HOW IFTIKHAR BORE HOME HIS PRIZE
Iftikhar Eddauleh rode over the dusty road from Turmanin to Aleppo
with only thirty about him of the hundred riders that had followed him
to Dorylæum. But Zeyneb was at hand, and Eybek, who had gone on the
secret mission months before; and beside the grand prior moved a
horse-litter containing a treasure Iftikhar would not have parted with
had the heads of all his men and his own been at stake. Mary Kurkuas
was his. The scene when he took her in the Christian camp had been
terrible; how beautiful she had been, standing at bay, dagger in
hand--no lioness more dreadful! He had disarmed her without marring
one spot on a skin that was soft as the rose-petals. How she had cried
and pleaded! He had been cruel? Yes; the poets all sang love was
either cruel or sweet; and Iftikhar would be all sweetness now.
As the troops rode past the khan which stands on the Aleppo road,
about twelve furlongs' journey beyond the gates, Iftikhar drew up his
horse beside the litter, which Zeyneb was carefully guarding. The
curtains were closed, but he spoke in his soft, melodious Arabic:
"Star of the Greeks, if you will,--look forth! For we are approaching
Aleppo, and now you may set eyes on the palace El Halebah, which, by
the blessing of Allah, is mine, and therefore yours!"
Mary thrust back the curtains. Her face was very pale now; the red
spots on either cheek seemed to glow with hidden fire. But her eyes
were dry and bright--the hour of outward agony had been long since
passed.
"A beautiful country!" were her words. And it was even so; for,
bowered in gardens and framed by a sky of purest azure, lay Aleppo,
whose white walls, white houses, gilded minarets seemed stencilled in
silhouette against the blue. Crowning the city rose the citadel, high
above the proudest domes with its sheer brown rock. On it, too, shone
the gold work of its battlements, and its gaudy banners streaming.
Iftikhar pointed out the lofty dome of the great mosque Jami-Zakarya,
whose minaret seemed to climb to the very bow of the heavens; the
stately Jewish synagogue, the domes of the Christian churches, the
tall houses of the merchants clustered round the bazaar.
"Beautiful, truly!" said Iftikhar, his eyes not on the stately city,
but on the face of the Greek; "fair as the two gardens by the river of
milk prepared for the beloved of Allah! Yet you see but the outward
husk, O Soul of my Soul! For yours is the palace which Seïf Eddauleh,
one-time lord of Aleppo, prepared for a maiden like yourself of the
blood of the Greeks; and what was her joy shall be yours as well.
See--we are at the gates of El Halebah!"
Mary thrust back the curtains farther, leaned on the cushions of
brocade of Tostar, and saw the troop swing down a stately avenue of
poplars. Soon the glittering city and dusty highway were hid from
view. Between green thickets and leafy arbors she could see the silver
stream of the Kuweik creeping silently in its flower-banked bed. Soon
the trees were so dense that the sunlight only filtered down a soft
haze, and the ground under the horse-hoofs was cool, where the moist
leaves had fallen. A strange hush seemed to pervade the wood, and
Iftikhar himself, as if awed, rode on in silence. Several minutes
thus; and Mary felt a strange thrill, as if a voice had spoken, "You
enter now into a magic world!" The horses had fallen to a slow walk.
They could hear bird calling bird far within, among the myrtles and
laurel hedges. The soft rush of a hidden waterfall crept upon them;
one could almost feel the fine spray, yet only heard the plashing
music. Presently, as if by enchantment, four men in bright armor, with
naked sabres, stood across their way, and a voice rang out, trebly
loud in the hush of the wood: "Stand! Who dares set foot within the
precincts of El Halebah?" But Iftikhar had ridden in advance of the
troops. "By the dirk and the cord!" were his words, when he held up a
finger where a gem-stone glittered.
"The grand prior! Hail, master!" And the white turbans of the four
almost touched the turf while they saluted. An instant more, and they
were gone.
