"Does my master feel refreshed?"
It was Abdul who spoke, as he wakened Michael after his midday siesta
on the day which had brought them within sight of the Promised Land.
It had been a morning of intense heat; the desert held not one breath
of air. The spell of Egypt, which is its light, had vanished; the vast
emptiness was as colourless as Scotland in an east wind. Piled up on
his camel, Michael had ridden under a raised shelter, such as is used
by caravan travellers on long journeys. It was made of bamboos, bent
into half-hoops and covered with a light canvas. Abdul had been afraid
of exposing his master, in his uncertain state of health, to the full
force of the desert sun. Michael had been very grateful, for during
the last two days it had made him feel sick and his head had ached
perpetually.
"A touch of the sun," was Abdul's expressive description of his
condition. He knew the symptoms only too well, and fortunately he also
knew how to treat them.
In answer to Abdul's question, Michael yawned and stretched out his
arms. "Yes, greatly refreshed, Abdul. How long have I slept? What
time is it? I feel very much better."
"The Effendi's words give happiness to his servant," Abdul said. "With
care my master will enjoy good health in a day or two."
"I'm all right now, Abdul. That last compress has done me a world of
good. My headache has lifted." It was characteristic of Michael's
temperament that when he was down, he was very, very down, and when he
was up, he bounded and became scornful of all care and precautions.
"Everything is in readiness when my master is ready," Abdul said.
"There are still three hours before sunset."
Michael rose from the impromptu couch which Abdul had made for him
under the shadow of a mighty rock. The desert was no longer a
shoreless sea of golden sand; they were reaching the reef of hills
which was their objective.
When Michael found himself on his feet and ready to mount his
camel--that undignified proceeding, which always made him realize his
own helplessness and evoked from the camel ugly roars of justifiable
resentment--he found himself scarcely as fit as he had thought; he was
giddy and still distressingly tired. It was very annoying, not feeling
up to his best form, now that they were drawing so close to the
exciting spot. He had imagined that he would feel like a gold-miner
hurrying to peg out his claim, instead of which he was conscious of but
one feeling, physical and nervous exhaustion.
He braced himself up. The air was cooler; a little breeze was lifting
the sand and carrying its invisible atoms across the surface of the
desert. How many times on his journey he had seen this noiseless
drifting of the sand! Now, as he watched it from his high seat, it
made him think of the saint's grave. Even in this short time much sand
would have collected on the mound which covered his bones.
This ceaseless drifting of the sand was an object-lesson which
illustrated very practically the complete obliteration of Egypt's
ancient cities and lost civilizations. Michael knew that on such a day
as this he had only to lay some small object down in the desert, and
very soon an accumulation of sand would gather round it. After a
little time the object would be completely lost to sight, and in its
place there would be a little mound, which would grow and grow as the
years rolled on, until it became a feature in the landscape. In such a
way were the neglected temples of the gods saved from the ravages of
fanatics.
To Michael this provision of Nature, this preserving of the world's
earliest treasures and story, was very beautiful. It meant a great
deal more than the mere accumulation of wind-blown sands; it meant that
the Creating Hand is never still, that the making of the world is
eternal. In Michael's opinion there was no doubt but that Egypt's
priceless treasures had been designedly hidden, that the Author of
Nature had preserved them until such a time as mankind was capable of
appreciating them and guarding them. The drifting sands--ever at the
caprice of the four winds to those who have eyes to see and see
not--have saved Egypt's history, which is written in stone.
Reflecting, as was his wont, on these side-issues of the world's
evolution, he journeyed on. The breeze was stiffening, a cool,
invigorating breeze, which had cleared the sky and brought some white
clouds into it. In the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings the heavens
rarely held a cloud; in the eastern desert his travels had carried him
northwards, where the dews are heavier and the sudden changes in the
temperature less noticeable.
With the cooler atmosphere his spirits rose, his vitality quickened.
