HOW IFTIKHAR CEASED FROM TROUBLING
When the Arabian's eyes lit upon Mary, Morgiana gave a little cry, ran
to the Greek, and caught her in her arms. For a moment the two were so
wrapt in the joy of meeting that all else was forgot. But quick as the
first flood of gladness passed, Morgiana broke forth with the eager
demand:--
"Musa? Musa? where is the Spanish emir?"
"Upon the walls, where are all the chieftains," was the wondering
Greek's answer.
"_Wallah!_ and when will he return?" ran on Morgiana, beginning to
tremble as Mary held her, as though in some mastering dread.
"I do not know; at any time,--now,--or not till midnight. Dear
God--what has befallen? what may I do? You are turning pale, and your
hands are cold!"
"Allah have mercy on us both, unless Musa comes! Iftikhar has
discovered you!" cried Morgiana, calming herself with a mighty effort.
And now it was the Greek's turn to tremble.
"Iftikhar?"--the word came across her pallid lips faint as a dying
groan. "How? When? Speak, as you love me--"
Morgiana thrust back the dark hair that had fallen over her eyes, and
drew herself up half scornfully.
"Foolish woman! Is there not sorrow enough, that you need make more?
Why did you wander into the streets at sundown? Why did you let the
veil slip from your face? Zeyneb, my foster-brother, whom the sheytans
love and the angels hate, looked on you,--followed you,--saw you
enter the house, and sped straight to Iftikhar! Speak--speak--" and
the Arabian plucked at Mary's arm fiercely, while in her eyes was
again the mad gleam of old. "Why should I not curse you? you who have
wronged me, utterly! When I was just winning back Iftikhar's love, and
all the evil past was being forgot!--now--now I have lost him once
more. And you--you are my ruin. As Allah lives I will curse you, and
your lily-white beauty!"
Mary was indeed white as the lily, or whiter, if that may be; but she
caught both of Morgiana's wrists and held fast. Under the calm
influence shed from her eyes the Arabian's wandering gaze grew steady.
"Enough!"--she cut the other short--"you did not come hither only for
maledictions. How have you learned? What will Iftikhar do?"
"Learned?"--Morgiana threw back her head and laughed. "I heard Zeyneb
repeating all to Iftikhar. Do? I only saw the Egyptian's face--the
passion, the longing, the hate. He will come to seize you without
delay. Not even Musa can save you. Is not Iftikhar lord of Jerusalem?
I wonder he is not here already, finding I have fled his harem at the
Castle of David."
But Mary remained calm.
"Tell me, my sister, what am I to do? You are all wits. Better death
by fire than one touch from Iftikhar."
"The Christian camp," pleaded the Arabian. "There are friends, your
husband, safety. Oh, were but Musa here, you could be sent without the
walls ere it is too late."
"By the water-clock it lacks midnight an hour," said Mary, quietly.
"The Spaniard may be here any moment. But I cannot dream that
Iftikhar, at a time like this,--with the very city at stake,--will
forget all, quit his duty on the walls, to tear a defenceless maid
away to his harem."
Morgiana laughed again, very bitterly. "Fool you are, in very truth!
Iftikhar cares more for the lashes of your eyes than for a thousand
Jerusalems,--for a thousand of his own lives. You will be at his mercy
before daybreak, though the Christian cavaliers sack the city."
There was the clatter of hoofs on the pavement, a shouting, a clang of
armor and arms. Mary gave a great sigh of relief. "Musa; he has come
from the walls with his guard." But Morgiana blasted the hope with one
cry: "Hear! The Egyptian's voice!" And Mary reeled as she stood; for
she heard a voice she knew right well thundering, "Guard the house
about, and down with the door." Then came the resounding knock of a
cimeter-hilt on the portal. The Greek sprang to the lattice over the
street. In the narrow way below were fifty Soudanese negroes, with
ruddy torches, tossing their spiked flails and spears; while beating
at the door was a lordly figure in gilded armor--Iftikhar himself.
