, who holdeth the heart of the man who loveth
her and who is loved of the beautiful Zarah, and may Allah guide their
footsteps in the crookedness of their paths——” As he spoke he pushed his
way between Bowlegs and Yussuf, and as he looked up into the mutilated
face, touched the blind man gently. “Hast heard that the tiger-cat, in
her rage, has caused the head of the white woman to be shaven so that, if
she were lost in the Robaa-el-Khali, the ostrich might even wish to brood
upon it as her egg?”
The men shouted in ribald mirth as they bandied jokes, mostly unprintable
in their Oriental flavour.
“Yea, and shaven after the setting of the sun,” said the Patriarch
bitterly, whilst every man in earshot touched his favourite lucky amulet
or made the finger gesture against ill-luck. “Behold, will Zarah’s
mocking of Fate surely bring catastrophe upon the camp, for what but
misfortune can follow the shaving of a crown after the setting of the
sun?”
The fine sons of one of the most superstition-ridden races in the world
performed divers tricks to placate the fury of the false god of ill-luck
they had raised up in their minds, then continued in their merriment.
“Who has seen the shaven head?”
“No eyes have seen the head, O brother, but mine own eyes have seen
Namlah the Busy, seated like a bee in the heart of a golden flower,
weaving a kerchief from the infidel’s wondrous hair.”
Bowlegs shouted with laughter.
“Yea! verily! a kerchief to replace the gentle Zarah’s garments, torn
asunder ’twixt her teeth and fingers in her wrath at the white man’s
coldness.”
“Or to wipe the tiger-cat’s face, which, wet with tears and hot with
anger, was like an over-ripe fruit of the _doom_ tree, fallen upon the
sand!”
“Or to remove the dust from her chamber, wrecked like unto a house swept
by the hurricane, with feathers of many fowl, liberated from the burst
cushions, clinging to the silken curtains and her hair.”
Prodded by Fate, the handsome youth turned and laid his hand on Yussuf’s
arm whilst the men crowded closer yet to listen to their conversation.
“O brother,” he said laughingly, “thou who hast suffered, thou who even
now dost pass sleepless nights of pain, wilt thou not in thy goodness, to
quieten the agony of the tiger-cat’s gentle heart, give unto her a few
drops of the sweet water prescribed thee by yon old herbalist for sleep?”
Yussuf smiled as best he could for the distortion of his mouth, as he
searched in his cummerbund and pulled out a flask, filled with the strong
narcotic he took to still the throbbing of his torn nerves when the wind
blew from the north.
“’Tis overpowerful, little brother. A drop too little and she wakes from
her sleep like a tigress bereft of her cubs; a drop too much and she
wakes not at all.”
“Twenty drops and what....”
The voice from behind was stilled suddenly as the men rose quickly and
stood staring up to the platform outside Zarah’s dwelling.
Zarah stood looking down.
She stood almost upon the spot from where some years ago she had hurled
her spear at the fighting dogs, and, killing the one intended for a gift
to her father’s guest, had followed the decree of Fate, who had tangled
her life’s thread with those of her white prisoners.
“Zarah is a very queen of loveliness!”
“Yea! with hair like the setting sun!”
The hawk-eyed men with the superb sight of those who live in the clear
atmosphere of great spaces criticized in detail the Arabian’s garments,
which at such a distance would have shown as a white blur to the eyes of
the westerner, accustomed as he is to an horizon bounded by walls and a
sky ever limited by chimney-pots or partially obliterated by smoke or fog.
“The white man tarries! Would that the Lion were here to tell once again
of the calmness of his face in the storm of yester-night.”
“Perchance does his heart fail at the thought of the maiden’s shaven
crown.”
“Likewise does she tarry, fearful perchance of beholding her lover’s eyes
empty of love light.”
“‘She gave her the vinegar to drink on the wings of flies.’” Yussuf
touched his sad face as he quoted the proverb. “Verily were the words
of wisdom written to describe the refinement of the tortures our thrice
gentle mistress meteth out to her prisoners.”
There was not a movement, not a whisper from the men when Zarah turned
and lifted her hand, but there came a great cry from hundreds of throats
as Helen appeared in the doorway, followed by the two gigantic Abyssinian
women.
“Hast seen the shaven crown, brother?”
The handsome youth turned to Yussuf, who stood with his sightless face
raised to the skies.