Wonderful pictures danced before his eyes, pictures which he had seen
over and over again, his first visualizing of the treasure. The vision
had never been far from his mind. He could see himself inspecting the
bars of gold which Akhnaton had hidden in the hills, and fingering the
ancient jewels while he thought once more of the story he had been told
by a member of an excavating camp in Egypt. The story reassured him:
Some native workmen, belonging to the camp, had come across a number of
terra-cotta crocks hidden under a flight of steps. They were full to
the brim of bars of pure gold. The gold had obviously been thrust into
the jars very hurriedly. The theory they suggested to experts was that
the citizens, suddenly becoming alarmed by the approach of a besieging
army, had thrust the wealth of the public treasury into the jars and
hidden them in the hollow behind the steps of a staircase in some
public building. If the Romans ever besieged the city, they had
overlooked the jars and so the gold had remained in its simple
hiding-place until the enthusiasm of modern Egyptologists discovered
it. In the jars there was sufficient gold to pay for a year's
excavation on the historical site.
Michael knew that such things were possible in Egypt, where tales as
wonderful as any in _A Thousand and One Nights_ are still being
enacted. Egypt's buried treasures are infinite. In that land of
amazing discoveries there has been nothing more amazing than the means
of their discovery.
High up in the blue, on his swaying seat on the camel's back, he felt
like a man in a cinematograph-theatre, gazing upon film after film as
it came into view and dissolved away.
The desert was the stage, his thoughts were the films. At one moment
the picture presented was his old friend in el-Azhar, rejoicing in the
knowledge that Michael's journey was accomplished, the treasure
realized. He could see the African's eyes glowing like living fire; he
could hear his sonorous chanting. His next vision was of Margaret and
her triumphant happiness; the next his own troubles and embarrassments,
the troubles of too great wealth. What was he to do with the treasure
now that he had discovered it? There were new laws and stringent
regulations and restrictions which must be adhered to; the Government
had become more grasping.
But these troubles he put aside. "Sufficient for the day was the
finding thereof," the proving to scoffers that visionaries had legs to
stand upon as well as heads. He could hear Freddy's boyish laugh, a
laugh of sheer incredulity and amazement, and while Freddy laughed he
could see and feel Margaret's eyes shining with victory. It made him
very nervous and excited to think that soon he would be able to
actually touch and examine the treasure and sacred writings of the
world's first divinely-inspired prophet. The doubts of his material
mind would be forever silenced when his fingers had held the jewels and
his eyes had seen the gold.
Again he felt convinced that the spirit of Akhnaton had selected him to
do this work. Freddy had been chosen to bestow upon mankind the
contents of the royal tomb, which held such a mass of confounding
matter. We are all the chosen workers in the Perfect Law, units in the
Divine State.
As he rode on and on, he wondered what Abdul was thinking about, what
his feelings were. Was he anticipating disappointment or success?
What had his eyes seen?
They were approaching the spot indicated by the saint. It would, of
course, take them some time to discover the chamber which held the
hidden treasure, but it was sufficiently thrilling to be drawing nearer
and nearer to the hills. The canvas had been removed from his
sun-shelter; only the framework remained. It looked like the
skeleton-ribs of an animal against the blue of the sky.
Suddenly Abdul came riding forward. He had something to say; he never
disturbed Michael's meditations unnecessarily.
"Does the Effendi see anything in the distance?"
"No, Abdul, nothing. What do you see?"
Abdul's calm voice had betrayed a little emotion.
"Look once more, Effendi--over there, to the left, close to the hills."
Michael looked, and while he looked he was conscious of an ominous
atmosphere in the silence.
"Can the Effendi see nothing?"
"No, Abdul, absolutely nothing. Yet I thought my eyes had improved, my
seeing-powers developed. I was vain enough to think they were pretty
good."
"For Western eyes they do see far, Effendi. You must allow some few
privileges for those who are deprived of the benefits of civilization."
They rode on in silence.
