HOW RICHARD HEARD A SONG
Now what befell came so swiftly that in after days Richard could never
tell it all. Sure it is, that had Trenchefer and Godfrey's sword and
Musa's cimeter left sheath, there had been another tale. For in the
twinkling that Richard cast a backward glance, a noose whistled
through the air and closed about the Norman's shoulders, locking his
arms helpless. And with the whistling rope came a rush of feet and
many hands seizing him. One struggle--he could scarce gather wits to
resist; he was helpless as a birdling before the snake. At the same
instant came the crash and gasp of two desperate conflicts
more--Godfrey and Musa likewise seized. As Richard grasped it, the
Spaniard succumbed as readily as he. But the great Duke was not
lightly taken. Draw he could not, but his mighty hand tore clear of
the rope and dashed more than one assailant down before, with ten upon
him, he was mastered. All was done in less time than the telling.
Almost before Longsword's soul cried "danger," a torch was flashing in
his eyes, and a dozen dark Syrian faces pressing close. The torch was
held high, and flashed before him twice. Blinded by the glare, he saw
nothing beyond the ring of faces. From the dark shadow came a voice--a
voice he had heard before: "_Bismillah!_ The Frank, Richard Longsword,
at last!"
The Norman did not cry out. Native sense told him that help there was
none, and all the teaching of the stern school wherein he was bred had
taught him to bear in silence. All stood while Richard saw the torch
carried to the other knots of white-robed men. Then again the voice:
"This is the Spaniard, Cid Musa, the son of Abdallah." And now a great
shout of triumph: "Praised be Allah, destroyer of His enemies! We take
the Emir Godfrey, chief of the Frankish unbelievers!"
Longsword had no need to be told that this was Zeyneb's voice. He was
about to break forth with defiance and curses upon the dwarf, when in
the torchlight he saw a form taller than the others, the plumes of a
haughty helmet, the flash of gilded steel. The captors gave way to
right and left as the chieftain--so he clearly was--advanced until
face to face with Richard.
"Do you know me? I am the one-time commander of Count Roger's guard,
the Egyptian Iftikhar Eddauleh."
The grand prior had spoken naturally, without bravado.
And Richard answered in like vein:--
"I claimed the honor of your friendship once, my Lord Iftikhar. Fate
has kept us long asunder."
Iftikhar's plumes nodded.
"And brings us together at last. Doom leads to El Halebah you and the
valorous Cid Musa and this noble emir, who is strange to me. The night
advances; let us go."
Before his captive could reply, the Egyptian had faded in the dark. An
Ismaelian laid his hand on Richard's sword-belt to disarm him.
Trenchefer clanked. Iftikhar spoke out of the gloom:--
"Leave the sword, Harun. A Frank cavalier loves better to part with
life than with weapon. _Wallah!_ Let them keep their blades and feel
them at their sides; but knot fast,--their strength is as seven
lions!"
They passed a second cord around Richard's arms, drawing back and
pinioning them tight above the elbows. A heavy hand on either shoulder
urged him forward. The Norman steeled his muscles, made one effort as
never before to snap the bands. Useless; even his giant strength
failed. Unresisting he was led blindly on through the gloom, the
captors treading rapidly. They were soon in a grove of trees, where
the matted leafage cut off the least ray of light. The torch, which
only flared when shaken, sank to a glow dim as a firefly. Underfoot
Richard could feel dry twigs crack, and he smelt the fresh earthy odor
of fern brakes and bird-loved thickets. The only sounds were the
footfalls and the chirp, chirp of the crickets. Then a faint gloaming
shone where the trees arched and opened: they were again beneath a
clear sky. The Norman saw the silver band of a stream creeping to the
Kuweik--barely flashing under the starlight, for moon there was none.
His guards led forward; under their tread a floating bridge rang
hollow, and the water gurgled up around the casks.
For one moment Richard pondered whether he could leap into the water,
and drift down-stream with his arms pinioned. Folly--had he not his
mail-shirt, and Trenchefer still at his side? A stone would float
lighter! They had passed the bridge; again were in the woods. Some
uncanny night bird was flapping from bough to bough; he could hear the
whir of heavy wings, hoarse cries, blending with the song of the
crickets. Did not ravens croak when men drew nigh their dooms? Was it
river mist only that was hanging in cold beads upon his brow? Still
the white-robed company led onward. Not a word spoken--when might this
journey end? Richard listened to the beating of his own
heart--merciful saints, why so loudly? Behind he knew were led Godfrey
and Musa; they two walking to death, and for his cause! The Mother of
Mercies knew it had been by none of his willing. Out of the dark was
creeping that vision dreaded so often,--repelled so often,--which he
had vainly hoped had faded away forever. Gilbert de Valmont slain
beside the altar! Richard looked up at the stars shimmering between
the leaves. "Ere these stars fade in sunlight"--spoke a voice (from
within or without, what matter?)--"you, Richard de St. Julien, will be
accounting to God for the soul of that guiltless boy." And though
Longsword thought of the Pope's pledge of absolution, of all the
infidels he had himself slain in the name of Christ, of all his
sufferings in the chastisement at Dorylæum,--all merit seemed turned
to sin, and the word of Urban weak to unlock the mercy of God in His
just anger. "_Mea culpa! mea culpa! mea maxima culpa!_" Other prayers
came not, nor did his heart find room for curses against Iftikhar or
grief for Mary. He thought of her; but truth to tell he was too numbed
to dwell on her agony, on the certitude of her lifelong captivity. And
still the white-robed company led him onward, onward.
