HOW THERE WAS FESTIVAL AT ALEPPO
After the winter rains were past, and when all the birds were singing
in the groves about El Halebah, Mary Kurkuas could see that Iftikhar
Eddauleh was waxing restive in soul; both on her account and on
account of something which was stirring in that great world which lay
beyond the palm trees, the lake, and the silver Kuweik. What those
events without were Mary could scarce guess, for had she been
transported into another planet, she could not have seen less of what
passed in the realm of armies, and princes, and battles. The moment
the enchanted groves of the palace closed about her, all beyond had
been blotted out; she saw no men save Iftikhar, Zeyneb, and Hakem with
his fellow-eunuchs, if these last were indeed men. Once she had asked
Hakem whether the Crusaders had been driven back when they strove to
cross Asia Minor, and whether the expedition to Jerusalem had been
abandoned. The sleek creature had only salaamed, and smirked
deprecatingly.
"O Rose of the Christians, my ears are deaf, my eyes blind to all
beyond the precincts of El Halebah!" was his sole reply. Zeyneb she
loathed from the depths of her soul. The dwarf saw her seldom,
although he affected to seek the company of his foster-sister. Mary
induced Morgiana to ask him to tell of the outside world, and was met
by a blank refusal. "Let him twitter once, and Iftikhar would lift his
head from his shoulders!" As for Iftikhar, when Mary demanded to know
the success of the Crusade, he replied with one of his flashes of
mingled authority and passion: "Soul of my Soul! ask me nothing. My
lips are sealed, save when I speak of the love that burns me and of
the brightness that blazes from your eyes!" And no appeal could draw
from him more. Once during the autumn Mary thought she saw from the
uppermost balcony a squadron of armed horsemen riding furiously from
Aleppo. That day too she heard one negro eunuch say to a fellow,
"Allah grant that they come no nearer!" and the other, "As you love
life, breathe nothing to your own soul! If the _Citt_, Mary, should
hear!" But this was all. Day sped into day. No change in the
monotonous ease and routine of the harem. Mary had grown wonted to the
unending round. She no longer lay awake to hear the muezzins.
Sometimes she wondered if she would forget her Greek and her French,
hearing only Arabic, save when she talked with Eleanor.
Eleanor had been held as captive by Iftikhar, not because he had any
unwonted passion for her, or grudge against her; but she was
beautiful, and he liked to feel that he held one of the Longswords in
his harem. The young Norman had long since bowed her head to her fate.
After a manner she had been kindly treated. Less full of energy and
unquenchable vigor than the Greek, she had grown content to stay all
day in the harem, bathing in the perfumed waters, embroidering,
drinking sherbet. Morgiana, seeing she was not likely to become a
rival, had patronized and protected her against the insolence of the
eunuchs. Mary had been greeted by Eleanor rapturously, as if she were
an angel. As for Morgiana, the "maid of Yemen" was alternately to her
sister and fury. For days together she would have never a word for
Mary save an occasional malediction or threat; then without warning
she would repent in tears, implore forgiveness, become gentle, loving,
clinging as Eleanor; and so until the next cloud of jealousy came over
her.
It was one day in the early springtime when the eunuchs spread
canopies on the palace roof. Here, with the green groves stretching on
every hand, the three women had idled out the warm, sweet afternoon.