“Nay, blind one,” he replied quietly, all the merriment gone from his
face. “I have seen the white woman. She stands behind the dread Zarah,
her golden hair, even the length of thy longest finger, twining about
her head like a crown of flowers upon a young acacia tree. She is like
an orchard of choice fruit in her beauty. Yea! like an orchard of
pomegranates and peaches, and as the gentle incline of the rocks where
the evening sun kisseth the oranges and apricots and luscious fig. If
it were not that she is of a race of infidels, likewise cursed with a
spirit of mockery and a lack of gratitude, I would e’en woo her in the
shadows of the night and make of her _my_ woman.” He moved forward, drawn
by Helen’s radiant beauty, as she descended the steps fanning Zarah with
a circular, painted fan of dried palm leaves.
The men stood as though spellbound at the sight of the two beautiful
girls.
They forgot the tournament, their wrath, their merriment; they stood
speechless, staring, then moved forward in a body as Zarah reached the
bottom step and made a way for her up to where an ebony chair, inlaid
with gold, stood upon a carpet of many colours.
The expression of Zarah’s sullen face was almost as black as the shadows
spreading half-way up the mountains; her heavy brows were bent above her
strange eyes; her crimson mouth set in a line which boded no good to
those who might thwart her.
A chance word, an indiscreet gesture, would be spark enough to start the
conflagration, and Fate, close to Helen Raynor, stood ready to fire the
Arabian’s raging jealousy as Ralph Trenchard, followed by the Nubian,
walked slowly from the men’s quarters towards them.
There was not a sound and scarcely a movement in the vast throng of men
as they stood looking from one to the other of the three who, even in the
desert, made the seemingly inevitable love triangle. And so enthralled
were they, and so oblivious were the three who composed the triangle
to their surroundings, that no notice was taken of the downtrodden,
docile women who, headed by Namlah, and imbued with the spirit of
insubordination which was sweeping the camp, also with a fierce desire
to see the white woman’s shaven head, crept in ones and twos from behind
the rock buttress which hid their quarters from the greater part of the
plateau.
They stole along the river edge, behind their men, who were too engrossed
in the picture before them even to bet, let alone to notice the doings of
their womenkind.
They crept up behind the gigantic Abyssinian women who stood behind
Zarah’s chair, and turned and looked at them as a couple of Yemen
buffaloes might turn to inspect an ant heap.
The radiance of the blazing sky seemed to fill the mountain ring for a
moment as Ralph Trenchard passed down the path made for him by the men,
and stood suddenly clear of them, and exactly opposite Helen as she
fanned the Arabian.
The mountains echoed Helen’s name as he called to her, holding out his
arms, and her cry of joy as she flung the circular fan with pointed edges
sideways, so that by mischance it caught in the Arabian’s hair, and ran
to her lover.
The rocks echoed Zarah’s screams of wrath and pain and her sharp order
to the Abyssinians, and the downtrodden women’s screams of hate, as they
swept round the chair headed by Namlah, and cut Helen off.
Zarah shrieked in agony as the fan pulled her head down to one side,
scratching her face and her shoulder, and beat the arms of the chair and
the Abyssinians’ glistening bodies as they tried their best to relieve
her whilst she fought like a wild cat, with her eyes fixed on the fight
which was taking place in front of her.
The women were trying to prevent Helen from reaching her lover, and the
men were endeavouring, and none too gently, to push the women on one
side, so that the white man they had come to admire and like might meet
the woman of his heart. They did it for the sport of the thing, and to
assert their authority over their women; also, in their heart of hearts
was there a certain amount of admiration for Helen’s beauty and courage.
The women who had come to titter and jeer at Helen’s bald head were
consumed with wrath at their disappointment and fought their men tooth
and nail, taking advantage of the scrum to pay off many an old score and
avenge many a lash of the whip or tongue. The men, amused at first, then
astounded, then really angry at this sudden exhibition of women’s rights,
slapped their own particular womenfolk with the flat of their hand, then
smote them smartly with the _mihjan_, and finally shook them violently
until their sleek heads seemed like to leave their shoulders and their
beautiful teeth to break in their chattering.
Ralph Trenchard stood at the back of the men who slapped and shook and
cursed; Helen stood, looking towards him, towering above the dusky little
women like a young acacia tree in the bush.
In spite of the peril in which they knew themselves to stand, they
smiled across and called messages to each other, which were lost in the
universal torrents of abuse and vociferous yelling, interspersed with
screams and sounds of slapping and tearing.
Namlah, wedged on the outer circle of the maelstrom, fought like a fury
to get at Helen, screaming abuse, hurling her fighting sisters from her
path in the excess of her seeming rage, whilst Yussuf, led by “His Eyes,”
rattled his staff on the shins of the gentler sex as he strove to reach
Namlah.
Bowlegs brought about their meeting.
