WHEREIN THE BEDOUIN YOUTH KEDAR BECOMES A MOSLEM.
"Mine honor is my life: both grow in one;
Take honor from me, and my life is done."
--_Shakespeare._
The scene again opens far to the north of the Nejd, El Shark, or the
East. Into one of its most favored spots, a green and secluded valley,
surrounded by grassy slopes, the sun shone with the fresh brightness of
early morning, sending floods of green-gold light through the leaves Of
the acacias, now covered with yellowish blossoms heavy with perfume.
By the side of a little torrent, rose the black tents of a Bedouin
encampment. Flocks were on the hill-side, and the tinkling of the
camel-bells and soft bleat of the lambs sounded faintly from the
distance.
At the head of the valley, upon a rounded boulder of granite sat a
woman; and before her stood a young man to whom she was earnestly
talking, at times stretching out her hands as though she were beseeching
him for some favor.
The woman was tall and well-built, her eyes were large and dark, and
their brilliancy increased, according to Bedouin custom, by the
application of kohl to the lids. Her face was keen and intelligent, and
her hair, braided in innumerable small plaits, and surmounted by a much
bespangled head-dress, was slightly streaked with gray.
The youth was slight and agile, his every movement full of grace. His
face was oval, regular in its contour, and full of expression, although
the Jewish cast of his features had traces of Arab blood. He seemed to
be in some excitement, for, with a trait peculiar to Bedouins, his
restless and deep-set eyes were now half-closed until but a narrow,
glittering line appeared, and now suddenly opened to their fullest
extent and turned directly upon the woman to whom he talked.
"Would you have me branded among the whole tribe as a coward, mother?"
he was saying. "Are not the Bedouin lads from all over the Nejd flocking
to the field, even as the sparrows flock before the storm clouds of the
north? And will the son of Musa be the craven, crouching at home in his
mother's nest?"
"A flock of vultures are they, rather!" she cried
passionately--"Vultures flocking to a feast of blood, to gloat over the
carrion of brothers, sons, and husbands, left dead on the reeking plain,
while in their solitary homes the women moan, even as moans the bird of
the tamarisk, robbed of its young."
"'Tis your Jewish heart speaks now, mother. Ah, but your Jewish women
are too soft-hearted! Know you not that Bedouin mothers have not only
sent their sons to battle, but have gone themselves and fought in the
thickest of the fray?"
"Ah, you are a true Bedouin, and ashamed of your mother!" returned Lois,
with a sigh. "Truly, a Jewess has no place among the tribes of the
wilderness."
The youth's face softened. "I am not ashamed of my mother!" he said,
quickly. "But my blood leaps for the glory of battle, for the clash of
cymbals, the speed of the charge, the tumult, and the victory!"
"But a hollow glory you will find it," she said scornfully. "Murder and
pillage,--and all sanctioned in the name of religion!"
"Even so, is not the name of harami (brigand) accounted honorable among
the desert tribes?" asked the youth, quickly.
"Alas, yes. Ye reck not that it has been said, 'Thou shalt not steal.'
But you, Kedar, care not for the Jewish Scripture. Why need I quote it
to you."
"Arabian religion, Arabian honor, for the Arab, say I!" returned the
youth haughtily. "Let me roam over the wild on my steed, racing with the
breeze, lance in hand, bound for the hunt or fray; let me swoop upon the
cowardly caravans whose hundreds shriek and scream and fall back before
a handful of Bedouin lads, if I will. More honorable it is to me than to
plod along in a shugduf on a long-legged camel with a bag of corn or a
trifle of cloth to look after. Be the Jew if you will, but give me the
leaping blood, the soaring spirit of the Bedouin!"
The woman sighed again. "You will be killed, Kedar," she said. "Then
what will all this profit you?"
"To die on the field is more glorious than to breathe one's life out
tamely in bed," replied the other.
There was no use of reasoning with this rash youth.
"And think you this Mohammed is worthy of your sacrifice?" she asked.
"If he be really inspired, as hundreds now believe, is he not worthy of
every sacrifice? Does he not promise his followers an eternal felicity?"
"A vile impostor!" exclaimed the woman harshly. "Yet you will not
believe what I say, until your own eyes see and your own ears hear! Go!
Go! I shall talk no more to you! If you fall it shall be no fault of
Lois'!"
She arose and waved him off with an impatient gesture. Yet he lingered.
"You will forgive me, mother?" he asked, gently.
The woman's mother-heart welled to the brim. She answered brokenly:
"My son, my son! Could I do aught else? Take my blessing with you! And
now, here comes your father."
Musa was feebler than upon that first night when he met Yusuf in his
tent, and his hair had become almost white, yet there was the same
dignity in his appearance.
"Go, Kedar," he said, "and prove that you are indeed the son of Musa.
Go, and see that you bring back good news of battle!"
Kedar bent his head in token of assent.
Before an hour had passed he was mounted on the swiftest of his father's
horses--a short, fleshless animal, with legs thin and of steel-like
muscle. But its slender neck, its small, snake-like head, its dilating
nostrils, through which the light shone crimson, and its fiery,
intelligent eye, showed its blood as it pawed the ground and neighed
impatiently. A noble animal and a noble rider they looked as they were
off like an arrow, Kedar's fine figure swaying with the movement of the
steed as though rider and horse were one.
All alone went the youth across hill and valley, over rock and torrent,
fearless and swift as an eagle; for Kedar scorned to seek the protection
of numbers, although quite aware of the fact that a large caravan, under
Abu Sofian, was even then on its way from Syria to Mecca, and was within
three hours' journey from him.