Nahoum had forgotten one very important thing: that what affected David
as a Christian in Egypt would tell equally against himself. If, in his
ill-health and dejection, Kaid drank deep of the cup of Mahomet, the
red eyes of fanaticism would be turned upon the Armenian, as upon the
European Christian. He had forgotten it for the moment, but when, coming
into Kaid’s Palace, a little knot of loiterers spat upon the ground and
snarled, “Infidel--Nazarene!” with contempt and hatred, the significance
of the position came home to him. He made his way to a far quarter of
the Palace, thoughtfully weighing the circumstances, and was met by
Mizraim.
Mizraim salaamed. “The height of thy renown be as the cedar of Lebanon,
Excellency.”
“May thy feet tread the corn of everlasting fortune, son of Mahomet.”
They entered the room together. Nahoum looked at Mizraim curiously. He
was not satisfied with what he saw. Mizraim’s impassive face had little
expression, but the eyes were furtively eager and sinister.
“Well, so it is, and if it is, what then?” asked Nahoum coolly.
“Ki di, so it is,” answered Mizraim, and a ghastly smile came to his
lips. This infidel pasha, Nahoum, had a mind that pierced to the meaning
of words ere they were spoken. Mizraim’s hand touched his forehead,
his breast, his lips, and, clasping and unclasping his long, snakelike
fingers, he began the story he had come to tell.
“The Inglesi, whom Allah confound, the Effendina hath blackened by a
look, his words have smitten him in the vital parts--”
“Mizraim, thou dove, speak to the purpose!” Mizraim showed a dark
pleasure at the interruption. Nahoum was impatient, anxious; that made
the tale better worth telling.
“Sharif and the discontented ones who dare not act, like the vultures,
they flee the living man, but swoop upon the corpse. The consuls of
those countries who love not England or Claridge Pasha, and the holy
men, and the Cadi, all scatter smouldering fires. There is a spirit in
the Palace and beyond which is blowing fast to a great flame.”
“Then, so it is, great one, and what bodes it?”
“It may kill the Inglesi; but it will also sweep thee from the fields of
life where thou dost flourish.”
“It is not against the foreigner, but against the Christian, Mizraim?”
“Thy tongue hath wisdom, Excellency.”
“Thou art a Muslim--”
“Why do I warn thee? For service done to me; and because there is none
other worth serving in Egypt. Behold, it is my destiny to rule others,
to serve thee.”
“Once more thy turban full of gold, Mizraim, if thou dost service now
that hath meaning and is not a belching of wind and words. Thou hast
a thing to say--say it, and see if Nahoum hath lost his wit, or hath a
palsied arm.”
“Then behold, pasha. Are not my spies in all the Palace? Is not my
scourge heavier than the whip of the horned horse? Ki di, so it is. This
I have found. Sharif hath, with others, made a plot which hath enough
powder in it to shake Egypt, and toss thee from thy high place into the
depths. There is a Christian--an Armenian, as it chances; but he was
chosen because he was a Christian, and for that only. His name is Rahib.
He is a tent-maker. He had three sons. They did kill an effendi who
had cheated them of their land. Two of them were hanged last week; the
other, caught but a few days since, is to hang within three days. To-day
Kaid goes to the Mosque of Mahmoud, as is the custom at this festival.
The old man hath been persuaded to attempt the life of Kaid, upon
condition that his son--his Benjamin--is set free. It will be but
an attempt at Kaid’s life, no more; but the cry will go forth that a
Christian did the thing; and the Muslim flame will leap high.”
“And the tent-maker?” asked Nahoum musingly, though he was turning over
the tale in his mind, seeing behind it and its far consequences.
“Malaish, what does it matter! But he is to escape, and they are to
hang another Christian in his stead for the attempt on Kaid. It hath no
skill, but it would suffice. With the dervishes gone malboos, and the
faithful drunk with piety--canst thou not see the issue, pasha? Blood
will be shed.”
“The Jews of Europe would be angry,” said Nahoum grimly but evenly.
“The loans have been many, and Kaid has given a lien by the new canal
at Suez. The Jews will be angry,” he repeated, “and for every drop of
Christian blood shed there would be a lanced vein here. But that would
not bring back Nahoum Pasha,” he continued cynically. “Well, this is thy
story, Mizraim; this is what they would do. Now what hast thou done to
stop their doing?”
“Am I not a Muslim? Shall I give Sharif to the Nile?”
Nahoum smiled darkly. “There is a simpler way. Thy mind ever runs on the
bowstring and the sword. These are great, but there is a greater. It is
the mocking finger. At midnight, when Kaid goes to the Mosque Mahmoud,
a finger will mock the plotters till they are buried in confusion. Thou
knowest the governor of the prisons--has he not need of something? Hath
he never sought favours of thee?”
“Bismillah, but a week ago!”
“Then, listen, thou shepherd of the sheep--”
He paused, as there came a tap at the door, and a slave entered
hurriedly and addressed Nahoum. “The effendi, Ebn Ezra Bey, whom thou
didst set me to watch, he hath entered the Palace, and asks for the
Effendina.”
Nahoum started, and his face clouded, but his eyes flashed fire. He
tossed the slave a coin. “Thou hast done well. Where is he now?”
“He waits in the hall, where is the statue of Mehemet Ali and the
lions.”
“In an hour, Mizraim, thou shalt hear what I intend. Peace be to thee!”
