Chapter VII: Part ONE: The Book of His Luck (6)

His brother—the narrator laid proud stress on the relationship—was belated one night on his return home. His name was Kheyr-ud-dìn, a good pious man and a true believer. Walking down a certain street he came suddenly to an unseen barrier. He could pass his hand along it as along the surface of a wall; the feel of it was smooth like glass or tight skin. Yet there was nothing to be seen in the way; only the narrow lane in moonlight and shadow, and the dogs prowling in search of offal. Then he espied what seemed a sewn goat-skin for holding water, lying collapsed and empty in the midst of the causeway. And as he looked, behold it filled out and tightened, and began to roll. Kheyr-ud-dìn, who was a pious man, praised Allah, and marvelled much to see it rolling thus of itself, with none to push it nor any slope of the ground to cause displacement. And as it rolled, lo! it grew until it was huge like an elephant. Then he began to be afraid, and desired to go quickly to his own house. But the unseen wall prevented him, and all his strength availed not to break through it. Then he cursed the father of that wall, and its religion, and its aunt, and its first cousins, and its offspring down to the third generation, kicking it all the while and beating it with his hands. At last, being very angry, he took the knife from his girdle—a sharp knife with a fine handle inlaid of brass and silver—an heirloom in the family. With that he struck at the barrier and it ripped down like flesh.

There was a hideous shriek; he was snatched suddenly out of the moonlight and the streets and whisked away to a place of darkness, where the king-jinni sat on a throne of fire. All the people of the jân were there, lurid in the red glow of their monarch’s seat. The king’s eyes were set slantwise in his head; his ears were long and leaf-shaped like the ears of a pig. He wore no turban nor any covering to his head, which was bald and dome-shaped, of the same colour as his face—that is to say mouse-colour. Flames shot from his eyes as he leaned forward to frown on the prisoner. All the people of the jân grinned horribly upon Kheyr-ud-dìn, and gave forth a hissing sound. He stood accused of slaying one of them, by the name of Yusuf. In vain he disclaimed all knowledge of the crime.

“Thou liar!” said the king, turning a glance of fire upon him, which burnt right through clothes and flesh, and shrivelled the marrow of his bones. “Didst thou not rip open his belly with thy knife there in the open street? Is not his death shriek yet present in our ears? By my head, thou shalt die for it!”

And all the people of the jân yelled frightfully, “He shall die! He shall die!”

Then in his great distress he called aloud upon the name of Allah; when lo! in a trice he was back once more in the quiet street, and there was no barrier nor any waterskin, but only a few dogs skulking in the moonlight.

Another spoke of serpents.

“There is a kind of snake,” he said, “which has his dwelling on the skirts of the desert. He has neither head nor tail, but is round like to a pigeon. When one approaches him he does not hiss like other snakes, but barks like a jackal, and picks himself up and hurls himself at the man. You may laugh at what I tell you, but, by Allah, it is extremely true. My grandfather shot one of that kind with a gun which is now mine. I will show it you if you will favour me with a visit at my house. It is a good gun, and I wish to sell it. It is worth much money.”

Quoth another,—

“By the Coràn, but thy pigeon-snake is a light thing as compared with the mighty serpent of which I have heard old men speak. He traversed the land of old, devouring all things, even men and women, until at last he slid down from the crest of the mountain, glided under the sea as under the lid of a box, and was no more seen. He was clothed all over with long hair, part black, part white, like a goat’s; and his length was a day’s journey from head to tail. Allah have mercy—a strange thing!”

Saïd would gladly have drawn near to listen. It was a kind of talk that pleased him, as befitting the hour. The tavern reeked of good cheer, the company was numerous enough to preclude real terror, while a glimpse of the gruesome, populous night from the open door gave a shuddering zest to each new story. The cellar of Nûr, too, where he was to sleep, was not far distant, and he was sure of Mustafa’s company in the walk thither. He burned to tell a marvellous story of what had befallen his uncle on a journey into Masr. The yarn had become popular, almost proverbial, in his native town, where it was known as Saïd the Fisherman’s story of the Blue Afrìt. Of all the dwellers in Damashc-ush-Shâm, Selìm alone had heard it. The adventures of other men’s kindred dwindled to everynight blunders wherever it was told.