Mary was aiding Eleanor over her embroidery frame. And now it was
that Morgiana told what she had never told before--the story of how
she fell into the hands of Iftikhar. "Know, O sweet sister," said she,
laying down the guitar on which her long, shapely fingers had been
wandering, "that I am the daughter of Jaafar bin Shirzâd, who was the
_Hajib_, that is, Lord Chamberlain, to the Commander of the Faithful,
Al Muktadi the Abbasside, and that I was born in my father's palace
which lay by the Tigris in Bagdad. My father had four wives and many
fair female slaves, fair as moons; but most of all he loved my mother,
Kharka, who was peerless among the women of Bagdad. She was the
daughter of Abu Ahmed, emir of the free desert tribes of Yemen. From
her I gain my name; from her my blue eyes, which are found sometimes
among the Arabs of the great waste. My mother was brought up after the
fashion of her people; not pent in harems, guarded by eunuchs, but
free as youth--would to Allah this were the custom in all Islam! From
her love of freedom comes my own proneness to rush to unwomanly
things. At Bagdad my mother pined for her native sand plains, and died
when I was young, leaving me to my nurse,--mother of my accursed
foster-brother, Zeyneb. Then came the direful day when my father lost
his head by demand of Melik Shah, the arch-sultan; and I and all his
harem were plunged in slavery. I was sixteen when I and Zeyneb stood
in the slave market at Damascus. At Iftikhar's first sight of me
unveiled, the love sprang to his eyes as flame leaps on a torch. He
bought us; and for years he and I were to each other as two souls in
one body; the thought of him, joy! sight of him, joy! touch of him,
joy! So he to me. And in love for me he cast all the other women from
his harem. Then--luckless day!--he went to Sicily to find service
among the Christians. There at Palermo I was mother of his child;
merciful Allah! why couldst Thou not spare my little Ali? But he
died--sorrow passing words! After that I saw that Iftikhar was
drifting away from me. First he bought other slave women, though still
he gave me chief place, and love of the lips. Then on a day"--and
Morgiana's eyes seemed fiery daggers searching Mary's very soul--"I
heard Hakem, chief eunuch, speak of the beauty of Mary the Greek; then
I first heard your name, and learned to curse you! Aye, curse you, as
I have a thousand times since. Since that hour, day by day, despite my
wiles, and my beauty, and my sorrow, unceasingly he has drifted from
me farther and farther; and now he has you--your body already, when he
wills; your soul, too, full soon. And I have lost him; have lost him
forever!"
Mary raised her head to reply; but Morgiana swept on: "Oh, it is not
the pain of seeing another mistress of El Halebah; of knowing I am
second when I should be first; of feeling, 'One whisper from the
Greek, and at her wish Iftikhar would slay me.' But I love him. To
possess him, though clothed in rags and loaded with fetters--enough!
To hear him say, 'I love you,' as once he did, and know that it was
not tongue but eyes also that spoke--that were my paradise!"
Morgiana bowed her head, and broke into wild sobbing. The Greek put
her arm about her.
"Dear sister, I, like you, am the slave of Iftikhar Eddauleh--at his
mercy, his toy, his sport for an idle hour--but never fear that I will
love him. Till I know Richard Longsword sleeps with the dead--"
Morgiana lifted her face angrily. "Why speak of Richard Longsword? Who
dares compare him to Iftikhar Eddauleh? Is he not a boorish Frank? And
Iftikhar?--were it not there is but one Allah, would I not call
Iftikhar a god!"
"You worship him; yet you are his slave?"
"Yes! what shame? Do I wish to be free? Are not all mortals slaves of
Allah? And is not Iftikhar to me in the place of Allah? Let men bow
down to a God; but what God may a woman own save a strong man, whose
love is her all--her all!"
The words of Morgiana sank to a sob. She flung her face in Mary's lap
and wept.
"Oh," she cried, "I see well enough how it is with you. I have eyes,
and wits. On the first days you were here you loathed Iftikhar as if
he were a snake. But he knows his game. He has drawn his net about
you. Each day you note his dark Eastern splendor, so unlike the West;
his speech like music, his professions of love; and each day you say,
'I hate him.' But you do not say it with the sting of months ago.
Richard Longsword is becoming very dim before your eyes; Iftikhar
Eddauleh, very real. The change is slow; yet I am not wrong. By Allah,
I am not wrong! For I see two fires in your cheek, another on your
forehead. You do not shudder, as you once did, at thinking, 'All my
life I must spend in a golden prison like El Halebah.' It will be very
pleasant. Iftikhar is to become the lord of all Islam, if naught
fails. The Ismaelians will overthrow Sultan and Kalif, and Iftikhar is
declared heir of Hassan-Sabah. So much I know, though we hear so
little. And you will reign with him--Sultana! Empress!"