Morgiana saw Mary trying to speak to her; at least the lips moved. The
blows on the portal redoubled.
"Open, open, or I kill you all!" rang Iftikhar's command, sounding
above his own strokes. The eunuchs and maids of the household ran
chattering and screaming from the lower rooms, as if they might find
protection beside their mistress.
"There is no hope," said Morgiana, sullenly, holding down her face;
"we have both played our game, and we have lost."
And the Arabian, all the fire and steel gone out of her, fell to her
knees, cast her mantle over her head, shaking with sobs and groans.
Mary trod proudly toward the head of the stairway leading to the lower
court. Over her head hung a great bronze candelabra. She knew the
light fell full upon her; she was sure she was never more beautiful
than at that instant, when her face was bloodless as Parian marble.
One resolve was in her heart--to let Iftikhar gather no sweets by her
vain agony and tears. She was the great Greek princess, with the blood
of Cæsars in her veins, never more conscious of her dignity and pride.
The weak house door had shivered. There was a heavy step in the court
below, a voice commanding: "I will enter alone. Let the rest stand
guard." Mary saw Iftikhar at the foot of the stairs; his gilded mail
twinkling, his naked cimeter in hand, his black-plumed casque thrust
back so that the face was bare. How splendid, almost how beautiful,
he was, striding on in the pride of his power! But when he saw the
white face and burning eyes of the Greek looking down upon him, even
his wild spirit was reined for an instant. And while he halted on the
first stair, Mary spoke, in tones cold as the winter wind.
"You come as ever, my Lord Iftikhar, unbidden, and with a naked sword.
Are the cavaliers who saw your back at Antioch hidden in this house,
that you must burst in to beard them?"
The sting of her words was as salt on a wound. The answer was a curse
upon jinns and angels who should stand between him and his prey. His
feet flew up the stairway, but the Greek remained steadfast.
"You see, Cid Iftikhar, I am weak, and with empty hands. But without
the walls is Richard Longsword, who will speak to you in my behalf.
This is your night, my lord; but in the morning--"
"Leave the morning to the rebel jinns!" rang the Egyptian's cry.
"To-night, to-night,--I possess you. To-night! To the castle with all
speed!" He snatched her in his impure arms. He crushed her to his
breast, and pressed on her cold cheeks burning kisses. Mary neither
struggled nor moaned. What she said in her heart was heard only by
God. In his delirium Iftikhar saw neither Morgiana nor any other. He
leaped down the stairs three at a bound,--his captive in his arms.
"_Allah akhbar!_" went his shout through the lower court. "I have won;
the stars fight for me. Mine, to do with as I will!" And he kissed her
again on lips and neck. Then of a sudden he stopped motionless, as
though a charmer had made him stone, for outside in the street was
sounding an angry command to the Soudanese to make way--the voice of
Musa.
The grasp of the Egyptian on his prey never weakened, though his
weapon was out once more. Yet Mary, in his grasp, for the first time
began to struggle,--helpless as bird in the snare,--but her call sped
out into the street shrilly: "Rescue! Rescue, for the love of God!"
For reply she saw the Soudanese by the door dashed to one side like
shapes of wood, and across the threshold strode Musa, in no armor, but
his cimeter also in hand. A glance, and the Spaniard knew all. He took
one step toward Iftikhar, as if to cross swords without passing a
word. Then, with point outstretched, he spoke, but mildly, as if in
grave irony.
"Cid, is this the manner of Egyptian emirs in keeping truce?"
Iftikhar's only response was to make his grip of Mary's arm so
vise-like that she cried out with pain.
Musa spoke again, still gently. "Cid, this is my own house, my own
harem. For what cause is it surrounded by your negroes, and violated?"
Iftikhar pointed toward the door with his cimeter. "I made truce with
you," he retorted defiantly, "not with _her_." And he glared madly at
the Greek. "Away, or the Soudanese strike off your head!"