The grounds were opening before him. The wood broke away to right and
left. Richard saw the vague tracery of a wide-stretching
palace,--colonnades, domes, pinnacles, all one dim maze in the
starlight. For the first time he spoke to his guards.
"This is El Halebah? Tell me--why are our heads not struck off at
once?"
"The grand prior wills otherwise," replied Harun, at his side.
"Are we to be put to death speedily, or long reserved?"
The Ismaelian became confidential.
"Cid, you talk as becomes a brave man. I should like to see you with
your great sword in battle. Who am I, to know the desire of Iftikhar?
Yet I think this: if Christians may enter Paradise, ere midnight you
will be sitting at banquet with the maids of pure musk."
"Then why this delay--this endless journey?"
Harun shook his head.
"I am only the grand prior's hands and feet. You will see."
Richard had faced death in battle twenty times and more, and never yet
had felt a tremor. But riding to battle was not walking to meet the
doom handed down by Iftikhar Eddauleh. The Norman feared not death,
but life. Life through the ages of ages! Life shaped for eternal woe,
eternal weal, by the deeds of a few earthly moments. Hell earned by
that instant at Valmont! Heaven grasped for in the transfiguration at
Clermont! And the issue mystery! mystery fathomless! Kept with God,
the All-merciful; but behind all, ordering all, His awful
righteousness! Richard knew as well as he knew anything that never in
earthly body would he see that mist of stars again; he looked up into
the violet-black dome, and trembled, for he knew he was drawing near
the Almighty's throne.
They trod up the smooth gravel leading to the palace. The great valves
of the portals opened noiselessly at some unseen bidding, then closed
behind. A single flickering lamp went before, as they glided through
long corridors, or under airy domes, where the wan light struggled up
to colored vaulting,--gleamed, vanished. The feet touched soft rugs,
and clicked on marbles. More doors opened. The Norman was led down
stairways, along stone galleries, where the air was foul and chill.
Presently there were more lamps ahead, the ceiling was higher. Richard
sniffed sweet fresh air. They were in a room of no great size; floor,
walls, vaulting, of gray stone; a stone bench running along the walls;
one or two niches, where perhaps in daytime a few rays struggled in.
Bronze lamps swung from chains, casting a wavering, ghostly light, as
they puffed in the wind that crept through the scanty windows.
Others had preceded the captives into this chamber. Two figures
advanced to greet them, as the three were halted,--the lofty Iftikhar,
the dwarf Zeyneb. It was the latter that first spoke. To Musa he paid
an obsequious salaam.
"The peace of Allah be yours, most noble Cid Musa," his greeting.
"And with you, the strife of Eblees!" replied the Andalusian, whose
tongue at least was not pinioned.
"O valorous cavaliers!" protested Zeyneb, raising his hands. "What
misfortune! Bow to the Omnipotent's will; what is doomed is doomed! It
was doomed that I should behold you, son of Abdallah, creeping about
Aleppo and El Halebah. Clever disguises,--not my Lord Iftikhar himself
could have penetrated so admirable a conjurer. How adorably was Hakem
toyed with! Wallah, I could scarce have bettered it myself!"
Musa repaid with one of his softest smiles.
"Were my wealth that of Ormuz, how could I repay your praise, O Kalif
of the black-hearted jinns! I equal in guile Zeyneb, the
crooked-backed toad of the gallant Iftikhar? Forbid it, Allah!"
Zeyneb laughed, not very easily. He wished Musa's tongue were as fast
as his arms. The dwarf salaamed again.
"No more; I leave you to my Lord Iftikhar. Enough, you know it was
I--I, Zeyneb the dwarf, the hunchback--who discovered the wiles of
Musa the great cavalier; who led him and his two valiant Frankish
comrades into my master's power. And remember, Cid Richard, the word
on the wall at La Haye: 'Three times is not four. There is a dagger
that may pierce armor of Andalus.'" A third salaam, then, "The mercy
of Allah be with you; my lord will tell how many moments are left in
which to rain curses on your poor slave Zeyneb."