"As you love me, speak no more!" Mary found voice to beg.
"Love you!" cried Morgiana, in her mood; "do I not hate you with fury
passing death? Last night, when Iftikhar spoke to you soft and low, I
could see your eye following his as a weaver's the shuttle. You are
yielding, yielding; soon--"
But Mary had clapped her hand upon the Arab's mouth. "Love me or hate
me, do not torture! What can I do?" was her plea. "Day and night I
call to Our Lady, 'Save me, or let me die.' And I am growing weak,
weak! I cannot fight the will of Heaven much longer. How easy to defy
Iftikhar the day he bore me hither! How easy to feel my will each day
growing more helpless to resist! God is angry with me; some sin that I
have forgotten, yet that must be very great. Oh, pity me, for I am
only a weak girl!"
So they comforted one another, those two, whose hearts were too full
for words. While they yet sat side by side, Iftikhar came upon the
balcony. Splendid he was, in his jewelled turban, golden belt, and
dress of _izar_--the gold-embroidered cloth of Mosul. He made a
profound reverence to Mary, then spoke.
"O Star of the Greeks! I your slave have remembered that perchance
even the charm of the halls of El Halebah may grow weary. Deign, I
pray you, to be dressed this evening in such a dress as I have
commanded Hakem to provide; for to-night all the daughters and maidens
of Aleppo have been bidden to make free in these gardens, and there
will be festival, such as Bagdad has seldom seen since the great feast
of Moktader."
"I thank your lordship, I obey," said Mary, bowing. The emir's face
lit with pleasure.
"And you, Morgiana," continued Iftikhar, more lightly, "you, with
Eleanor, of course will not fail me. I would show these beauties of
Aleppo that here hid in our groves are the fairest eyes in Syria."
"Cid," said Morgiana, haughtily, "if you command me, I will obey;
otherwise, let me sleep and the rest dance."
"_Ya!_" cried Iftikhar, testily; "you are gloomy as Gann, lord of the
evil jinns! No doing of mine can please you. _Wallah_, be it as you
will! The Star of the Greeks is more kind. To-night! I swear the poets
of Emir Redouan shall sing of the fête the whole year long!" So he was
gone, and Morgiana turned fiercely on Mary. "Eblees and all his
'Sheytans' of the Pit pluck you away! What have you done? You said yes
as though Iftikhar's words were sweet as honey of Lebanon. He will
conquer you to-night! Are you blind? Not for the maidens of Aleppo,
but for you, this fête is prepared. To-night he will be master of you,
soul as well as body. Blind! blind!"
Mary looked into the Arab's face.
"O dear sister," came her words, "you say well. But I am not blind.
What more can I do? Love him I do not, as you. But I am helpless;
Iftikhar is lord. Better to have an end. Hate him I do not as I did
once. Time is kind. I must bow my head, and pray God make me forget
the past. There is no other way--none. I can fight the battle no
more."
"Dearest heart," cried the Arab, "it is all true. You can do no more.
If you were not so pure and lovely, I would have killed you long ago.
Only do not triumph over me, when you have learned to love Iftikhar
as do I."
"No, blessed soul," said the Greek, softly; "that may never be."
* * * * *
That night all the heavens about El Halebah glowed with the light of
myriad torches; lights on the domes and soaring towers; lights
flitting among the palm trees; lights tossing behind every myrtle and
laurel brake; lights twinkling from under the cool colonnades, and
making the mist of the fountains a shimmering spray of diamonds. There
were flowers scattered over every walk; flowers festooned about each
column; the air made heavy with the breath of rose, pink, and violet.
All about were set innumerable banners, streaming to every wind. Fires
flashed from the islands upon the lake; and down the enchanted path
that led through the woods to the Aleppo road there was a cordon of
flambeaux, making the avenue light as day.
So much saw Mary Kurkuas, peering from her lattice, while the maids
made her ready and clothed her in robes such as Iftikhar himself had
never sent her before. At last the emir stood outside her door with
the petition, "O flower more sweet than the rose, I, your slave, pray
you, come forth--come forth; the fête is ready; the stars await the
moon!"