The Spaniard calmly let his weapon sink to the pavement, and smiled as
he leaned upon it. "Good emir, we have our hands busy--as Allah
knows--to defend _El Kuds_. Do we well to nurse private lusts and
hates, while the jewel of Islam trembles in the balance?"
"Off!" came the hot reply. "Off, or you die this instant!"
Musa lifted his eyes from the floor, and gave the Egyptian glance for
glance. "I do well to tremble!" was his answer, the voice higher now,
with a ring of harshness. "I do well to tremble! Remember the tourney
at Palermo, my lord emir! Was it Iftikhar Eddauleh who crowned his
turban with the prize?" And he stood on guard across the door.
"Remember a night like this at Monreale."
The face of Iftikhar was black with his fury. For an instant there was
a grating in his throat, thickening every word. "_Ya!_ Dogs from
Nubia, smite this mutineer down! Hew him down, or I hang you all!"
The Soudanese stared at him, rolling the whites of their great eyes,
but not a spiked flail rose, not a foot crossed the threshold.
"Are you, too, rebels?" howled the Egyptian, his breath coming fast.
Musa had turned to the fifty.
"Hear you, Moslems. In an hour like this, with the Sacred City at
stake, shall your emir or another dip hands in a private quarrel? What
do I, save defend my own house, and my own harem? Have I not wrought
on the walls manfully as Iftikhar? Dare any deny it?"
A shout came from the Soudanese:--
"You say well. You have been the sword and shield of Jerusalem, no
less than the emir!"
"Hounds of Eblees! Will you not hew him down?" raged Iftikhar.
A gray-headed negro, captain of the fifty, fell on his knees before
the Egyptian. "Cid, command, and we follow through the Christian camp;
but we are the slaves of Kalif Mustaali, Commander of the Faithful,
not yours for private feud. We cannot obey."
"Traitors!" the veins in Iftikhar's forehead were swollen now. "Know
that this is no slave of Musa, son of Abdallah, but the wife of
Richard Longsword, a chief of the Franks. You aid the infidels in
saving!" But the Soudanese did not stir.
"And where reads Al Koran," retorted Musa, "'Thou shalt possess
thyself of thine enemy's wedded wife'? For the sake of peace and El
Islam leave the Greek till the siege be ended."
"For the sake of El Islam suffer me to depart with her unhindered."
Iftikhar cast the woman across his left arm as though a toy, and
swinging his blade, sprang toward the portal.
"Make way!" rang his last warning.
"Then let Allah judge the wrong!"
Musa was before the entrance, his cimeter waving. Iftikhar knew well
he had no light combat in store. He cast Mary from him as he might a
stone, and sprang to his work.
"I am not balked, as at Monreale!" he hissed from his teeth.
"No, _Bismillah_! I can kill you now!" flew the answer.
The steels rang sharp, stroke on stroke. Musa was without armor; but
he had torn his cloak from his shoulders and covered his left arm. The
cimeters were of equal length, and every time they clashed there
flashed fire. Musa sprang aside from the doorway at the first blow,
and worked his way into the middle of the court, where the light was
stronger and there was ample space. This was no duel with long swords,
as between Richard and Louis, where sledge-hammer strength was victor.
The Spaniard's blade was both sword and shield. Again and again the
Egyptian gave a sweeping stroke, a lunge, and felt his "Damascus"
parried by the turn of a wrist, or to pierce only the air. Well that
he wore armor! Time and again Musa's weapon clashed on his hauberk,
making the chain mail ring and its wearer reel. Click, click, sang the
blades, and so the two fought on.
"_Allah!_" the Soudanese would cry every time the Spaniard seemed
ended by some downright stroke. Yet he never bled, but paid blow for
blow. It was a marvel to see them. What Musa lost for lack of arms,
was half returned in nimbleness. The Egyptian twice staggered in his
armor, twice recovered. Musa had pricked him upon the neck, and the
blood was running over the gilded shirt. But the fury of a thousand
jinns was in his arm; still he fought.