Musa shrugged his shoulders, a gesture more eloquent than any he could
make with his hands.
"And think not," he answered still sweetly, "my friends or I have
breath or wind to waste cursing such as you. I thank your courtesy; we
shall never meet again to requite it."
"Never?" queried Zeyneb, cocking his evil head. "Not on the Judgment
Day when, says Al Koran, 'Allah shall gather all men together, and
they shall recognize one another'?"
The Spaniard cut him short.
"Fly! Think not the All Just will so much as raise again your soul,
even to plunge it into the hell where wait garments of fire. Soul you
have not, unless base vermin have. When they rise from the dead, so
will you--no sooner!"
Zeyneb would have ventured reply, but Iftikhar pointed down a passage.
The dwarf vanished instantly. Musa spat after him. "Purer air, now his
stench is not by!" his comment.
Iftikhar, who had been silent, turned to his captives.
"My lords," said he, gravely, speaking Provençal, "we meet again at
last, as I have long desired."
"You are wrong, my emir," interrupted Longsword. "At Dorylæum I sought
you long and vainly."
"And I think it well," continued the Egyptian, flushing, but not
raising his voice, "since we shall not soon meet again, that I say a
few things. This Duke Godfrey, as your friend, shall fare as do you."
"Say it out, fledgling of Satan! Say it out," roared the Duke. "You
will summon the headsman. By Our Lady of Antwerp, you will find those
before Antioch who will not forget!"
"Gallantly done, my lord," taunted Richard. "At Palermo you boasted
you loved to talk with a foe over two sword-blades; Syrian nard
softens your courage and your arm."
Iftikhar lost control for a moment, and boasted wildly.
"_Ya_! You may well curse, for I have triumphed. As a lion you have
lived; as a dog you shall die. The grudge is old; the vengeance
sweetens with the years. Father, brother, mother, sister, I have taken
from you. Yes, by the splendor of Allah, your bride also! Mary, Star
of the Greeks, is mine! I will place your head before her. I will say,
'See, see, Richard, your lord, your husband.' For I have
conquered--have conquered utterly!"
He paused to gather breath. Richard was silent, repeating to himself
the proverb that "stillness angers most." The Egyptian recovered his
control, and went on. "You, Richard Longsword," said he, "you, Cid
Musa, and you, Duke Godfrey, have come to Aleppo to steal away my
prize. You fail. You shall, as Allah reigns, count out the price! I
designed to start for Antioch to-morrow, intent on taking your heads
to the Star of the Greeks. And I should not have failed. Kerbogha's
host is but ten leagues from your Christian camp. You know nothing.
You will be struck as by a bolt from the clear sky. Knight and
villain, you shall die far from Jerusalem,"--the Egyptian broke off in
a laugh; for the Duke, steel against his own peril, had turned gray at
this tale of danger to the army.
"Ah! my Lord Godfrey," went on Iftikhar, "it matters little to you
whether you end all at Aleppo or at Antioch. For on my faith as a
cavalier, I swear there shall not one man of all your host escape.
Already Kerbogha advances beyond Afrin, and not a Christian dreams.
Your scouting parties are gallantly led, fair Franks!"
"Dear God," prayed Richard, "not for our sakes, but for the love of
the army of Thy Son, suffer us even now to escape this Thine enemy!"
But Iftikhar continued: "I speak too long. Enough that I shall bring
you this night before the tribunal of the Ismaelians, since the dagger
is only for those whom our judgments cannot otherwise reach. You shall
stand before our _Daïs_, that is to say the 'masters,' and our
_Refiks_, that is the 'companions,' and it will be asked you if you
sought the hurt of any Ismaelian. Make what defence you may. If the
tribunal decide against you, you are delivered over by the court, and
the world hears of you no more."
"Spare the mockery," thundered Richard, blazing forth at last. "Slay;
but summon no judges who are sworn against all mercy!" Iftikhar's
answer was a gesture toward the passage. "Look!" and Richard leaped
forward, bound as he was, so fiercely that he nigh flung down the
three Ismaelians that held him. Two eunuchs were leading Mary Kurkuas
into the chamber. Longsword had never known a moment like this. Then,
if never before, he felt the pains of hell. Angry God and angry devil
might devise nothing worse. Mary was led before him. She was very
white,--white dress, white hands, white face; and her eyes seemed to
touch the bare gray room with brightness. They must have told her what
awaited, else she had never been so calm and still and beautiful. So
beautiful! Was Mary, Mother of God, sitting upon the Heavenly Throne,
fairer than she? Blasphemy?--but the thought would come! And she did
not moan, nor cry in agony. That was Mary's way,--Richard knew
it,--that she was ready to turn Iftikhar's desires against himself,
and make her last vision one of strength and of peace. With all the
pain,--pain too deep for words,--under the influence of her eyes, he
felt a sweet, holy spell creeping over him, and knew that the
bitterness of death was past.