But the beggar’s skinny hand clutched his arm, enforcing attention. He yawned as he hearkened to the old man’s raving of blood and vengeance. The wild looks and wilder talk of his companion made him fear that he had cast in his lot with a madman. But then Mustafa gripped his arm tighter and looked into his eyes, and laughed, saying, “Aha! that was a good thought of thine. By the Coràn, I hold thee dearer than Mansûr—dearer than my own son! Shalt have her, dost understand? In sh’Allah, thou shalt possess her!” Saïd was reassured on the score of his sanity.

Abu Khalìl, the fat taverner, looking round benignly upon the faces of his guests, marvelled much in his sleepy way to observe those two speak so earnestly together. Mustafa was hatching some beggar’s plot, he supposed; but the dutiful and submissive bearing of the young man towards his sire made a deep impression on his flabby brain. Camr-ud-dìn had that day cursed his father’s religion, which was his own, and Abu Khalìl had been properly indignant. In return he had cursed his son’s creed, as also his father and his mother. He felt that he was not blessed in his offspring, and in a dim, fat way he envied Mustafa.

XX

Between the cellar of Nûr and the tavern of Abu Khalìl the summer days passed lazily for Saïd. The year’s last rain had fallen. Each departing night left a burnished blue canopy over the city, on which the sun crept slowly like a snail of fire. The cry of the water-carriers grew sweet and ever sweeter in the ears of all men; and the street-dogs panted with lolling tongues as they slept.

Every evening drew forth a great multitude to the pleasure-houses studding the gardens by the river bank. Men sat on stools, or cross-legged on the ground, sipping sherbet of almond or tamarind or rose, and chattered with the birds in the respite from a sultry day; while the sky glowed amethyst, then emerald, then beryl, and the earth’s bloom among the trees became a paleness of lilies.

Once at sunset time Saïd went to the coffee-house of Rashìd, where he had slept that night with Selìm, to make inquiries concerning his former partner. But the landlord was gruff and slow to answer, so that Saïd abstained from further questions and returned thither no more.

Every morning, about daybreak, the old beggar arose. Having broken his fast upon the soured milk and bread prepared for him by Nûr, he took up his staff and set out for some mosque or archway where was both shade and concourse—the two main requisites for a beggar’s seat. Saïd, rising perhaps an hour later, had the live-long day idle upon his hands, after he had brought water for his hostess and helped her to order her dwelling. He stood high in the good graces of the grim old woman: partly, no doubt, because of the little services he was ever willing to render, but chiefly owing to the lover-like attitude he adopted towards her.

He used her reverently yet fondly, as the desire of his soul.

It seemed a humorous thing for a free man to serve an old woman of evil repute; and Saïd, having once grasped the fantastic side of their relation, played his part thoroughly and with all the fervour of a devotee. From constantly cajoling her with flattery and impassioned words he himself came near to forget that a hag’s face underlay her mask of paint; and she, for her part, though alive to the cozenage, grew to dote on him as the apple of her eye.

Sometimes, when the fragrant smoke of a narghileh made a philosopher of him for half-an-hour, he contrasted the lot of this old woman with that of Hasneh and other wives of poor men. Here was one whose name had been a byword for infamy living as a queen in her old age, extending bounty and protection to whom she would, exacting service as her due. The greatest of the city came under cover of the night to beseech her aid in secret business of the heart. Grand ladies of some notable’s harìm, veiled from all peril of recognition, sought her in their way from the bath or the perfumer’s on a like errand. Clandestine lovers made their heaven in her upper room. Each and all, fearing, blessed her and left gold in her hand. “Allah grant me as prosperous an old age!” thought Saïd. And yet Hasneh, the rough-handed and meanly clad, would have deemed herself the better of such an one. It was a strange thing!