Mary stood against the pillar by the upper stair, watching the combat
as if through a mist. Deeds and words had flown too fast for catching.
She was nigh asking herself: "Why this stamping? Why this ring of
steel? What is this to me?" She saw Iftikhar shoot his point squarely
toward the Spaniard's breast. Before the horror could be felt, Musa
had doubled like a snake. The blade flew over him. At his
counter-stroke there was more blood on the Egyptian's cheek. For an
instant he winced, then rushed to the attack with redoubled fury.
Twice more around the court they fought. And then there was a strange
thing: for Morgiana, with hair flying and eyes bright as meteors, sped
down the stairs. One moment she stood, as if terror froze her; then
with a fearful moan ran straight toward the fighters. "As Allah lives,
you shall not slay Iftikhar!" she shrieked, and snatched Musa behind,
holding fast by the girdle. Only for an instant, for the Spaniard
dashed her from him with a fist. But she was back, snatched again, and
clung, despite the blows, while all the time Iftikhar pressed harder.
"Die you, die we, but not Iftikhar!" she screamed once more. Another
twinkling, and the emir would have driven home. But in that twinkling
the Greek found strength and wit. The Mother of God doubtless sped
down the strength by which she tore loose Morgiana's hold. The Arabian
writhed in her tight embrace; struggled with feet, nails, teeth, like
a frenzied tigress at bay. "Allah! Allah!" came her moan; "you shall
not, you must not, hold me! Let us all die, but not Iftikhar! Not he!
None, none shall kill him!"
Mary trembled at the horror graven on Morgiana's face; but her arms
held strong as steel.
"Release! Release!" pleaded Morgiana, piteously now; "he is my all, my
all. Not Allah's self shall kill him!"
But Mary shut her eyes and held tighter. The Arabian might smite,
bite, tear; she could not shake that hold. Only the terrible monotony
of the combat seemed unending. Click--click--went the blades; the two
were still fighting. How much longer could she hold fast? A cry of
terror from Morgiana made her fingers weaken. The Arabian slipped from
them at a bound.
"Allah! He reels!"
Morgiana had flown to pluck the Spaniard's girdle. Too late! The Greek
saw Iftikhar tottering as the tall pine totters at its fall. And just
as Morgiana touched Musa, his long blade swept down the Egyptian's
guard, and caught the neck just above the mail. There was a thundering
shout from the Soudanese. Iftikhar slipped, made one faint effort to
lift his point; slipped once more; fell with clash of armor; and with
a fearful cry his wild spirit sped--whither? God is not judged.
There was silence,--silence in which they heard the slow night wind
creeping by in the street. Iftikhar had stretched his length. He lay
without stir or groan. Morgiana had recoiled from Musa as if from the
death angel. Mary saw her standing motionless as the stucco pillar,
looking upon the face of the dead. The Spaniard, steaming and panting,
pressed his red blade into the sheath, and caught at a pillar, saying
never a word. Then when the stillness had grown long, Morgiana gave a
little cry and sigh, more of surprise than of dread, and stepped
softly until she stood close beside the dead. Iftikhar's casque had
fallen from his head; his face was fixed in an awful smile; he looked
straight upward with glassy eyes and opened teeth. When Morgiana gazed
down upon him, she was still once more. Then came a scream of agony.
She fell upon her knees; she lifted that motionless head. Though the
blood flowed from the great wound all over her delicate hands, she
tore loose the hauberk, and laid the head in her lap, staring hungrily
for some sign.
"Iftikhar! Iftikhar!" she cried, as if perforce to make the deaf ears
hear. "Do you not see? Do you not know? It is I, Morgiana, your
blue-eyed maid of Yemen, who have toiled for you, grieved for you,
joyed for you,--yes, will die for you! Speak! Speak one word, and say
you are still here!"
She raised her head as if to listen for the voice that would never
come.