Aided by the mighty muscle of his legs, he leapt free of the shrieking
sisterhood high into the air and, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a
hawk and a field mouse, pounced upon his second and obese wife, whom he
had spied fighting with the best in much torn raiment.
The tremendous impact from above flung her backwards against Namlah, who
in her turn was flung backwards against Yussuf.
Proceeded a pretty passage of arms and tongues between these two, during
which the blind man slipped a silver bottle down the front of Namlah’s
torn _qamis_ whilst she belaboured him, and “Yussuf’s Eyes” rained blows
upon his mother’s back.
“_Aï! aï! aï!_” she wailed, as she rolled the flask in the top part
of her torn petticoat. “Would’st tear the very _tannurah_ from my
limbs, thou wifeless, childless, breaker of the Prophet’s law? Push me
forward—ha! thou would’st push me forward, thou rascal son of mine, even
unto the first line of my fighting sisters. Well, push, push hard, so
that I leave the mark of my nails upon the white girl’s face!”
Helen turned at the sound of the woman’s voice and raised herself on
tiptoe the better to see, and caught the look in the dusky little woman’s
twinkling eye, which in no wise responded to the wrath of her voice and
gestures.
“Yea! white woman,” she shrieked, “come nearer to me, or let me come
nearer unto thee, if thou art not afraid. I will show thee what manner of
woman it is thou did’st mimic and mock.”
“Afraid,” cried Helen, forcing a way through the men. “Afraid! Come to me
and——”
She reeled back as Namlah flung herself upon her, pushed by her son, who
pulled the blind man after him, whilst the men who were not actually
engaged in taming their shrews surged round them, shouting in delight.
Namlah landed right on Helen’s chest, to which she clung as a woodpecker
to a tree trunk.
“Take this! Ten drops this night before she sleeps—then wait in the
shadows,” she whispered; then shrieked: “Ha! thou infidel. I would tear
out thine eyes, I——”
“Yussuf’s Eyes” suddenly and forcibly pinched the underpart of his
mother’s arm, upon which she yelled, let go her hold on Helen and leapt
at him, then slid meekly to earth and tried to cover her face with her
torn veil, which she spread out to arm’s length as Helen hid the silver
flask in her belt.
The sun had set, leaving the sky in a tumult of violent colouring,
through which, in a small patch of deepest blue, shone one great star.
Helen looked up to the banners of gold and red and orange, the curtains
of saffron, the trails of rose and wispy bands of grey, then looked
across at Zarah, who walked slowly towards her, blood trickling down her
scratched cheek. Her eyes flamed in her white face, which showed over the
top of the dead black satin cloak she had wrapped round her like a skin;
and Ralph Trenchard, who saw the menace in her sombre eyes and the cruel
twist to her mouth, seized the men nearest him and threw them on one side
as he raced to get to Helen before the Arabian could reach her.
He was a second too late.
Even as he touched her one of the gigantic Abyssinian women reached
her and, lifting her like a straw, carried her to where Zarah stood
insolently, contemptuously watching the scene, whilst Yussuf stepped in
front of him and pushed him back as “His Eyes” got tangled up in his feet.
“For God’s sake get out of my way, you fool!” Trenchard shouted, and
lifted the dumb youth by the neck of his _jubbah_ and dropped him as
Yussuf rushed blindly at him, guided by his voice.
“To-night, when the dog barks thrice,” he whispered, then shouted: “Harm
not ‘Mine Eyes’ lest I stray from the right path so that——”
He stopped and turned as Helen’s voice came clearly through the night air.
“Don’t worry about me, Ra! I’m all right; no one can harm me,” she cried;
then stepped back quickly as Zarah turned on her and, seizing her by the
wrist, pulled her forward.
Held by Yussuf, who whispered without ceasing, Trenchard stood in the
centre of a semicircle of men and women with the Patriarch at the end
nearest Zarah and Helen, and Namlah, in a most indecorous and dishevelled
state, at the other.
The two beautiful girls stood exactly opposite the man they loved, with
the gigantic negresses close behind.
“Move not—have patience until the dog barks thrice to-night—make no
effort to help—all is well—Allah watches over thee and thine in thy
need—nay! make no sign—nothing can be done to her until the morrow.”
Yussuf whispered without ceasing, whilst, sick to the heart at the menace
in the air, Ralph Trenchard stood waiting, with what patience he could
command.
Zarah raised her hand and, fully aware of the backing she would get from
the women, began to speak.
“I am speaking for my children,” she cried, “the children this white
woman has mocked and derided, and for whom she has not had one word of
thanks, not one little feeling of gratitude.”
“_Na’am, na’am!_” wailed Namlah in full acquiescence.
“For myself I do not mind that she strikes me until the blood runs, but
my children I will protect!”