Mary let them wrap round her face the veil of gauze of Baalbec, and
went to meet Iftikhar. Never had the emir been more darkly handsome;
his eye flashed with fire out-vying the blaze of the great gems at his
girdle. He wore a tiara worth thrice the revenues of the king of
France. The sheath of his long cimeter was of beaten gold. And when
Mary looked upon him, a strange thrill passed over her--what a man
this was, who had loved her even against her will!
"Come forth, O Fairest of the daughters of the Christians! And let the
maidens of Syria blush beneath their darker skin: let them mourn, 'Our
beauty cannot compare with the loveliness of the Greek who is beloved
of Iftikhar Eddauleh!'"
So spoke the emir, and a mysterious spell seemed to fall on Mary.
Under his word and nod she was passive as a little child. Once, once
only--the vision of Richard Longsword--rough-featured, firm-lipped,
framed of iron--passed before her eyes,--how dim it all was! How very
far away! Iftikhar took her hand, and led her through the mazy
colonnades. And women fair as the dawn brought her a great wreath of
cool flowers that she hung about her neck; others threw upon the air a
spray of perfumes of Mazendran, while as the two advanced, the lights
and torches ever multiplied; they trod onward in a glow of brightness.
"See!" Iftikhar had led her to the balcony of the colonnade, where
thronged the nobles of the court of Redouan, all in dresses bright as
the sun, but Iftikhar's brightest. Before them and around stretched a
wondrous vision. Mary saw the maids and young women of Aleppo, of
Sultan Redouan's harem and of his grandees, dancing, as was their
custom, in wide circles hand in hand; their white dresses flying,
their brown arms twinkling, their violet-black hair streaming to the
wind. First they danced yet veiled; then as the dances maddened, they
one after another cast the veils aside, and their dark eyes flashed in
the torchlight. Round the women in wider circles were others,--three
thousand men,--also in white, but with each a glittering cuirass and
cimeter. And as the maidens danced the men broke from their ranks, and
danced after their kind; crying aloud, and beating their swords
against their targets. But the crash of the cymbals, the boom of the
copper kettledrums, the wild wail of the hautboys, the flutes, and the
tinkling Persian harps, sounded above all. The dancers caught up
torches, and made the ground spring with whirring light. As the music
quickened, the dances wound their maze yet faster. And now the
Ismaelians rushed among the women, mingling with them in the dance;
plucking away the veils that were still clinging; catching the cymbals
from the musicians' hands and crashing them yet louder. The whole
scene seemed fast becoming pandemonium. Mary's eyes throbbed under the
flashing of the torches; a desire seemed to spring through her to
sway with the mad music--to join in the madder whirl. But as she
gazed, Iftikhar lifted his hand, and one of the musicians upon the
balcony, putting to his lips a tiny flute, blew across the raging sea
of light one note, clear, piercing, tremulous as the bulbul's call. At
that note men and maids were stilled, and stood gazing toward the
colonnade where was Iftikhar Eddauleh with his captive at his side.
Then Iftikhar stepped to the edge of the parapet, and stood in his
blazing dress--a very genie in mien and glory. While he stood, lo!
every knee was bowed. The women also with the Ismaelians swept their
foreheads to the ground; and while they did obeisance, Iftikhar's
voice rang out over lawn and grove: "Ye 'devoted' of the Ismaelians;
and ye women of Aleppo; slaves of the lord of Alamont, of me his
deputy, and his vassal Redouan--behold! Kneel, tremble, adore! For I
will show to you the peerless creation of Allah; the Lady of Beauty,
the Star of the Greeks, who by the grace of the Most High shall, ere
two years speed, be hailed sovereign princess from the western sea to
the river of India! Fall down before her! For I say to you: the man or
maid who shall cross her will or refuse her adoration shall surely
die! Since under Allah she shall hold the lives of you all in the
hollow of her hand!"
