The gulf of accident lies between what is and what might have been.
Strangely enough, the very tragedy which I had endeavoured to avert
saved me from the torture and imprisonment to which the brutal autocrat
had condemned me, for when my guards were hurried away to the prison
cells, and I explained to my master, the murderer Amagay, the fate to
which the dead Sultan had condemned me without telling him the cause, he
bade me return immediately to the Court of the Eunuchs, sending two of
the guardians of the harem to escort me thither.
Thus once again I became a slave and prisoner. Escape seemed hopeless,
and the delivery of Zoraida's letter impossible. Though so near the one
person who held the Secret of the Crescent, I was yet held in bondage,
unable to seek him, unable to fulfil my promise. The beautiful face of
Zoraida with its dark, wistful eyes was ever before me, and my thoughts
were constantly of the mysterious one of enchanting loveliness who had
placed her faith in me. Time does not change a heart, and love memories
are not written in sand--they last while life lasts.
The explosion in my workshop had, I ascertained, been attributed to
accident, therefore, as soon as I returned, I found another corner, and,
removing those of my polishing stones and cloths that had escaped
injury, I resumed my work, resolved to hope on and wait. So swiftly and
silently had the _coup d'etat_ been carried out, that only the
conspirators themselves knew of it, those of the dead monarch's
bodyguard who had witnessed the brutal assassination being all safely in
prison pending the Grand Vizier's decision as to their fate. True, the
sudden disappearance of the Sultan caused some anxiety in the harem and
among the Fadawa-n-serki, or royal courtiers, but this was at once
allayed by a report that was spread that His Majesty had unexpectedly
set out upon a journey.
It was only at night, when Khadidja and Zobeide, the Sultan's two
favourites, were, without warning, decapitated by the eunuchs in the
centre of one of the Courts of Love, that the doves of the gilded cage
vaguely guessed the truth. Trembling, they huddled together upon their
mats, none knowing who might fall the next victim of the wrath of their
absent unknown lord.
That night, and through many nights following, dark terrible dramas were
enacted in that dazzling female hive. The plots, jealousies, and
intrigues of the past were bearing fruit, and when darkness fell,
eunuchs would bring me their scimitars wet with blood to be cleaned and
burnished, while others carried out the bodies of the fair ones in
silent gloomy procession. More than once I saw upon a passing bier a
form that moved and struggled desperately, though no cry came from
beneath the black pall. They were those unfortunate ones doomed to
torture, who at daybreak would be conveyed by the guards far into the
desert, secured, and there left to die of heat and thirst, affording a
feast for the flies and the great grey vultures.
The history of the Sultans of Agadez is a bloody story--one long chapter
of murder, fierce combats, and poisonings, that, had the secrets ever
leaked out, would form a startling volume. How many dark plots had been
hatched within those painted walls! What passionate love, what
unbridled hate! A despot is always all-powerful; but the Sultan Hamed
was a despot of despots. A favourite one day; the next a carcase eaten
by dogs at the city gate. A wife one day, robed in brocade and dazzling
with diamonds; the next a slave washing the feet of her who only a day
ago waited upon her, and was cuffed and beaten at her command. Truly
indeed the Grand Vizier Mukhtar and his accomplice, the Chief of the
Eunuchs, were now revenging themselves upon those who had sought to
compass their downfall, and the scenes of fiendish cruelty and bloodshed
witnessed nightly within those gorgeous Courts of the Sultanas must have
been awful. Until the new monarch could be publicly proclaimed, they
ruled the Fada, and were removing with horrible brutality those of its
inmates whose existence might in the future prove detrimental to their
interests.
At last, on the morn of the Nahr-el-Djemaa following Hamed's
assassination, his son 'Abd-el-Kerim was publicly proclaimed Sultan of
the Ahir. Through the city of Agadez the news spread rapidly,
announcements were made in the camel market and in the market of slaves,
the cadis gave forth the astounding intelligence from their divans,
invoking at the same time the blessing of Allah, while from the great
gates of the Fada horsemen spurred away fleet as the storm-breeze,
through the oasis and across the lonely Desert for many days, bearing
the news to the furthermost limits of His Majesty's domains.
So carefully had the secret of the tragedy been preserved, that until
that day the people knew not that their ruler had died, and with the
intelligence there came the news that his son was already reigning in
his stead. None mourned, but in the palace and throughout the land
there was general feasting and rejoicing. Even the slaves were allowed
a day of idleness, and I, among them, lolled upon the bench in my den,
and enjoyed a calm siesta, notwithstanding the life and movement in the
wide sunlit court outside. Glad of the brief relaxation from wearying
toil, I dozed through the hot, brilliant afternoon, and only awakened to
a consciousness of things about me by words being whispered into my ear.
"Awake, O Roumi," exclaimed a negro, hunchbacked and of dwarfed stature,
whom I beheld standing before me. "Take care lest thou attractest the
attention of thine enemies."
I started up, alarmed that the deformed stranger should have discovered
my creed. A Christian would, I knew, quickly meet his death at the
hands of that fierce fanatical people.