“And on thee, peace!” answered Mizraim, as Nahoum passed from the room,
and walked hastily towards the hall where he should find Ebn Ezra Bey.
Nearing the spot, he brought his step to a deliberate slowness, and
appeared not to notice the stately Arab till almost upon him.
“Salaam, effendi,” he said smoothly, yet with inquisition in his eye,
with malice in his tone.
“Salaam, Excellency.”
“Thou art come on the business of thy master?”
“Who is my master, Excellency?”
“Till yesterday it was Claridge Pasha. Hast thou then forsaken him in
his trouble--the rat from the sinking ship?”
A flush passed over Ebn Ezra Bey’s face, and his mouth opened with a
gasp of anger. Oriental though he was, he was not as astute as this
Armenian Christian, who was purposely insulting him, that he might, in
a moment of heat, snatch from him the business he meant to lay before
Kaid. Nahoum had not miscalculated.
“I have but one master, Excellency,” Ebn Ezra answered quietly at last,
“and I have served him straightly. Hast thou done likewise?”
“What is straight to thee might well be crooked to me, effendi.”
“Thou art crooked as the finger of a paralytic.”
“Yet I have worked in peace with Claridge Pasha for these years past,
even until yesterday, when thou didst leave him to his fate.”
“His ship will sail when thine is crumbling on the sands, and all thou
art is like a forsaken cockatrice’s nest.”
“Is it this thou hast come to say to the Effendina?”
“What I have come to say to the Effendina is for the world to know after
it hath reached his ears. I know thee, Nahoum Pasha. Thou art a traitor.
Claridge Pasha would abolish slavery, and thou dost receive great sums
of gold from the slave-dealers to prevent it.”
“Is it this thou wilt tell Kaid?” Nahoum asked with a sneer. “And hast
thou proofs?”
“Even this day they have come to my hands from the south.”
“Yet I think the proofs thou hast will not avail; and I think that thou
wilt not show them to Kaid. The gift of second thinking is a great gift.
Thou must find greater reason for seeking the Effendina.”
“That too shall be. Gold thou hadst to pay the wages of the soldiers of
the south. Thou didst keep the gold and order the slave-hunt; and the
soldiers of the Effendina have been paid in human flesh and blood--ten
thousand slaves since Claridge Pasha left the Soudan, and three thousand
dead upon the desert sands, abandoned by those who hunted them when
water grew scarce and food failed. To-day shall see thy fall.”
At his first words Nahoum had felt a shock, from which his spirit
reeled; but an inspiration came to him on the moment; and he listened
with a saturnine coolness to the passionate words of the indignant
figure towering above him. When Ebn Ezra had finished, he replied
quietly:
“It is even as thou sayest, effendi. The soldiers were paid in slaves
got in the slave-hunt; and I have gold from the slave-dealers. I needed
it, for the hour is come when I must do more for Egypt than I have ever
done.”
With a gesture of contempt Ebn Ezra made to leave, seeing an official
of the Palace in the distance. Nahoum stopped him. “But, one moment ere
thou dost thrust thy hand into the cockatrice’s den. Thou dost measure
thyself against Nahoum? In patience and with care have I trained myself
for the battle. The bulls of Bashan may roar, yet my feet are shod with
safety. Thou wouldst go to Kaid and tell him thy affrighted tale. I tell
thee, thou wilt not go. Thou hast reason yet, though thy blood is hot.
Thou art to Claridge Pasha like a brother--as to his uncle before him,
who furnished my father’s palace with carpets. The carpets still soften
the fall of my feet in my father’s palace, as they did soften the fall
of my brother’s feet, the feet of Foorgat Bey.”
He paused, looking at Ebn Ezra with quiet triumph, though his eyes had
ever that smiling innocence which had won David in days gone by. He was
turning his words over on the tongue with a relish born of long waiting.
“Come,” he said presently--“come, and I will give thee reason why thou
wilt not speak with Kaid to-day. This way, effendi.”
He led the other into a little room hung about with rugs and tapestry,
and, going to the wall, he touched a spring. “One moment here, effendi,”
he added quietly. The room was as it had been since David last stood
within it.
“In this room, effendi,” Nahoum said with cold deliberation, “Claridge
Pasha killed my brother, Foorgat Bey.”
Ebn Ezra fell back as though he had been struck. Swiftly Nahoum told
him the whole truth--even to the picture of the brougham, and the rigid,
upright figure passing through the night to Foorgat’s palace, the gaunt
Mizraim piloting the equipage of death.
“I have held my peace for my own reasons, effendi. Wilt thou then force
me to speak? If thou dost still cherish Claridge Pasha, wilt thou see
him ruined? Naught but ruin could follow the telling of the tale at this
moment--his work, his life, all done. The scandal, the law, vengeance!
But as it is now, Kaid may turn to him again; his work may yet go on--he
has had the luck of angels, and Kaid is fickle. Who can tell?”
Abashed and overwhelmed, Ebn Ezra Bey looked at him keenly. “To tell
of Foorgat Bey would ruin thee also,” he said. “That thou knowest. The
trick--would Kaid forgive it? Claridge Pasha would not be ruined alone.”
“Be it so. If thou goest to Kaid with thy story, I go to Egypt with
mine. Choose.”
Ebn Ezra turned to go. “The high God judge between him and thee,” he
said, and, with bowed head, left the Palace.