The two negroes led her until she stood beside Iftikhar. The Egyptian
towered over her, splendid as Satan when robed as angel of light. The
grand prior looked upon her face; and Richard knew he saw all the
brightness of heaven therein. But a cloud passed across the
countenance of Iftikhar, as if in that moment of earthly triumph he
felt there was something passing betwixt his captive and his slave
which not all the might of the "devoted" could win for his own. The
Egyptian pointed from Mary to the Norman--his voice very proud.
"Look, Star of the Greeks, my vow is made good. Behold how Allah has
favored Iftikhar Eddauleh. You indeed see Richard de St. Julien, your
husband."
Mary was stately as a palm when she answered.
"And do you think, Cid, that you have led me hither to see me kneel at
your feet, to hear me moan for mercy for these men? I know you
over-well, Iftikhar Eddauleh. No human power can turn that heart of
yours when once it is fixed. But God in His own time shall bow you
utterly. I do not fear for Richard, for these his friends, for myself.
Life sometimes is nothing so precious that it is worth buying with too
great a price. For these to whom God says 'Go,' the time will not seem
long; and for me, to whom He says 'Stay,'--I shall be given strength
to bear your power or that of other demon. But there is greeting in
the end with naught to sunder. And to you,--to you,"--her eyes were
not lamps now; they were fiery swords, piercing the Ismaelian
through,--"God perhaps lengthens out many days of sin and glory, that
for every instant on earth there may be an æon hereafter of woe."
Iftikhar's face had turned to blackness. He raised his hand to smite.
Richard thought to see him fell the Greek to the stones; but his
uplifted arm lowered, the spasm of madness passed.
"Ask anything, anything but the lives of these men!" cried he, half
pleading, to turn away the bitterness of her curse; "and as Allah
lives I will not deny!"
"Take Richard Longsword, and then take all else. For God and His
angels witness, you spread betwixt you and me a sea ten thousand years
shall see unbridged!"
"I cannot! I cannot spare!" the words came from Iftikhar as a moan.
"Let Richard Longsword live, and I shall win you never!"
And Richard was about to cry that life was worthless if Mary humbled
herself in his behalf. But the Greek spoke for him.
"One boon, Cid Iftikhar. I do not plead for these men. I know my
husband and Cid Musa would rather die by your cord than see me on my
knees before you. Kill or spare, you can never win more of me than my
body, held already. But now let me go; I can do nothing here."
Iftikhar motioned to the blacks to lead her away.
"Richard, my husband," said she, softly, "you and Musa and my Lord
Godfrey did wrong to come hither; but I love you for it more. God will
be kind. You will not find it long to wait for me in heaven."
"May Christ pity you, sweet wife!" answered the Norman.
"He will pity, do not fear." That was all she said. She was gone. Her
wondrous eyes lit the room no more; but a peace was lighted in
Richard's heart, which naught could take away. Iftikhar turned
abruptly the moment the Greek had vanished.
"My friends," declared he, with an ill-assumed irony, "I can do
nothing further to serve you. Before midnight our long accounting is
ended. Leave to Allah the rest. Others will care for you at the
tribunal."
Richard held up his head proudly.
"And I, Richard Longsword, standing in the presence of death, do cite
you, Iftikhar Eddauleh, to stand with me before no less a tribunal
than the judgment seat of Almighty God. There to answer, not as Moslem
to Christian, but as man to man, for the blood you have shed wantonly,
the foul deeds you have plotted, the pure women you have wronged, the
very saint of God you have brought to agony. At His judgment seat I
will accuse you, and you shall make answer to Him and all His holy
angels. So say I!"
"And I!" thundered Godfrey.
"And I!" cried Musa.
They saw the Ismaelian's face flush once more. By an effort he reined
his curses. Without a word he vanished. Richard turned to his
comrades.
"Dear friends, this is the last adventure," said he. "Heaven is
witness I did not pray you to go with me to Aleppo."
"You did not," was the answer of both. And Musa added: "My brother and
you, fair lord, we are at the end. You are praying to your gentle
Issa; I to Allah, the One. Yet our hearts are pure; and be you right
or I, do not think God will lift some to Paradise, and speed some to
hell, because your mothers taught to call on Christ, and mine to call
on Allah."'
The Spaniard fixed his sweet and winning gaze upon the great Duke of
Lorraine, upon Godfrey, the chief of the slayers of the infidels; and
the Duke answered (only Richard knowing what the words meant from such
lips):--
"No, by Our Lady of Pity; be you Moslem, be you Christian, Sir
Musa,--I would that many of the army of the Cross stood so blameless
as you in the sight of God. For never in all my life have I met more
spotless cavalier than you have proved. I am proud to call you
comrade."