“_Akhkh!_” wailed Namlah, crouching on the ground and beating her breast
with much vigour.
“And I will punish those who hurt my children. Yea! I will make of _them_
a sport, a mock. The white man—nay, Al-Asad, come thou to me—the white
man I bear no ill will, for he has worked well among my sons.” She put
her hand upon the Nubian’s arm when he ran across to her, and smiled up
into his handsome face as she shook her head. “I am mistress here; thou
shalt not touch the white man. For the white woman....” She looked at
Helen, who looked at her, then across to Ralph Trenchard, who stood with
Yussuf’s hand upon his arm and “His Eyes” at his feet. “For the white
woman who has derided my children I do now place her amongst them as
their servant, and to humiliate her even as she has humiliated them, do
order the Abyssinian Aswad to shave her head this instant, before us all,
so that she appears not before mankind without——”
Her words were drowned in the scream which burst uncontrollably from
Helen, and the shout from her lover as he flung himself towards her, only
to be tripped by the dumb youth at his feet.
“Ra! Ra!” cried Helen, clutching her lovely curls in both hands. “For
God’s sake save me, Ra; don’t let them do it, don’t, don’t——” She turned
and struck the negress across the face as the Abyssinian caught her by
the arm, and struck again and again as Ralph Trenchard tore at the arms
of the youth who clung to him like a leech. Helen made no other sound as
she wrenched herself free from the woman who held her, nor when, filled
with the desire to kill, she flung herself upon Zarah.
The Arabian stepped back quickly and laughed, laughed until the place
rang with the sound, then flung off her mantle and drove her dagger down
on to Helen’s heart just as the Patriarch sprang and caught her hand.
Helen turned and ran towards her lover, and struck at Namlah, who
suddenly caught her by the knees and held her, screaming abuse.
The men and women stood silent, looking from one to the other of the
three principals in the love drama, then turned their attention to the
Patriarch, who by that time was speaking.
He made a magnificent picture as he imposed his will upon the furious
woman for the welfare of his brethren.
“In the days of thy father the Sheikh, my daughter,” he said, “no blood
was spilled, no punishment proclaimed, after the setting of the sun. If
thou desirest the death of this woman, then must thou wait until sunrise.
Neither shalt thou bring misfortune upon this camp by shaving a head
after the setting of the sun; that also must thou order to be done after
its rising.”
“_Wah! wah!_” yelled the men, and smote the women who dared to differ.
“And for fear of the wrath of these women, who should have the whip laid
across them for their unseemly behaviour, keep thou the white woman in
thy chamber to-night.”
“Yea!” cried Yussuf, walking forward, led by “His Eyes,” until he stood
exactly opposite the Arabian, who withdrew a pace before his terrible
appearance. “And in the name of thy father, O Zarah, and for fear of
the Nubian’s wrath being vented upon him before the rising of the sun,
I claim the watching of the white man this night. Fear not that he
sleeps over-sweetly in my care.” He turned and spat in Ralph Trenchard’s
direction, then, led by “His Eyes,” strode towards him and seized him by
the arm. “Thou infidel,” he cried savagely, “thou and thy white woman!”
Zarah raised her hand.
“The women to the cooking, the men to the eating, the morrow for the
punishment.” She turned and looked at Ralph Trenchard, her eyes filled
with a terrible jealousy. “Look upon thy white woman for the last time,
for, behold! the morrow thou shalt be taken back across the desert by
the road by which thou didst come unto her. She shall work here amongst
my people, with her shaven head for a space, then will I send her to the
slave market, where her white skin will fetch a great price. Get thou up,
Helen R-r-aynor-r!”
She pointed up the steps.
Helen turned and held out her arms.
“Ra! Beloved! I love you!”
The Arabian struck down her arms as Yussuf pulled Ralph Trenchard back.
“Come thou with me, thou infidel!” he cried.
“Get thou up, Helen R-r-aynor-r,” commanded the Arabian.
The stars blazed in the sky as the women scuttled back to their quarters
and the men talked together.
“Behold, has my acacia tree no luck!” said the handsome youth.
“As saith the proverb of those whose luck changeth not,” replied Bowlegs,
as he shook his fist after his retreating, obese and second wife. “‘The
misfortune either falls upon the camel or upon the camel driver or upon
the owner of the camel.’ Ha! wouldst show me what thou hast learned from
the white man?”
He caught the Arab who had sprung at him in a friendly desire to show his
pugilistic skill, tossed him on one side like a bundle of clothes, and
shouted defiance to the whole camp.
So that the tournament, if somewhat impromptu and lacking a referee, took
place after all and lasted well into the night.