"O Iftikhar, soul of my soul, light of my eyes, joy of my joy! have
you not one word for me,--for me who have clung fast to you these many
years through all? Speak, though it be but to curse me! Speak, though
it be of love for the Greek! You will not, cannot, go out now and
leave me here alone,--alone, alone!"
No answer. Mary heard her own heart-beats, the crooning of the wind in
the streets, the deep breaths of Musa.
Suddenly Morgiana let the limp head fall, and leaped to her feet,
blood-stains on dress and hands and face.
"Dead!" she cried; "dead!" casting toward Mary a look so terrible that
the Greek drew back. "Dead! Gone forever! Forever, forever!" And
Morgiana's voice died away as if far off into the coming ages. Then
once more she fell upon the dead form, kissed the speechless lips,
and cooed into the deaf ear, saying sweet and pleasant things as in
the lovers' days of long ago. But all the soft words ended in a cry of
agony. Again she rose and faced Musa and the Greek.
"In Allah's name be you cursed! You for your strength, and you for
your beauty! For the beauty that stole Iftikhar from me,--that led him
to ruin, to death,--cursed, ten thousand times! May the jinns of evil
crush you! May all Gehenna's fires wither you! May the Most High
forget you from His mercy--" Mary was sobbing now:--
"Sweet sister, pity me," was her plea. "What have I done? Forget the
Egyptian. How has he paid back your great love for him? He was
unworthy of such love." But Morgiana only tossed her blood-stained
arms on high.
"Fool, fool; am I not a woman? Did I love him by my reason? Worthy or
unworthy, I _have_ loved him. Enough!"
She tore at her bosom; drew forth a tiny silver vial. It was at her
lips before Musa could seize it.
"Poison!" shouted he.
The face of the Arabian turned livid; her eyes wandered. "He is mine;
mine! Beyond the stars, where no Christian may come with her beauty!
Beyond the stars, where is Paradise and rest!"
She fell upon Iftikhar's dead form; one paroxysm, one groan; her hand
was resting on the emir's face, her lips close to his. Musa laid his
hand above her heart, drew it back and said nothing. Then again a long
silence, while he examined the silver vial.
"Strychnine," he said softly; "the Egyptians often use it. Swifter
than a falling star."
Mary buried her face in her hands, and swayed while she sobbed in her
fathomless grief. "Holy St. Theodore, have mercy; Mother of God, have
mercy; Jesus Christ, have mercy! It is my fault--mine! I cannot bear
it!"
"Yours? Never, Star of the Greeks," protested Musa. "How was it you
that led Iftikhar to his madness, and put frenzy in this woman's
heart?"
But Mary wiped her eyes, and told all that had befallen. How she had
gone into the streets; how Zeyneb had seen, had told Iftikhar, and
sent him to his death. Before the Spaniard could reply, another
strange step was on the threshold. It was that of a Nubian in scarlet
surcoat, giant tall,--Ammar, third in command.
"In Allah's name," was his demand as he entered, and recoiled in his
horror at the sight, "what means this rumor on the streets? Where is
the Cid Iftikhar Eddauleh?"
"His body?--there!" answered the Andalusian, pointing downward. "Allah
accounts with his soul."
"_Mashallah!_" and Ammar nigh drew his cimeter, "you have slain the
emir, commandant of the city!"
"He rushed on ruin, good comrade. It was a private quarrel, and he is
wrong. Ask of these guardsmen, is it so."
"It is so! _Wallah_, the emir was mad. It is so!" came voices from the
doorway. Ammar's face was lowering when he demanded:--
"Yet how will you answer to Al Afdhal, the vizier?"
Musa drew himself to full height haughtily.
"Victory covers all pasts. Let me fling back the Christians and Al
Afdhal will forget to question. If defeated"--Musa swept his hand in a
wide gesture--"I will not be here to make reply. And now you, O Ammar,
are my lieutenant, and I commandant this night of Jerusalem. Leave
Iftikhar Eddauleh to Allah, and get you to the ramparts, for there is
work in store." The clatter of a horseman in the streets cut him
short; a breathless messenger was entering. "_Allah akhbar!_" gasped
the courier, "I am from the Gate of St. Stephen. We have sallied forth
to burn the Franks' siege towers. All the unbelieving jinns aid them.