"See!" said Iftikhar, when the seeming apparition had vanished among
the trees. "Though El Halebah seem unguarded, save by the owls and
bats, I say to you not a snake could wind under the dead leaves, but
the eyes of my Ismaelians, keeping watch and ward, would find him.
Fear nothing, O Rose of the Christians! About you this hour are three
thousand blades, and over them all must a foe ride ere he lay hand on
you! You are safe, as though in the bosom of Allah!"
Mary made no reply. The iron had long since entered her soul. Iftikhar
was to have his day; the Holy Mother knew it was like to prove a long
one. Yet even in her plight the magic wood had a strange charm for the
Greek. And at last she asked, "How far about extends the grove of the
palace?"
"How far?" answered Iftikhar. "One might wander a league and more to
the north, and find naught save glen and fern-dell and fountains. Seïf
built it for his fair ones and poets to roam, and think themselves in
Allah's paradise. The singer Motenabbi found his words too faint to
sing its praise. Now by the will of the Dispenser of All Things it has
become the possession of the Ismaelians. Not Redouan, lord of Aleppo,
himself dare set foot within the groves, save at nod of mine. Here we
may dream we are upon the Fortunate Islands, a thousand leagues away
in the Western Sea; and watch the stars go round the pole; and listen
to the bulbuls and the brooks singing,--singing ever of revel, and
laughter, and love, so long as mortal life may be."
Mary held her peace; Iftikhar, too, fell to day-dreaming. Of a sudden
they passed from the wood, and saw before them a wide prairie of
emerald grass. Beyond this rose a palace--one wide stretch of domes
and pinnacles, and fantastic colonnades, and beyond the palace spread
a blue lake, close girded by the forest. In the midst floated a green
island covered with gay kiosks. A light skiff, blue as the waters, was
shooting across the glassy surface under a steady oar. As Iftikhar's
eyes lit upon the rowers in the skiff, he gave a cry:--
"Morgiana!"
"Did you speak to me?" asked Mary.
"No, Soul of my Soul," was the answer. "Yet see the boat; in it glides
one whom, Allah granting, you shall love right well! At least"--and
now he muttered under his breath--"either you shall love each other,
or, as the Most High lives, I know whom I can part with best, and it
will not be the Greek!"
And now they were at the portal. The brass-cased doors swung open
without warning; a hundred gaudy flags tossed out upon pinnacles and
domes; a great crash of music greeted them--trumpet, timbrel, hautboy,
and cymbal,--and a line of twenty negro eunuchs, naked save for skirts
of red silk whereon gold lace was flashing, each holding a ponderous
cimeter. At sight of Iftikhar they knelt and bowed their heads to the
mosaic pavement. Then a single eunuch stepped forward, tall, spare,
gorgeously dressed in Susangird damask, the jewels gleaming from ears,
hands, and shoes; upon his beardless, ebony face a perpetual smile. He
also knelt at his lord's feet. And Iftikhar questioned:--
"The messenger I sent ahead from Afrin came promptly?"
"He did, O Fountain of our Being; and all is prepared to receive and
make joyous the Star of the Greeks!"
"You have done well, O Hakem!" replied the emir. Then when two of the
negroes had lifted Mary from her litter, Iftikhar led her forward.
"This, mine own, is my good slave, and yours too, by name Hakem, the
chief of my eunuchs and ruler of my harem." Hakem had risen when his
lord addressed him, but now at sight of Mary his smile became more
blooming than ever, and his violet cap swept her feet as he bowed.
"Hakem," continued his master, "except I command otherwise, the
tiniest word of the Star of the Greeks is your law. Deny her, and the
stake is ready for your impaling!"
"I hear and obey!" replied Hakem, still smiling, and touching his
head, to proclaim his willingness to lose it.