Another person who had conceived a warm liking for the fisherman was the fat taverner. As the bright pattern of filial devotion, Saïd was always welcome to meat and drink and a narghileh afterwards in return for occasional help in the service of the coffee-house. Abu Khalìl loved to ply him with parables and hard sayings, beginning always, “There was once a son,” and ending mostly in an attempt to cuff poor Camr-ud-dìn, the “son” in question. This unfortunate youth inherited his father’s tendency to fall asleep at odd moments. He would have become fat, too, like his father, had he been allowed to remain long enough in one spot. It was his constant chagrin that he could enjoy no rest, between waiting on customers and obeying his sire’s behests; for Abu Khalìl, though always dormant himself, would not let his son indulge in a moment’s lethargy. Camr-ud-dìn carried his grievance plainly written on his dirty brown face. He did everything under protest; and he loathed the sight of Saïd, who was for ever being held up to him for an example.

Once or twice Saïd caught a glimpse of Selìm among the crowd in the streets, but on each occasion was able to dodge aside and avoid him. He would have rejoiced to know him happy and doing well, but was ashamed to meet him face to face. For this reason he shunned the great bazaars and more crowded ways in his walks abroad.

At least once in every day he was drawn to the house of Yuhanna the Christian. Sometimes he went thither at evening, when a deep earth shadow wrapped the city, and the western hill was black against an orange glow; more often in the early morning, while the ways were yet shady. Hid in the angle of the porch he could observe all that passed in the court within. The very stones of the pavement had charm for him. His beloved came and went, appeared and disappeared, now crooning a love-song with her baby brother in her arms, now mocking the coo of the pigeons, now romping with a maid-servant. Whether she stood on tiptoe with head thrown back and arms uplifted, her long tresses reaching almost to her heels, to pull down the branch of a lemon-tree and see if a certain fruit were yellowing; whether she stamped her foot in sudden anger at the clumsiness of a servant, or slapped the child, who loved to bury his tiny hands in her hair and sometimes caused her pain—whatever she did was full of grace in Saïd’s eyes. He would con over her moods and postures afterwards as he lay awake at night, tossing feverishly with a fire at his heart. Crouching in the shadow of the entrance he feasted his eyes on her beauty of form and motion, until someone came to disturb him, when he stole back in the blue shadow of narrow alleys, shunning instinctively the sunlight and open places, with a singing in his ears.

At such times he went not to the tavern of Abu Khalìl, but straight to the cellar of Nûr. The old woman listened kindly to his ravings, and soothed him with hints of hope, bidding him have but a little patience and he should be satisfied. The girl’s father, she said, was a wealthy merchant, a Nazarene, and under protection. It would be unsafe to carry her off in a time of quiet, for the Frankish consuls would be sure to clamour for vengeance. Alas, in these days none but a true believer could be wronged with impunity. But a change was at hand. Wherever she went—in the palaces of the great as in the cellars of the poor—she heard murmurs of discontent. Men’s forbearance was taxed to the utmost. A little more—a feather, it must give way, and then Allah knew what would happen! There would be riot—that at least was certain—and amid the confusion of a whole city’s rising one girl could be abducted and no man know it. Saïd must therefore wait and trust in Allah.

He drew some momentary comfort from this assurance, but his desire grew with every day, threatening to consume him. Old Mustafa rejoiced secretly at the haggard looks of his young ally. He strove by all means to foster a longing which promised to fall in timely with his scheme of revenge. He spoke rapturously of the charms of Yuhanna’s daughter when they sat together among the gardens in the pale evening; and he would hug himself with glee when the fisherman leapt up and cursed the day he was born, beseeching Allah to strike him dead, for what was life to him without his darling!

One morning, as Saïd lounged in the tavern of Abu Khalìl, a dehlibash entered, followed by an obsequious private. His uniform was that of the irregular troops distributed for a safeguard among the country towns and villages. He cast a keen glance round the coffee-house, passing over Camr-ud-dìn and his father and two Christian lads drinking arak together in a corner, until his eye rested on Saïd.

“Yonder is the man for us—what sayest thou, ’brahìm?”

“A strong man!—a fine man!” agreed the soldier, bending his right arm and feeling the muscle thereof to confirm his meaning.