One of the white-robed Ismaelians had entered the chamber, and
uplifted his hand.
"The tribunal waits," he announced. "Come!"
* * * * *
Iftikhar Eddauleh left the gallery in the cellars of El Halebah with a
strange storm raging in his breast. Victory, pride, the sense of
having at last settled all grudges--in this he exulted. But with it
all came the knowledge that the death of Richard Longsword meant the
death of the last hope to make Mary the Greek other than his slave.
She had truly said,--the Egyptian knew it,--old age might come, æons
might speed, but henceforth Iftikhar would be only to her as
malevolent jinn. The grand prior cursed himself for the mad folly that
had led him to bring Mary and Richard face to face. She had been
brought to give agony; she had given strength. Iftikhar knew that the
sight of her presence, the sound of her voice, had stolen away the
sting of death from the Norman. Likewise he knew that, with all the
"devoted," with all the glory of his state, he was weaker than the
will of this unshielded woman, that he could put forth all his might
to crush that will, and do it in vain. In the eyry apartment of
Morgiana, he found the four around whom, next to himself, the life of
El Halebah revolved--Mary, Zeyneb, Morgiana, and Hakem. The Greek was
standing beside the divan whereon sat the Arabian wife. Her face was
very pale, her eyes so bright that their fire seemed not of this
world. She was calm, and her words came soft and slow. But not so
Morgiana; Iftikhar foresaw the lightnings the moment he entered. He
was, however, in no mood to quail. Ignoring the others, he strode to
Morgiana, and began half severely:--
"Moon of the Arabs, it is late. I commanded you to retire early."
Morgiana lifted her blue eyes.
"I have heard. Well?"
"Do you disobey before my face?" retorted the grand prior.
The answer came when Morgiana leaped to her feet.
"Away, away, hound of Eblees! Away, away, begotten of the sheytans!
Get you gone, or even I shall curse you!"
Iftikhar doubted his ears. Never had Morgiana reviled him thus.
"Silence; my will is law!" And he struck her with his open palm on her
mouth. Struck once, then recoiled, for a flame of wrath flashed with
the red flush on Morgiana's face, such as the Egyptian had never seen
before. Now he saw, and drew back. Morgiana spoke very slowly, sign of
deepest anger.
"Strike--strike--again! and by the Great Name of Allah, I swear I will
bide my time, and murder you in your bed."
And Iftikhar, man of passion and blood, felt his own blood creeping
chill. Half he felt a knife at his throat. His answer died on his
lips. Morgiana was speaking rapidly now:--
"Look on the Greek, Iftikhar Eddauleh! Look on the Greek. Do you know
what pain is, and agony, beyond your conceiving? See it there--see it
there--and tremble! For I say to you, every tear that Mary, the Star
of the Greeks, shall shed, every drop her torn heart bleeds, is
reckoned against your name in the great book of Allah. Yes; and you,
Iftikhar, shall pay the price--the price--the price--through the long
years of eternity. Therefore tremble, for earth and sea shall be
confounded ere the All-Just forget one pang, one deed of darkness!"
Iftikhar tore the dagger from his belt. He had words at last now.
"You are mad. I will kill you!"
"Kill me?" Morgiana threw back her black hair, and laughed as would an
invulnerable jinn. "Kill me? Can you think of nothing worse?" And
again she laughed.
The Egyptian shrank back a step or two, as she advanced. Suddenly her
laughter ended, her voice became calm.
"Cid Iftikhar," she said quietly, "you see I am in no mood to receive
commands to-night. Neither does _Citt_ Mary crave your company. You
have triumphed, my Cid. Doom favors you. You must not exult
mercilessly. Be magnanimous; leave us alone this night."
Iftikhar responded almost perforce to this appeal.
"I grant anything in reason, Morgiana. Rage no more, I will leave
you." And he was gone with a low salaam. Zeyneb made to follow him,
but his foster-sister recalled.
"Zeyneb," said she, "I wish you to tell us of the state of the
prisoners. Will Iftikhar return to see the execution?"
The dwarf showed his white teeth. He marvelled that Morgiana should
question thus with Mary present, but, nothing loth, replied: "He will
not; he goes to his chamber to sleep. In the morning they bring him
the heads."
Mary's white cheeks grew whiter, but the Arabian did not hesitate.
"And when will the execution take place?"
Zeyneb grinned again. "The bells on the water-clock say it is the end
of the fourth hour of the night; at the end of the fifth hour, unless
the tribunal clears them,"--his grin broadened,--"Harun twists the
cord."