"How--how darest thou declare that I am no believer in the Prophet?" I
demanded, with feigned anger.
"Hush! Fear not. Thou art the one who hast journeyed from afar over
the Great Desert, and art detained as slave of the Sultan. For thee I
bear a secret message."
"A message. Who hath sent it?" I gasped.
"I know not," he answered. "See! it is here;" and, slipping his hand
into mine cautiously, he left in my palm a small pomegranate. "Remember
that thine enemies regard thee with suspicion, therefore make no sign,
and do not open it until I have passed through the outer courts. At
last I have, by good fortune, been enabled to reach thee unnoticed amid
the crowds now congregated everywhere. May the Giver of Mercy--whose
name be ever praised--preserve thee, strengthen thine arm, and guide thy
footsteps into the paths of freedom."
And without another word my mysterious visitor slipped away, and in a
moment I lost sight of him amid the gaily-attired throng who,
promenading in the spacious court, across which the shadows were already
lengthening, smoked and discussed excitedly the all-absorbing topic of
the unexpected accession of young 'Abd-el-Kerim as their lord and
master.
Eagerly I cut open the pomegranate when I thought myself unobserved, and
discovered in a small cavity from which the fruit had been removed a
scrap of parchment cunningly concealed. On opening it, the following
words, penned in ill-formed Arabic characters, met my eyes--
"Know, O Roumi, faithful lover of Zoraida, beauteous Daughter of the
Sun, a friend sendeth thee greeting. Remain watchful, for when the moon
hath shed her light two hours, thou, Slave of the Eunuchs, mayest be
rescued. A friend that thou canst trust with thy life will utter the
word `_dachchan_.' [Smoke of a pipe.] Then obey, follow without
seeking explanation, and thou mayest pass unchallenged the
vigilantly-guarded portals of the Fada, even unto the outer gate where
freedom lieth. Upon thee be perfect peace."
The paper almost fell from my hands. At last secret steps were being
taken to secure my release! But by whom? The mention of Zoraida's name
told me that by some unknown means the _imam_ had discovered me, and was
exerting every effort to secure my rescue from the palace-fortress, a
task which, I well knew, was no easy matter. Gazing upon the message, I
remained spellbound. Anticipations of freedom gave me a certain amount
of happiness, yet the bitter recollection that the strange object which
Zoraida had entrusted to my care was lost irretrievably, filled me with
gloomiest forebodings. Over nearly two thousand miles of rugged
mountain and sun-baked wilderness I had travelled, on an errand the aim
of which had suddenly vanished, and the vague uncertainty whether
Zoraida really still lived caused me to view the result of this attempt
to leave the Fada with a cool indifference begotten of despair.
Weeks of hard, monotonous toil had caused me to look upon my future with
hopelessness, and regard life within the Court of the Eunuchs as
preferable to an aimless freedom without the woman I loved. If she were
dead,--if, as I half feared, the mysterious disaster which she dreaded
had actually fallen upon her,--then life's empty pleasures had no
further attraction for me. By day and by night, dreaming or waking, the
horrible vision of the white cut-off hand, with its thin, shrivelled
fingers and its scintillating gems, haunted me continuously,
strengthening my misgivings as to her safety, and horrifying me by its
ghastly vividness.
Why had it been stolen from me? Why, indeed, had it ever been sent to
me, and by whom? All were points as deeply strange and mysterious as
the hidden properties of the lost Crescent, the marvels of the secret
chamber in the weird old house in Algiers, or the identity of Zoraida
herself.
The shadows in the spacious court crept slowly onward, the warm tints of
sunset flooded the great open space aglow with colour and alive with
promenaders, and as I resumed my work, brightening scimitars and daggers
until they shone like mirrors, the brilliant rays deepened into a fiery
crimson, then faded in a mystic twilight.
Toiling on in order to pass the intervening hours more rapidly, I
watched and waited until the moon shone forth, and then, anxious and
impatient, I held my ears open in readiness for the secret word. By the
flickering light of an oil lamp I was engaged cleaning the jewelled
handle of a dagger, when, on turning suddenly, I was startled to observe
a tall, dignified-looking man of middle age in the silken courtiers'
robes of the Fadawa-n-serki.
"_Dachchan_!" he whispered, adding quickly, "Extinguish thy lamp. We
must not be observed."
Involuntarily I bent to blow out the flame, but, suddenly remembering
that no true son of Islam would commit such an unholy act, I put out the
light with my fingers. As I did so, he quickly slipped off his robe,
revealing the fact that he wore two similar garments, one over the
other, and a second later he produced a yellow turban, similar to the
one he himself was wearing.
"Trust in me, O my friend," he whispered. "Assume this disguise, and
follow me."
I dressed quickly, and, arranging the turban upon my head, we were about
to leave when, pointing to the long dagger upon the bench, he said in an
ominous undertone, "Take that with thee. Peradventure thou mayest want
it."
Snatching it up, I placed it in my sash, and quickly we went forth
together.