“Look here, O what is thy name?” said the officer, addressing Saïd; “if thou hast a mind to earn ten piastres, rise up and follow me!”

If he wished to earn ten piastres! O day of blessing! O day of good luck! Upon his head he would serve his Excellency. To hear was to obey. Might Allah preserve his Honour’s life for ever! What might be his Grace’s further orders?

The officer strode out of the tavern again, motioning him to walk with the private soldier. In this order they traversed the city. Passing out at an eastern gate they came to a wide-open space where grass grew in ragged patches. Under some big trees which bordered the parade ground was a motley gathering of men and horses. The arrival of the dehlibash was hailed with loud blessing and cringing salaams. A steed was apportioned to Saïd, while the officer counted his men.

“Praise to Allah, the tale is complete!” he said with a sigh of relief; and then, looking at his watch, “It is lucky that it is so, for it wants but a half of the appointed hour. Here, ’brahìm, let this man wear thy paletot and give him a gun! At present he has nothing of the soldier about him. At an ordinary time it does not matter; but a friend whispered me this morning that the Wâly himself purposes to review us; and it is likely Abdul Cader will be with him. He is a great general by Allah, is Abdul Cader—his eyes are as the eyes of an eagle. Well”—he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in deprecation—“if the Government can only afford to pay seventy soldiers and I am obliged to maintain a hundred, is it my fault that they be not clothed like the Sultàn’s body-guard?”

Saïd donned the soldier’s overcoat. The hood hanging between his shoulders irked him like a burden, so that he twisted his neck to see what was there, provoking shouts of laughter. Then he swung the carbine across his back, just as the order to mount was given.

The dehlibash marshalled his troop, two deep, in the middle of the parade ground. Even thus, in the full glare of the sun, with glint of gun-barrels and prancing of steeds, the show was not a brave one. A few half-naked urchins, smitten with awe at the sight, stood to watch, and idlers from the city gathered to the spot. Presently there was a noise of shouting and a pair of outriders cantered out at the gate, followed at an interval of about a hundred yards by a group of horsemen in civil dress surrounding the person of the Wâly.

Ahmed Pasha wore the official frock coat and dark trousers, his sober Frankish garb contrasting strangely with the gorgeous trappings of his charger. His pale, intellectual face appeared the whiter for the scarlet fez pressed low on the forehead. Beside him, on the left hand, rode that great one whom Saïd had seen in the court of the mosque, sitting with the Mufti and Ismaìl Abbâs. Two Franks, whose top-boots were very prominent, rode on the Wâly’s right, and a servile official or two completed the party.

“Who is he?” Saïd inquired of a neighbour in the ranks.

“Who? O stupid! Ahmed Basha, of course!”

“No, I speak not of the Wâly; but say, who is that great one who rides at his left hand?”

“Whence comest thou? Who art thou who dwellest in Es-shâm and dost not know Abdul Cader, the mighty chief of Eljizar whom the French took and imprisoned and at length banished hither! Hist!”

The troop saluted after a fashion, and the Wâly began his ride along the ranks, chiefly to ascertain that the right number of men were there. He seemed mortified by the wretched appearance of the troop. The two Franks smiled openly, pointing out individual scarecrows one to the other. As luck would have it, something in Saïd’s bearing pleased Ahmed Pasha. He reined in his horse before him and made a remark over his shoulder to the Franks, who drew near with expectant faces.

“Now, my man, thou that art a servant of justice in this province, I put a case to thee: Suppose thou foundest a Muslim and a Christian fighting together, what wouldst thou do?”

Saïd reflected a moment.

“May it please your Excellency, I should take the Kâfir to prison.”

The Wâly bit his lip and rode on. The Franks tried in vain to stifle their laughter. Even Abdul Cader smiled and his eyes twinkled.

His round of inspection over, Ahmed Pasha addressed some sharp words of admonition to the troops; and refusing to listen to the officer’s excuses, rode back again into the city. The crowd which had followed the governor dispersed after him. The soldiers retired to the shade of the plane-trees and there dismounted. Saïd and some fifty other faggots were paid off; and, being deprived of their guns and such soldierly garments as they had assumed for the nonce, sauntered away as civilians.