Morgiana drew up one little foot on the divan, and clasped it with
both hands.
"_Wallah!_ How admirable has been your trap, foster-brother. Mary had
told nearly all you had done, before Iftikhar broke in upon us. Woe to
us, and joy to you! Allah grant we may have our day also. So it was
you alone that penetrated the disguise of Cid Musa. Allah himself
might hardly outwit you!"
Zeyneb smiled at the flattery. "I am honored, foster-sister."
"And tell this," demanded she, letting her foot drop to the rugs, "are
the faithless sentries warned?"
"_Mashallah_, no! They think all is well. In the morning they are
seized and beheaded. We led the prisoners to the palace by another
way."
"What escapes you, my Zeyneb!" cried the other, rising and stepping
toward the doorway. "But tell me this,--are the horses of these three
adventurers taken?"
Zeyneb gave a start and a curse.
"Blasted am I! Forgotten! Iftikhar left all in my hands. The horses
are still where they were tethered. They will be taken by morning. I
will go and send for them at once."
Before he could cry out, Morgiana had dashed to the door and shot the
bolt.
"_Wallah!_ You rave," howled the dwarf, smitten with fear. "Help,
Hakem!" For Morgiana, with arms outstretched, stood before the door,
her face flaming defiance.
"Mary," cried Morgiana, "are you very strong? Pluck that adder Hakem
round the neck, and hold fast! For the life of Richard Longsword,
hold!"
Dwarf and eunuch had sprung on Morgiana, but the Greek also. Right
round the body of the effeminate Hakem Mary cast her white arms,
caught him, held him; for the strength of an angel was given her, and
the eunuch's strength was that of a fatted sheep. Meantime Morgiana
and Zeyneb waged their fiercer battle.
"Mad woman!" raged the dwarf, writhing, struggling, snapping as for
dear life. "You shall be flogged for this, beheaded, flayed! Release,
or you die! Release! Let go, or--" But Morgiana wrested him almost
from his feet as they struggled, and every time he saw the terrible
purpose in her eyes his heart sank lower. And still they wrestled.
"Help! Rescue!" shrieked the dwarf, feeling himself nigh mastered.
Even louder howled Hakem, tight held in the vise of Mary's arms.
Shrill above their cry was the laugh of Morgiana. "Aye, shriek! Call
as you will," sped her boast. "Louder!--louder! Call Iftikhar, the
eunuchs, the 'devoted.' Far below, none hear. Cry louder--we are alone
in the tower of the palace. Call! Call! None hears save Allah, and it
is He who fights for me! Call again! Make the stars pity, and rain
their aid--naught is nearer!"
Zeyneb wrested one hand free. For a twinkling he brandished a dagger.
A second twinkling, it flew from his hand across the room.
"_Ya!_" rang the shout of his assailant. "See! I am strong, strong,
and Allah fights for me,--for Morgiana the blue-eyed maid of Yemen!
_Bismillah_, it is done!"
And with the word Zeyneb's feet spun from beneath him. He fell heavily
to the floor; so heavily that despite the rug he was senseless in a
flash. Morgiana, with a great cry of delight, bounded after his
dagger, secured it, was at Mary's side. Hakem was struggling
desperately. He could not shake the Greek's hold, and dared not do her
harm. The Arabian held the knife edge to his throat.
"Hakem," came her voice, hard as steel on steel, "let your heart say
the 'Great Prayer,' the _Fat'hah_. You are going to die."
"Spare," pleaded the Greek, beginning to tremble, "spare that God may
spare us!"
"Dead snakes never bite!" came the answer.
Mary never forgot the terrible glow on Morgiana's face when that deed
was done, which made the Greek shiver. The body of the eunuch dropped
from her arms, lay upon the rugs, the blood spurting from the neck.
The Arabian was kneeling over the prone form of Zeyneb. She thrust
away the vest, laid a hand on his heart.
"Living!" whispered she, raising her eyes. "I may do wrong, but he is
my foster-brother, and faithful to Iftikhar."
The Greek was too faint to do anything; but Morgiana rapidly plucked
the curtain from the doorway, tore into strips, knotted about the
dwarf's arms and feet. Then she felt in his bosom and drew forth a
small key.
* * * * *
The three bronze lamps high up in the vault were flickering dimly. The
shadows of the pillars lay long and dark across the gray slabs of the
pavement. Upon the floor in irregular semicircle sat a score of
figures in white mantle and turban, red girdle and shoes. The figures
were rigid as marble, features moving not, lips speaking not; only the
dark eyes flashed back the shimmerings of the lamps. In the centre of
the group, and facing the others, another figure was standing, habited
like the rest, save that the turban was black, and a great diamond,
bright as a tiger's eye, twinkled against it. This figure was
speaking.