At the word, the Ismaelians bowed again to the earth; then standing,
three thousand voices cried, "We swear by Allah the Omnipotent, our
lives and destinies shall hang upon her grace!"
But Iftikhar called, "Let Masudi of Bozra stand forth!"
A tall, handsome young Syrian stepped forward and stood before the
balcony, his eyes cast on the ground.
"O man 'devoted' to Allah!" commanded the grand prior, "lay your
cuirass upon the earth."
The mandate was implicitly obeyed.
"Take your cimeter! Fall upon it!"
Had the emir said, "Drink of this wine," there had not been less
change in the Syrian's face. Not an eyelash quivered, nor did the lips
twitch, when he held the keen blade at his breast and dashed himself
upon the ground. A single spasm of the limbs, a red glow on the green
sward,--that was all. Through all the great host standing under the
torchlight there ran not so much as shiver or murmur.
"See, my children!" cried Iftikhar again, "this moment Masudi, your
brother, sits down with the maids whose bodies are pure musk,--they
who sit waiting by the stream of honey flowing from the root of the
tree Tûba. Who else, at my summons, will take the journey thither?"
And the shout came back: "I!" and "I!" and "I!"; so all the three
thousand cried it, and many sprang eagerly forward.
"No, my children," warned the emir, upraising his hand. "Allah and our
lord on earth, the Cid Hassan Sabah, have need of you. Full soon shall
you win all the glory and riches of this world, or the kiss of the
houris! And now bear the poor dross of Masudi away, and think on his
bliss."
As the eunuchs bore off the dead, Iftikhar spoke to Mary:--
"O Soul of my Soul, bethink you, here are three thousand of like mind
to this man; and in the rest of Syria nine thousand more. With such a
host we shall conquer the world--the world; and over it, you, my own,
shall be sovereign sultana!"
"O Iftikhar," came from the Greek, "who am I to be thus worshipped!"
The voice, the throb behind the voice,--the word "Iftikhar," not
"master"--were they Mary's own? She felt herself snatched in a current
she might not resist. Drifting, drifting, and she knew whither, yet in
some strange way did not shrink. Why did the light flash still more
brightly in Iftikhar's eyes? Why did his dark beauty become more
splendid?
"Come!" was all he said. And in that word there rang a triumph,
clearer than if sounded by trumpets. Her hand in his, he led her down
the steps of the portico, all strewn with white bells of lilies, a
carpet of blooming snow. At the foot of the stair a car which shone
like a huge carbuncle; and harnessed to the car two lions, tame as
oxen, yet tossing their shaggy manes, and their eyes twin coals of
fire. Mary saw the beasts, but did not shrink. She looked upon the
emir's face; in it confidence, pride,--and passion beyond words. How
splendid he was! How one ought to worship this lord of men, to whom
the lords of the beasts crouched submissive! How he had loved her with
a love surpassing thought! She entered the car. They put in her hands
reins of silken white ribbon. But Iftikhar himself stood at the heads
of the lions, leading as if they were camels. Then he spoke: "Shine
forth, O Moon, to the beautiful stars! Unveil!" And Mary, her hand
answering his nod, swept the gauze from her face. In the same flash
all the palace grounds shone with the red glare of Greek fire, so that
the flambeaux made shadow; and Mary stood erect in the car, the light
making her face bright and fair as the white cloud of summer. As she
stood, she knew a tremor ran through the multitude and through the
great lords on the portico; and a thousand voices were crying, not by
forced acclaim, but out of their hearts: "Beauty of Allah! Fairest of
the daughters of genii or men!" Such, and many more, the cries. Mary
looked about; eyes past counting were on her. She held her head very
proudly. Captive or queen, it was her triumph; and to Iftikhar she
owed it all!
The emir led the lions down the long avenue opened for them by the
ranks of the Ismaelians, amid the admiring women,--straight toward the
lake; and as the car moved, the Greek fire sprang from the very water,
red and blue, fantastic flame-columns, whose brightness blotted out
the stars. As they advanced, the multitude closed after them; the
torches on the palace doubled, trebled; every dome and minaret was
traced in light; the music swayed and throbbed like the sighs of an
ocean surf. They reached the shore; a second carpet of lilies; a boat,
long, narrow, bowered in roses; a high canopy of flowers in the bow; a
single negro eunuch standing like an ebon statue at the stern, poising
his oar.
