Labakan's appearance was just as unkempt, his burnouse just as ragged,
as on the day he snatched from me the box containing the horrible
souvenir. As we rode side by side into the shadowless plain, he
addressed many ingenious questions to me about my past. His
thinly-veiled curiosity, however, I steadfastly refused to satisfy.
That he knew more of me than I had imagined was quite apparent,
otherwise he would not have taken such infinite pains to secure my
escape from the palace of the Sultan. Puzzled over his strange conduct,
I journeyed with him throughout the greater part of the day. Conversing
pleasantly, and making many observations that contained a certain amount
of dry humour, he never for a moment acted in a manner to cause me
further misgivings. With the craftiness characteristic of his piratical
tribe, he was endeavouring to disarm any suspicions I might perchance
entertain, if--as to him seemed impossible--I recognised him as the man
who followed me into the little _kahoua_ in the far-distant city.
After nearly five hours on the level, sandy plain, under the torrid rays
of a leaden sun, we passed along a valley, desolate and barren, until we
had on our left a broad mount, rising first with gradual ascent, but in
its upper part forming a steep and lofty wall. Then, having passed a
small defile and crossed another valley, we gained the open, stony
_hamada_ [plateau] again, and travelled on until, in the far distance, I
detected a great, gaunt ruin. Plodding onward wearily through the
furnace-heat of sunshine, we reached it about two hours later, and
halted under its crumbling walls.
Like a solitary beacon of civilisation, the ruined arches of a great
stronghold rose over the sea-like level of desolation which spread out
to an immense distance south and west. The rugged, uneven valley below,
with its green strip of herbage, continued far into the stony level, and
beyond, northwards, the desolate waste stretched towards a great dark
mountain.
Astonished, I stood gazing at the spacious dimensions of this time-worn
relic of the power of the ancients. It seemed half a castle, half a
temple, built of hewn stone, without cement, and ornamented with
Corinthian columns. Apparently the place had suffered considerably by
the depredations of the Arabs, who, during succeeding centuries, had
carried away most of the sculptures; nevertheless, there was much about
this relic of a bygone age to excite curiosity, and to cause one to
recollect the fact that years before our era the Romans had penetrated
as far as that place. That their dominion was not of a mere transitory
nature the ruin seemed clearly to show, for it had nearly two thousand
years ago been a great castle, and, no doubt, a centre of a departed and
forgotten civilisation. Yet to-day this region is unknown to European
geographers, and upon both English and French maps of the Great Sahara
it is left a wide blank marked "Desert."
Of Labakan I learnt that it was known to his people as the Hall of the
Great Death. According to the Arab legend he related, a Christian ruler
called the White Sultan, who lived there ages ago, once made war upon
the Sultan of the Tsad, defeating him, and capturing his daughter, a
girl of wondrous beauty. Intoxicated by success, and heavily laden with
booty, the White Sultan returned to his own stronghold, followed,
however, by the defeated monarch, who travelled alone and in disguise.
Attired as a magician, he obtained audience of his enemy, then suddenly
threw off his disguise and demanded the return of his daughter. But the
White Sultan jeered at him, refused to part with the pearl of his harem,
and ordered the sorrowing father to leave his presence, or be consigned
to a dungeon. He withdrew, but as he went he cast his ring of graven
jacinths upon the ground, and prophesied that ere two moons had run
their course, a disaster, terrible and crushing, would fall upon his
Infidel foe. Then, retiring to a cavern, he lived as a hermit, and
through the months of Choubat and Adar, for fifty-nine nights and
fifty-nine days, he invoked continuously the wrath of the Wrathful upon
his enemy. On the sixtieth day his prophecy was fulfilled, for a
terrible fire from heaven smote the palace of the White Ruler, and the
poisonous fumes from the burning pile spread death and desolation
throughout the land. Through the whole of the White Sultan's broad
domains the death-dealing vapours wafted, and the people, the wise men,
ministers, and the Sultan himself, all fell victims to the awful
visitation. The only person spared an agonising death was the daughter
of the Sultan of the Tsad, who, after the fire was subdued, found the
treasure stolen from her father untouched, and carried it back with her
to the shores of the Great Lake. Thus was she avenged.
"Since that day," added the pirate of the desert, "the Hall of the Great
Death, with its courtyards and gardens, has been tenantless, the wealthy
city that once surrounded it has been swallowed up by the shifting sand,
and so completely did Allah sweep away the dogs of Infidels, that even
their name is now unknown."
Much interested in this magnificent monument of the Roman occupation, I
left Labakan squatting and smoking in its shadow to wander through the
ruins. Upon the centre stone of the arched gateway that gave entrance
to the great hall I deciphered the inscription "PBO. AFR. ILL.,"
[Provincia Africae illustris.] encircled by a coronal, while below was a
trace of a chariot and a person in curious attire following it on foot.
Besides a representation of an eagle and a few Berber names roughly
graven, I could, however, find no other inscription on the portals, so
proceeded to examine the grey walls of the inner courts.
While thus engaged, a stealthy movement behind me caused me to start
suddenly, and as I did so, I beheld my enemy!
Silently, with his long, bright knife ready in his hand, he had crept
up, and at the very instant I turned he sprang upon me. Ere I could
unsheath my poignard, he held my throat in iron grip, and his eyes,
flashing like those of some wild animal, were fixed with murderous
hatred upon mine.
"Thou art at last in the Hall of the Great Death, which is the Grave of
the Infidels, and thou shalt die!" he cried, holding his knife uplifted
ready to strike.