"Go before us to the harem!" Iftikhar went on, and with only the
eunuch and Mary Kurkuas, the emir advanced within the palace. Mary
saw, as they passed, court after court, fountains, domes, a wealth of
jewel-mosaic on floor and wall, glass sconces of rainbow-tints hanging
from golden chains. Then in a cool inner apartment where the sun stole
dimly through marble tracery in the high ceiling, Iftikhar halted; and
as he entered three women, dark-eyed, bronze-skinned, but beautiful as
houris, stood--then knelt before Mary.
"Your slaves," said Iftikhar, pointing to them. "Command them; if they
fail to please, a word to Hakem, and their lives are snuffed out."
"I thank your kindness, master," said Mary, very softly.
"Master?" exclaimed Iftikhar.
"Assuredly; am I not your slave as much as these women here? Is it not
your pleasure, rather than my right, that keeps me from their servile
tasks? Does not my very breath tremble on your nod?" And Mary stood
before Iftikhar with folded hands, her eyes cast upon the silken rug
of Kerman.
The emir broke forth with the heat of glowing fire.
"O Flower, whose beauty shames the rose of Khuzistan! Star, whose
light I have followed these years, seeking, hoping, praying, striving!
Who the slave, you or I? For your sake have I not sent to the ends of
the earth? For you have I not prepared this palace, than which is not
a fairer from Andalus to Turan? What is my life without you? What my
power among the Ismaelians? My hopes of sovereignty, such as Zubaida,
beloved of Harun, might have joy to share! For you,--it is all for
you! Without you the palace is dungeon; the earth, wilderness; the
fairest of Arabian maidens, jinns of black night."
And in the delirium of the moment he caught her, held her in his arms,
kissed her once, twice. But her lips were icy. The touch of her form
chilled him. He shrank away as from a statue of marble.
"Master," said Mary, never resisting, "I am your slave. You have the
power. I cannot resist; I fear I cannot flee away. You may do with my
poor body as you list; but me,--Mary the wife of Richard de St.
Julien, the soul throbbing behind this flesh and blood,--_me_ you can
never hold in power. No! not, were your three thousand sword-hands
myriads. For my true self is as far beyond your unholy touch as though
I sat above the stars! Do with me as you will,--I laugh at you; I mock
your impure wiles; for till you hold me, soul as well as body, I am
free--free in the sight of God, though you pour all your passions on
me! I love you not, and never shall, till the day breaks in the west,
and the seasons cease to wheel."
As she spoke, her eyes glowed with a fire that lit another fire of
mingled desire and rage in the eyes of Iftikhar.
"Hearken, Star of the Greeks!" and he again stepped toward her. Mary
stood calm as a statue; only her eyes shone yet brighter.
"I have heard you often, master; but I will listen."
"I command you, style me no more 'master,'" raged Iftikhar, feeling he
had conjured up a demon that greater power than his must chain.
"I can style you no otherwise," was the reply; "for so you are. Punish
my disobedience. I can bear much."
There was a little table at hand; on it stood a rock-crystal goblet
and a silver cooler filled with snow-water and rose sherbet.
"Mary Kurkuas," said Iftikhar, controlling himself by a great effort,
and holding up the goblet, "think not I seek the deeds of mad passion
and violence. My power? The might that flashes in your eyes were a
myriad times more! Love? Yes, truly; I would have your lips seek
mine, as two doves flit to the same nest. See! A pledge!--by the great
angel Israfil, at whose trumpet the dead shall spring for judgment, I
swear: I will do you no hurt! nothing! I will teach you to love me,
until Constantinople, and Sicily, and France shall be as a forgotten
dream, and of your own free will you shall be mine own, till Allah cut
us asunder."
He held high the goblet.
"To Mary Kurkuas, fairest of women!" he cried, drank, bowed low, and
was gone, leaving Mary with Hakem the eunuch.
* * * * *
The heavy tapestries in the doorway closed noiselessly. Mary stood
gazing half stupidly at Hakem and the maids. Then at last the eunuch
spoke, his imperturbable smile swelling to a fulsome grin.
"O my little birdling, what friends shall we not become! How sweetly
shall we pass the days together!"