"Come!" so again Iftikhar spoke; Mary dismounted. He led her to the
boat, seated her upon the roses. The multitude upon the shore stood in
silence, all their praises in their eyes. The music was hushed for an
instant. Iftikhar nodded to the rower. The oar dipped noiselessly. The
boat glided from the shore gently as the tread of a spirit. Iftikhar
sat upon the flower-strewn floor of the skiff, looking up into Mary's
eyes. This was the end, praise God it was the end; she would do no
more now! Iftikhar had conquered. Who of mortal stuff would fail to
bend before such love as his; and he--was he not worth all loving?
Neither said a word for a long time. The distance betwixt quay and
boat widened slowly. The lights from the gardens spread out shimmering
paths of fire upon the black waters. The only sound was the distant
music once more throbbing from the palace, the dim shouts of the
revellers within the groves, and the drip of the water from the
noiseless oar. On high above the feathery palms crept the round disk
of the moon. At last Iftikhar, never taking away his gaze, said: "O
Mary, my own,--at last, at last,--I have made all good. You are mine
now--body, soul, forever; for even in Paradise those who love are not
sundered. For you will I strive to win glory as never man strove; a
year, two years, and I lead you into Bagdad, first princess of the
world. Hassan Sabah grows old; his glory passes to me, to you, whose
slave I am,--and you shall be adored from the rising of the sun to its
setting."
"Ah! Iftikhar--" but Mary said no more; the emir had interrupted her.
"Mine are no vain dreams. Kerbogha, lord of Mosul, is gathering all
the might of Mesopotamia for our service. Amaz, emir of Fars, is with
us; and the exiled Vizier Muejjed. The Fatimite kalif of Cairo is our
ally, if all else prosper. Soon--soon--Bakyarok, the arch-sultan, is
fallen, the phantom kalif of Bagdad vanished away, and the hour for
the Ismaelians is come."
Again Mary's lips opened; but the emir checked her.
[Illustration: "IFTIKHAR TOOK FROM THE SEAT A LITTLE LUTE, TOUCHED THE
STRINGS, AND SANG"]
"O my own! why speak of this to-night? Hark, let me sing if I may, as
Antar the hero sang the praise of Abla, whose love he won by labors
greater than mine; hearken."
And Iftikhar took from the seat a little lute, touched the strings,
and sang, while his rich voice stole softly over the waters:--
"Moonlight and starlight clear gleaming,
Over the slow waters streaming,
Glint on the lake's shining breast;
Fairer my love's eyes are beaming,
Where the dark wavelets lie dreaming,
By the soft oar lightly pressed!
"Now while the shore lights are dying,
Now while with swifter stroke plying,
Flit we across the dim deep;
Let us in rapt delight lying
Hear the mild wind gently hying
Where th' sprites night watches keep!
"O that for aye I might, sweeping
Where the long willows hang weeping,
Feel the musked breeze of the west
Over our blessèd bark creeping;
Then would I smile in my sleeping
By my love's white arms caressed!"
When he raised his eyes to Mary, she could see they were touched by a
gleam of awful fire; and her own breast and face grew warm, flushed
with strange heat. The oar of the negro had stopped; the skiff drifted
on slowly, slowly. Here toward the centre of the lake the water
stretched beneath the moon, a mirror of black glass.
"Mary, my beautiful!" cried Iftikhar, half rising, and he outstretched
his arms. And Mary, as if his beck were a magician's, started toward
him--the end! But as she stirred, her eye glanced downward; the
moonbeams lit on something gleaming upon her hand--the silver ring of
Richard Longsword: and a voice sounded, from the very heavens it
seemed:--
"Mary de St. Julien, what price may a Christian wife give in exchange
for her soul!"