"Remember thou art no longer a slave," he whispered.
"Have no fear, but bear boldly thy part as one of the Fadawa-n-serki."
Without any attempt at concealment, we walked onward together in the
brilliant moonlight to the gate leading to the Court of the Janissaries,
whereat stood two great negroes, their naked swords gleaming in the
white moonbeams. Holding my breath, I scarce dared to gaze upon them,
but, after an inquiring glance at us, they pushed open the heavy gate,
ceremoniously allowing us to pass into the first vestibule. Again we
passed the second gate unchallenged, and then the third, finding
ourselves in the great court of the guardians of the Fada. Some of the
brightly-attired soldiers of the Sultan were squatting under the
spacious arches, smoking _keef_, amusing themselves with _damma_, or
taking coffee, while others strolled about in pairs gossiping. The
presence of the Fadawa-n-serki was nothing unusual, therefore we
attracted no notice as in silence we crossed the court to the great dark
portals, beyond which, again unchallenged, we passed, gaining a smaller
court, where a fountain plashed with cool refreshing sound into a basin
of carved porphyry. Through this region of the Fada we went without
inquiry being addressed to us, and, judging from the obsequious manner
of the guards, I felt convinced that my unknown friend was some high
official whom janissaries dared not question.
Another court was passed, and as I was wondering who my rescuer might
be, we came to the great outer gate, which, next to the gate of the
harem, was the most carefully guarded entrance in the whole of the Fada.
As we approached, the chief of the guards, a Soudanese of great height
and muscular development, loudly demanded our business.
My heart gave a leap, and again I held my breath. The result of this
interview would, I knew, decide my fate. If it were discovered that I,
a slave purchased by Hamed's gold, was endeavouring to escape, a sudden
and violent death was the punishment I must expect.
"Art thine eyes so dimmed as not to recognise 'Abd e Rahman, cadi of
Egemmen, and Hadj Beshir, sheikh of the Kel-Ikohanen? Open thy gate
quickly and let us pass. We have no time to bandy words, for we are on
an urgent mission for our new lord the Sultan 'Abd-el-Kerim."
The black giant, either recognising my companion, or becoming impressed
by the importance of our rapid departure, bowed ceremoniously, and
shouted to his men to unbar the door in the great dark arch. In the
deep shadow six janissaries were drawn up on either side, armed with
long curved swords, and as we stood in the full, bright moonlight, they
could easily see our faces distinctly, though they themselves remained
hidden. Chains clanked, and slowly the heavy door that never opened
after sunset grated upon its hinges; then, having given peace to the
chief of the guard, we were about to pass out into the city, when
suddenly one of the soldiers cried--
"Hold! That man is a false cadi! He is the fierce pirate of the Desert
known as Hamma, and is a terror to our people along the shores of the
Tsad! The other I recognise as a slave of the eunuchs!"
The words caused the greatest sensation among his companions. For a
moment they remained dumbfounded at our audacity.
"Seize them!" cried the chief gate-keeper, rushing forward excitedly.
Next second a dozen scimitars were playing around us, but ere we could
be secured my mysterious companion had drawn his formidable knife from
its sheath, and with a dexterous blow had sent the first man who laid a
hand upon him reeling back, stabbed through the heart.
In an instant I drew the dagger I had brought with me, and as I did so,
closed with a big negro who endeavoured to hold me. I fought for life,
and the struggle was short and desperate. Having gained the outer gate,
I was determined to escape, and I defended myself with greater strength
than I had imagined I possessed. As the negro wrestled with me,
clasping me in his iron embrace in an endeavour to throw me to the
ground, we swayed backwards and forwards, both exerting every muscle to
gain the mastery. Suddenly I felt my strength failing, for the pain
caused by his grasp was excruciating, but with a quick movement I
managed to wrench my right arm free, and with my dagger struck him a
blow in the throat which caused him to release his hold. Then,
staggering, he fell back mortally wounded.
With a spring like that of a leopard, another negro pounced upon me,
while a second seized me by the shoulder. It was a critical moment.
Capture I knew meant death, and as I turned in struggling with my latest
assailants, I saw my companion struck a coward blow by a scimitar from
behind. He fell like a log, and, judging from the terrible wound
inflicted on his skull, death must have been instantaneous.
His fate filled me with a strength that was almost demoniacal, for while
the others assembled round the prostrate bodies of the false cadi and
the man he had killed, I fought desperately, determined to struggle on
till the last. My knife, wet with the blood of the first janissary who
had attacked me, was still in my hand, and, feeling myself being
overpowered by the fierce black-faced brutes, I dealt one a blow in the
side which caused him to spring away, and as he did so, I again brought
the keen blade full across the other's face, inflicting a frightful
gash. Shrieking with rage and pain, he released me, clapping both hands
to his ebon countenance.
A moment later I dashed headlong into the darkness, followed at full
speed by half a dozen enraged and howling janissaries who, waving their
scimitars, cried: "Kill the slave! Let him not escape! Kill him! Kill
him!"