Had his words been hot irons, he could not have affected Mary more. In
a trice she had sprung toward him, her eyes flashing flame. She was in
poise and voice the great princess of the house of Kurkuas, born to
rule. "Toad!" came across her teeth, "did I bid you speak? Out of my
sight, you and these wenches, or as I live--"
"Mercy, gracious _Citt_, gracious mistress!" began Hakem, throwing up
his hands and rolling his eyes, for he knew that he faced his match.
"You are travel-worn; your dress--"
Mary took a step toward him, snatched him by the shoulder, whirled his
face toward the door in an instant.
"Away!" was her command; "or if Iftikhar did not mock me, the next
word I have for him is to ask your head!"
Hakem shuffled out of the room like a whipped hound. To the maids Mary
gave not a word--simply pointed toward the passage. The flash in her
eyes sufficed. They were gone; and the Greek found herself alone--oh,
bliss!--alone!
The room was large, high-domed; the walls covered with gold and
colored enamel in fantastic arabesques. Here and there an inscription
from one of the poets in silver mosaic. On the silken carpet the feet
moved noiselessly. The light trickled through the piercings in the
dome, and spread a restful twilight around. There were divans of
priceless Chinese silk, an ebony table whereon lay silver and crystal
cups and coolers, fruit and honey cakes. Upon the divan lay ready a
dress, silk also, plainly prepared for Iftikhar's new favorite, gold
lace, jewel embroidery: in France worth a count's ransom; even in
Constantinople worthy of the Empress herself. It was very still. Mary
sat upon the divan beside the table and rested her face on her hands.
She was more weary than one may tell. Despite the care of Iftikhar,
the journey had been no easy one. And now this was the end! Here was
the golden cage in which the bright bird was to be kept fast! Mary
shed no tears now. Iftikhar had given her a pledge. She felt sure he
would be patient within reason. But in time? Mary knew herself well
enough and Iftikhar well enough to be sure that both were made of
mortal stuff. After all, she was his slave--to be sold in the market
if he chose. She had taken her vows touching Richard Longsword while
life lasted. But was he not dead to her? Perhaps dead to all the
world? Did men only die to one another when they stopped eating,
talking, and sleeping? She could struggle, could put on her majesty,
could say "No" a score of times; but in the end!--what end could there
be saving one! So Mary sat in her revery, her thoughts as dark as the
ebony table beneath her eyes.
Suddenly, as if awaking from a dream, she heard laughter,--laughter
musical as a little stream, but with a mocking, angry tinge that left
a sting. Mary lifted her eyes, raised her head. More laughter--louder,
still musical. The Greek almost started. Could she not even have
sorrow in peace?
"Have I not bidden you all begone?" was her cry, and at last the tears
were not far from her eyes; for this defiance was the last drop to her
cup of sorrow.
"No," came back a voice, clear and melodious as a zithern note; "no,
you have commanded me nothing."
"Then now I say 'away'--leave me alone!"
"How sweet to see you angry! I will not leave you. See! I enter. I
wish to look at you face to face."
The curtains at the farther end of the room opened. As they did so a
score of little bells upon them tinkled, and Mary saw a woman standing
in the mild half-light. Instantly the Greek rose, and the two looked
into each other's eyes.
Morgiana was dressed in a manner only possible to one who felt the
vulgar eye far removed. She wore loose green silk trousers that
gathered a little below the knee; her feet were hid only by white
slippers, where the gem-stones were flashing, and white silken
stockings; arms and neck were bare; a gauzy Indian shawl, white also,
was wrapped about her; on her girdle shone the gold chain work,
another gold chain around her neck; the abundant black hair streamed
loosely over the shoulders from under a jewel-set fillet. The two
women stood facing one another for a long moment. Then each broke
forth in one breath, but the Arab first.
"How beautiful you are!--I hate you!"
"How beautiful!--I wish to love you!"
The two sentences blended into one; and instantly Morgiana burst again
into laughter.