"Musa, son of Abdallah, and you, Godfrey and Richard, lords of the
Franks,"--the words came cold and metallic,--"you have been brought
before the tribunal of the holy Order of Ismael. You have been accused
of being the foes and plotting the hurt of the Grand Prior of Syria,
Iftikhar Eddauleh. Nor have you denied this; you have confessed you
desired his hurt, you have boasted you desired his death and dishonor.
And now it behooves to ask, were you acquainted with the lot of those
who so much as imagine harm to the least 'aspirant,' a _Las[=i]k_ of
the sacred Ismaelians, far from comparing such to the vice-gerent of
our Lord Hassan Sabah's self?"
Whereupon Musa, facing the semicircle, with Richard and Godfrey at his
side, answered in his melodious Arabic:--
"We well understand that he who offends against one of your order
shall sooner receive mercy from Eblees than from you. Knowing that, we
went forth; knowing that, we stand here. Our foe is Iftikhar Eddauleh.
You are his slaves; bought cattle were not his more utterly. Proceed
to sentence."
Rain beating an iron wall had made deeper dint than his words on that
array of stony features. A long silence--then the former speaker
looked upon his colleagues. Slowly he began: "It is the custom, O
Ismaelians,--and it is here observed,--that those admitted to the
degrees called _Tessis_ and _Teevil_, the sixth and seventh of our
holy brotherhood, shall sit in judgment upon those brought within
danger of the cord. You have heard these men and the accusation. The
mysteries of our order, the mandate of our Lord Hassan Sabah, are
known to you. Yet let me repeat the word of the first of the seven
Imams, the Lord Hossein the martyr, as runs the revered tradition, 'He
that offendeth the least of you, let him wash away his guilt in his
own blood.' Therefore I command that whosoever of you may believe
these men cleared and worthy of liberty, let him speak forth; but
whosoever thinks they should endure the cord, keep silence. For speech
is life, and silence is death. I have spoken."
Silence--while the lamps flickered, flickered, and the shadows swung
on floor and walls; and still the chief stood facing the twenty, who
moved not, nor gave sound. Then at last--after how long! he spoke,--a
voice as from the grave.
"There is no word. Let the law be fulfilled. Judgment is pronounced.
The cord!" The chief seated himself and there was stillness as before,
until a distant bell pealed out, once, twice, thrice, four
times,--five! With noiseless step, the tall Harun glided from behind a
pillar and plucked Musa's elbow.
"Doom!" Harun held up a silken noose, plaited tight, and pointed to
the floor. "Kneel," he commanded softly; "you are Moslem, I grant you
this joy, you shall not see your friends die."
Musa turned to the Franks. Their hands were bound, but their eyes
could greet.
"Sweet friends," said he, smiling as ever in his gentle, melancholy
way, "we must part. But my hope in Allah is strong. We shall meet
before His throne!"
"God is with us all!" answered Richard. "He is very pitiful."
But Godfrey did not speak. Longsword knew his thoughts were not of
Musa, nor of the tribunal, nor even of the shadow of death; but of the
Christian host surprised by Kerbogha, and of the Holy City left in
captivity.
"I am ready," said Musa to Harun; and he prepared to kneel.
* * * * *
A tremor, a wind of the spirit, seemed passing over all those
chiselled faces. Musa and all others heard music,--a song,--quavering,
sighing, throbbing melody, wafted down the long underground galleries
from very far away. At first no clear word was borne to them, but the
sweetest note Richard in his life had heard. Was the great change come
so nigh that one heard God's white host singing? Musa stood fast.
Harun was rooted also, the cord hung limp in his hand, all forgotten,
save the wondrous song. Now at last the burden came dimly:--
"Genii who rule o'er the tempest and wind,
Peris who tread where red coral lies deep,
Show forth your haunt that my fleet foot may find
Where the cool moss caves 'neath the green waves sleep.
"Lie they under the sea that by Ormuz darkles,
Or the broad blue bay of the Golden Isles?
Or where breeze-loved haven in far west sparkles,
Alight with the sun's ne'er-vanishing smiles?"
The voice swelled nearer; the rhythm was quicker, measure shorter,
words stronger. The song became a prayer, a cry.
"Away! away from the grief and jarring
Of this toilsome life and its pang I'd be!
Forgetting earth and all strife and warring,
Wrap me away to the breast of the sea!
"Wreathe me chaplets with sea-flowers brightest,
With the feath'ry sea-mosses make me dressed!
Make my pillow the wind-spray whitest;
Rock me to sleep on the storm-waves' crest!"
Was it day that was dawning on each of those stony faces? Why this
whisper; this rustle of white gowns; this mutter "Allah! Allah!" under
the snowy turbans? "Truly God's angels come!" Richard's soul cried. He
thought to see the vaulting open; the heavens fleeing away as unclean.