The towers are repaired. We were driven back with loss. They attack at
dawn."
"Fellow, fellow," began Musa, while Ammar dropped his jaw in surprise,
"no tales, as you love your head! With my own eyes I saw those towers
in ruins--they can never be fought again."
"In Allah's great name I do not lie," flew back the answer; "and the
Christians have just flung the corpse of an Egyptian inside the city
on a mangonel, with letters saying they send us the courier from Al
Afdhal, who promises aid, but that they will be in Jerusalem ere he
can set forth from Egypt."
The Spaniard cast about a lightning glance of high command; never was
Iftikhar more lordly. "Then for El Islam we shall win glory or
martyrdom by another sun. Lead to the walls, Cid Ammar, I follow
instantly. Call all the city-folk to repair the breach. Hurry the
Greek fire and oil caldrons from the citadel. We must each have a
thousand hands betwixt now and morning. But on your lives say nothing
of Iftikhar."
"Allah! Allah! Death to the Franks! Death!" roared the Soudanese,
vanishing down the dark street as suddenly as they had come. But Ammar
halted. "Cid," said he, gravely, "you are indeed commandant, but if
the news flies out at this last grapple that Iftikhar lies dead,
needless to tell how every sword-hand will weaken. The name of
Iftikhar is worth a thousand in the death-grip. What is to be done?"
Musa had bent over the corpses, and was unbuckling the Egyptian's
gilded armor.
"See," declared he, holding up the gem-set baldric, "I will put on the
emir's mail. I have his height; none will miss his shoulders. With the
casque drawn down, all but those in the secret will know nothing. I
can again put on my own sombre armor, and appear elsewhere on the
wall. The host will think they have both commanders. Ere the truth is
known the city is saved."
"Allah! You have the craft of Solomon! So be it!"
"Breathe not a word of this to any. Bid the Soudanese keep silence.
Deny the rumor. Haste five spare mangonels over to the west wall; nine
to the northern. Illumine the Franks with Greek fire, shoot arrows and
stones incessantly. I will be on the Stork Tower at the northwest
bastion without delay; do you look to the western city."
Ammar salaamed; was gone. Musa had finished stripping and putting on
Iftikhar's armor. Save for the plumed helm that he held in his hand,
who could say he was not the Egyptian?
"Take these corpses away," was his command to the eunuchs; "anoint and
embalm them carefully. They must have honorable burial." Then he
turned to Mary.
"Star of the Greeks, I must go upon the walls again. Hard indeed it is
to leave you. But be comforted, Richard is well. I have talked with
him. Our speech was all of you."
Mary was ready to weep once more, but held back the tears. Sweet and
strong was her face when she answered:--
"Dear Musa, I know all that lies at stake this night and coming day. I
can bear much. I am ready for whatever God may send. Once I called you
my own cavalier at Palermo. Be such still. May the God who loves us
all--Christian, Moslem--be with you and Richard Longsword."
She took the helmet from his arms. He knelt; with her own hands she
fitted it after he had caught her hands, and kissed each one. Then he
rose, clothed head to foot in the gilded mail.
"God go with you, my cavalier," said the Greek. "I may not say, 'send
victory.' Farewell."
The stately plumes swept the pavement when the Spaniard salaamed.
"Fear nothing, lady," was all he replied; "remember the arm of the
Most High is under all. His will over all. What is to us most ill, is
to Him most good. Farewell."
He bowed again,--vanished from the doorway,--was swallowed up in the
black night. Mary heard him mount; heard his horse's hoofs dim away in
the distance. All the slow wind brought was a far-off murmur and
rumble of many toilers on the walls. And Mary went up the staircase to
seek her chamber and to pray.