"So this is the Star of the Greeks! I give you joy; you are worthy of
Iftikhar Eddauleh! _Ya_; were you a peri of the deep, you could not be
fairer!"
Mary bowed her head. "Lady," was her answer, "who you are I know not;
but this I know, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,
and if Iftikhar possesses you, God alone knows why he casts eyes on
me!"
Yet again Morgiana laughed. "God alone knows?" was her cry; "verily, I
doubt it. Were He knowing, and yet able to change the world, wicked He
must be to suffer the deeds of men! You think me a stranger. Well,
Morgiana the slave of Iftikhar greets Mary the slave of Iftikhar, and
Morgiana adds that she will kill Mary, as surely as the evening
follows the morn!"
"Pray God that you may have your wish full soon!" answered the Greek,
looking down. Her words seemed to have touched a new spring in
Morgiana. The Arab threw her hands on high.
"Cursed are you, O Greek! Cursed your beauty! Cursed all who look in
love upon you! Let the jinns of the abyss swallow you! Let Eblees,
Lord of Darkness, have mastery of you! May your bright eyes be turned
to blindness, your white skin scorch, your smooth arms wither--" But
here Mary interrupted, humble no longer now, her own proud fire
flashing in turn.
"Silence--madwoman! It is you the evil powers will curse! Do I need
maledictions from you to make my lot less darksome, my cup less
bitter? Curse Iftikhar Eddauleh, if you will, whose sin and passion
blast your joy and mine! Curse him, not me!" And at this Morgiana
broke forth fiercely:--
"No, no, not Iftikhar Eddauleh! Were he tearing me with tortures, yet
would I bless him. Were he foul as the rebel angels, his kiss were
honey. Dwelt he in parching Gehennah, to be with him--paradise! No
word against him, or here and now I slay you!"
Mary made no immediate answer. Morgiana's face was aflame with
passion; as she spoke she swayed in half frenzy. Under her breath the
Greek murmured, "She is mad!"
"As Allah lives!" cried Morgiana, her mood veering swift as the flight
of birds, "I have frightened you! Unjust, cruel, my heart is half ice
and half fire. I have given you arrows instead of tears. You are
blameless, wretched, helpless,--what may I do for you?"
And she had caught Mary's hands within her own, and was drawing her
close and kissing her forehead.
"They do well to call you star and flower of the Greeks! _Mashallah!_
how could Iftikhar and all the world fail to give all to gain you!
From Cairo to Samarkand there is none like you!"
Mary did not answer. To her Morgiana was fury, houri, and angel all in
one moment. She knew not what to think, and so kept peace. But the
Arab ran on: "I saw you at Palermo. It came to my ears that you were
very beautiful. I saw you ride to church once with your father. I, of
course, was veiled and guarded by Hakem; and when my eyes lit on you,
I said, 'She is not over-praised.' Yet there was a throng, and you
were not near. But now, face to face, I say, 'Not all the poets from
Imr ul-Kais to An-Nami could paint in verse your beauty; no, nor all
the angels who sing about the throne of Allah!'"
"Praise it not," cried Mary, finding her tongue; "it is, as you say,
cursed,--cursed for me, at least; please God, not for those who have
loved me! I say naught of Iftikhar; let God judge him, not I!"
Morgiana bowed her head in turn.
"You say well. Let the Most High judge Iftikhar. And now"--raising her
eyes--"tell me; shall we be friends?"
Then and there the two kissed one another, cried on each other's
necks, and swore--so far as spirits like theirs may--to be friends and
sisters. For the burden of each was great. When they had ceased crying
and could talk once more, Morgiana led Mary to the divan,
exclaiming:--
"_Wallah!_ But you are all travel-stained and weary. Where are Hakem
and the maids?"
"As you love me," protested the Greek, "do not call them. I will not
see that sleek eunuch's face again. I sent them all away."