What angel could sing of paynim genii and peris? But the voice yet
approached, ever louder, clearer:--
"Sing, oh, sing, all ye fair, pure spirits!
Spirit I, to your band I'd flee;
Blest the soul who for aye inherits
To rove with you through your kingdom free!"
Now the song was so near that all eyes ran into the dark for the
oncoming singer, and every white robe had risen when the last lines
sounded:--
"Clearer, clearer the silvery pealing
Of enchanted bells steals my heart afar!
Soon I'll see, all the mists unsealing,
The genii's lord on his pearl-wrought car!"
Silence. They saw a light flash in the low doorway, saw it glisten on
jewels, an empress's pride. A woman entered, tall as a spear, stately
as a palm, black tresses flowing as a fair vine, and eyes and face to
shame the houris. Around her bare throat flashed a great chain of
emeralds; there were diamonds and rubies on her coronet; gold and gems
on her bare brown arms; gold and gems on her sandals, that hid not the
shapely feet. Her robe was one lustrous sea of violet silk, rippling
about her as she glided, not walked. And as she came, she spread
abroad a new melody; no words now, but only a humming, a soft,
witching note, as if bidding all the spirits of the air flit at her
footsteps to do her behests. Her left hand upraised the lamp; her
right was held high also, and on one finger flashed something that
doubled the quivering flame--a ring set with a single emerald.
Onward she came; and right and left the company made way for her. And
Harun dropped his cord, began to mutter: "_Allah akhbar!_ The maids of
the Gardens of Fountains have come down to dwell amongst men!" But the
stranger--spirit or woman, who might say?--came on till she stood
before the three captives. At the mandate in her eyes all other eyes
followed her. No more she sang, but spoke, proud as the queen of the
genii legions.
"Hear! tremble! obey!" She held the emerald higher. At the sight
thereof there was a new stir, new whispers; the Ismaelians were bowing
to the pavement. "Behold it! The ring of Hassan Sabah, your lord! I
say to you, whoever shall disobey the command of the bearer of this
ring, be his merits never so great, Allah shall cut him off from the
joys of Paradise! Obey! and the honeyed kiss of the daughters of the
land of the River of Life is on your lips!"
She swept the flashing ring to and fro before the eyes of the cowering
twenty.
"Reverence therefore the will of the bearer of the ring," she ran on;
"obey, were it on the camel-driver's finger; obey the more, since it
is on mine,--I, at whose word the hosts of the darkness fall
trembling, at whose nod the troops of the upper winds fly obedient!"
Needless her exhortation. One cry from twenty: "We obey! We are your
slaves, O lady of Allah's own beauty! O empress of genii and men!" And
the stranger, scarce pausing, rushed on:--
"See! your judgment is false! See, I am sent by Allah to bring to
naught your desires! I command--I, the blue-eyed maid of Yemen, whose
walk is with the stars! Release these captives. Their doom is
unwritten."
[Illustration: "ALL BLINDLY, HE KNEW THEY WERE MOUNTING STAIRWAYS"]
Richard had beheld all as does the man treading in a dream; who knows
he dreams, yet cannot waken. Dreaming, he had seen this strange spirit
enter; dreaming, he heard; dreaming, he saw a quiver, as of
resistance, pass round that ring of sculptured faces; the eyes bright
as snakes, and more pitiless, questioned once,--once only. The
deliverer shot across their company one lightning glance--majesty,
supremacy, scorn. Still dreaming, Richard saw in her hand a dagger;
and then--dreamt he still?--he felt the bands upon his arms sever. He
stood free--and Godfrey and Musa free! But his protectress was
speaking again:--
"Behold--I say to you, Allah has cast his mantle over these three to
deliver them. Forget this night. Follow me not; for, as the Most High
rules, you shall curse disobedience in the quenchless Gehenna! Tremble
again--you have seen great things--and now, farewell."
Richard felt her hand upon his arm.
"Come," she said softly, "and Allah will yet aid you!"
The chamber of the tribunal, the semicircle of white robes, Harun and
the cord--all were gone. Richard was still in his dream. He trod
onward, feeling no floor beneath his feet. The wavering light of his
protectress went before him. In the narrow galleries they traversed,
the darkness closed after him. All blindly, he knew they were mounting
stairways, were gliding through murky passages. Suddenly the air was
again sweet; Richard saw around him the dim vista of a line of white
columns, and above, the hazy canopy of a great dome.
The woman halted, again upraised her lamp.
"I see Cid Richard Longsword," said she, "and his good comrades, Cid
Musa and Cid Godfrey. If Allah favor us, I will now lead you to Mary
the Greek!"
At these words Richard knew he dreamed no longer; his belief was--God
had already raised him to heaven.