"You can see something now, Effendi?" Abdul's voice trembled as it
broke the stillness. "It is very clear now, O my master."
"Is it a mirage, or what, Abdul? What am I to see?"
"No mirage, Effendi--I wish it were one."
"Then out with it!" Michael said impatiently. He had not the vaguest
idea what Abdul was hinting at; his mind had no room for side issues.
"What desert monster lies in waiting for us? Don't make such a mystery
out of nothing!"
"It is the Khedivial flag, O Effendi. I see it fluttering in the
breeze."
"The Khedivial flag?" The words conveyed no meaning to Michael; the
reason for its being there did not penetrate his brain. "What is there
to trouble us about the Khedivial flag, Abdul?'"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi, do not feel anger in your heart for your servant
when he tells you what it means."
"We ate the salt of our covenant together, Abdul, on the night when you
brought the saint in your arms to my camp. I can never forget that you
are more than my servant. You are my friend and companion."
"Our faith is a gift of God, Effendi, and all the good works we perform
are the effects of a principle implanted and kept alive within us by
the Spirit of God."
"Granting that is so, Abdul, which I do, nevertheless, the covenant of
our friendship is sacred. Tell me, why does the flag trouble you?"
"Can my master see it now? Can he not distinguish any other objects?"
Michael looked again. They had travelled quickly. As he looked his
heart stopped beating; his brain became confused; he felt like a
drunken man. Clearly his eye had seen!
"My God!" he said inaudibly. "It can't be that, it can't be that!"
To his naked eye the crescent and the star on the waving flag were
still invisible, but he could see its vivid red, and he could see other
objects--white patches, like a collection of saints' tombs.
"Abdul," he said--his voice was miserably broken and spent--"what are
those white things?"
"Tents, Effendi."
"Government tents?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi."
"What are they doing near the hills?"
"Must Abdul speak the words which will cause his master pain? Will the
Effendi not wait until we draw nearer? It is not wise to anticipate
evil."
A horrible suspicion devastated Michael's brain. He could brook no
uncertainty. Abdul's lengthy manner of getting to the point irritated
him as it had never done before.
"Out with it, Abdul! Having said so much, you must say more." Michael
was compelling his servant to give utterance to the suspicion which had
become almost a certainty in his mind.
"_Aiwah_, Effendi. The treasure has already been discovered."
"Good God! Do you think it is that, Abdul?"
"_Aiwah_, Effendi." Abdul's voice was contrite.
Michael felt as if all movement in the world had suddenly been
arrested. Then his mind began scrambling amid the ruins of his dreams
for some lucid thought, for some reason which would explain why he was
seated high up on a camel's back in the eastern desert.
He had never dreamed of such an ending to his dreams. In his most
despondent moods he had contemplated no greater misfortune than the
stealing of the jewels and the gold, the looting of its portable
treasures by native _antika_ hunters. His super-man had never
seriously contemplated even that misfortune; his faith was unshaken,
his optimism complete.
The shock he had received affected his physical as well as his mental
condition. An overwhelming desire came to him to get off his high seat
and throw himself down on the sand and go to sleep for ever and ever.
That hateful flag, those smiling tents! whose whiteness had brought a
vision of Millicent's tent floating before his eyes.
"There are three tents, Effendi. Shall we journey towards them?"
Abdul's voice sounded far away. What was he talking about? Michael
tried to concentrate his thoughts.
"Oh yes, of course!" His voice was listless. "We must go on. You may
be wrong." He struggled for mind-control.
He urged his camel to a quicker pace. They rode on in silence. Abdul
was now convinced that the harlot--or, in other words, Mohammed Ali's
"golden lady"--had wreaked her vengeance on his master. He had taken
into his camp the fever-stricken saint; she had slipped away in the
night and discovered the treasure. With a comprehensiveness which
would have astounded the impurest of Western ears, he cursed Millicent
and her vile offspring into the third and fourth generations.