"Hakem!" repeated Morgiana, with a sniff; "he is a harmless lizard,
after you grow accustomed to seeing him trail his nose around. His
teeth look very sharp, but they must not frighten you. Nevertheless,
if you will not--" Mary shook her head.
"Then I will play the tiring maid!" cried the Arab; and she laughed
when she drew the pins from Mary's hair, and let it fall over her
shoulders, a shining, brown mass.
"_Wallah!_ How beautiful you are!" Morgiana repeated again and again.
She led Mary into a bath, where the air was heavy with perfumes of
saffron and date-blossoms, then put on the Greek the Eastern dress
which had been made ready. Mary's heart was very full when Morgiana
laid aside the Frankish bleaunt; for in that mantle she had ridden
beside Richard Longsword over the weary road to Constantinople; he had
given it to her on their wedding day. But when the Arab wished to draw
the little silver ring from her finger, the Greek shook her head.
"Silly!" commented Morgiana, "it is not worth a dirhem; I will bring
you a casket of a hundred--ruby, onyx, beryl--"
"My husband set it there," replied Mary, thrusting back her hair and
looking full into the Arab's face. "It was to remain there till I
die." Morgiana tossed up her head. "Your husband? Richard Longsword,
that boorish Frank, who has a bull's strength with a baboon's wits?
How dare you love him, when you may have the love of Iftikhar
Eddauleh!"
"Nevertheless," said Mary, very slowly, never moving her gaze,
"Richard is my husband. I love him. Do not speak ill of him, or our
friendship dies the day of birth."
"I have a very cruel heart!" cried Morgiana, kissing the Greek again;
and the ring was left in its place.
They had completed the toilet. There was a long silvered mirror in the
room, and Mary saw herself dressed after the fashion of the East, from
the mother-of-pearl set upon her yellow shoes, to the gold-spangled
muslin that wound above her flowing hair. "Holy Mother of Pity," she
whispered, looking down at the little ring, "but for this, I were
already become an infidel!"
The next moment the voice of Iftikhar demanded entrance, and the two
women stood before him.
"_Bismillah!_" he exclaimed, smiling, and looking more handsome and
lordly than ever, "I see two of the houris! You are friends?"
"We are sisters," replied Morgiana, a little defiantly. "I fled out
upon the lake that I might not meet you when you returned,--but now!"
and she took Mary by the hand.
"I will wait on you no more to-day," said Iftikhar, bowing in most
stately fashion. But when he had gone, Morgiana gave a bitter cry:--
"Allah pity me; Allah pity you also! His words were for us both, but
his eyes on you alone! I have lost him, lost him forever. The Most
High keep me from some fearful deed!"
"I do not dread you," said Mary, gently.
"No," came the answer, "you need dread nothing. Christian you are, and
Moslem I; but one God hears us both. Oh, let us pray,--pray for His
mercy; for lesser help may not avail!"
* * * * *
Mary slept that night in the same chamber as Morgiana, an airy,
high-vaulted room, in an upper story of the palace. Through the
tracery of the lattice came the warm breeze, bearing the narcotic
scent of those tropic gardens. But Mary was long in falling asleep on
her soft pallet. In the darkness she heard the trumpet-voiced muezzins
in the distant Aleppo, calling the midnight _Oola: "Allahu akhbar!_
_Allahu akhbar! Allahu akhbar!_ I testify there is no God but Allah,
and Mohammed is the prophet of Allah! Come to prayer! Come to prayer!
Prayer is better than sleep!"
The words pealed out in the night like voices from another world. Mary
stirred and kissed the silver ring. "Dear Mother of God! Dear Christ
who suffered for us all, give me strength to bear all, to resist, to
endure! Keep my own heart true to Richard Longsword and our love. Save
me utterly, if that may be, and if not, be merciful and let me die;
for the temptation will be very great!"
Morgiana started in her sleep; the curtain above her bed rustled.
"Dear sister," she said softly, "go to sleep. The day has troubles
enough, without letting them steal peace from the night."
So Mary kissed the ring, folded her hands, and at last was dreaming.