In his road to the tavern of Abu Khalìl, the fisherman saw signs of unwonted excitement. The faces of the men he met had a fierce and eager look. Once or twice a Nazarene passed him, slinking along by the wall with the furtive side-glance of a dog that one stones. Drivers of camels and mules who seemed to come from the way of the mountains were beset by an eager crowd begging for news; while others coming off the desert passed unheeded save for the curses of those whom the advance of their laden beasts threatened to crush against the wall. Khans and coffee-houses were full to overflowing, and the sound of many voices in agitation came from their shadowy doorways. It was near noon—an hour when men are wont to move lazily, and the very camels seem to slumber as they rock heavily onward with jangling bells. But to-day all was animation. Even the street-dogs opened an eye, drew in their tongues at intervals and stirred uneasily in their sleep.

Saïd accosted two men who were arguing and gesticulating in the shade of a merchant’s awning.

“What is the news?” he asked.

“Great news, O my uncle—news of moment! There is war in the Mountain and it is sure that the Mowarni have arisen and have destroyed twenty villages belonging to the Drûz. One that has but now arrived from Beyrût assured me of it. He saw the flames like stars on all the seaward slopes as he passed the ridge at sundown. It is sin, by Allah! for the Drûz are our brothers in this matter.”

“Nay, by Allah! it is a lying report thou hast heard!” cried the other man, vehemently. “It is the Drûz who have risen up suddenly and have destroyed thirty villages of the Mowarni. It is true, however, what thou sayest, that the Drûz are our brothers. May their power increase!”

The merchant before whose shop they were squabbling removed the ivory mouthpiece of a narghileh from his lips and crossed his legs more comfortably.

“It is likely both of you are wrong,” he said. “The event occurred only yesterday, so the tidings are not yet confirmed. This is but the first rumour which we hear. It is surely greater than the truth.”

Saïd hurried on his way with a full heart. Wild fancies, that were half hope and half project, throbbed in his mind. The time foretold of the lawyer was come; the day to which Mustafa looked for vengeance was at hand. A fire was kindled on Lebanon, and a strong wind blew from the sea. The smoke was driven over the great city, and there were sparks in the smoke. Es-Shâm was as a heap of tinder carefully prepared. Through vague pictures of riot and bloodshed he saw the daughter of Yuhanna as he had first seen her, fondling her baby brother in a blue shadow which the intervening sunlight dusted with gold. The vision was perfect even to the purple flowers on the wall at her back and a pair of white butterflies sporting above her head. The vividness of it pained Saïd, causing heart and brain to ache.

The tavern of Abu Khalìl was crowded and uproarious when he reached it. Just within the threshold, forced outward by the press, stood the host himself with back to the sunlight. By his manner of standing he seemed anxious and ill at ease. The expression of his face when he turned was the same which Saïd had seen it wear when knives were drawn in the house or a customer flew at another’s throat. With a touch of the hand and a whispered salutation the fisherman slipped past him and edged his shoulder into the throng. Stools overturned were being kicked about among the feet of the disputants. Clenched hands were shaken fiercely in angry faces. Every man believed himself to be possessed of the truth of the matter and resented his neighbour’s statement.

“Thirty villages!”—“Twenty!”—“No, a hundred, I tell thee!”—“The Drûz, by the Coràn!”—“The Christians for certain!”

In the thickest of the crush Saïd descried an emerald mantle edged with fur. It shone out brightly amid the ruck of soiled robes of every conceivable colour, blue predominating. An embroidered turban binding a newish fez was conspicuous in like manner. The young lawyer, who came thither to converse with clients, was struggling to obtain a hearing.

“I who am a lawyer tell you that it behoves all men to keep peace at this crisis!” Saïd heard him cry. “Let the unbelievers extirpate each other—Durzi and Marûni. The Franks are powerful and wish ill to Islâm. They will cause all who take part against the Christians to be put to death. What profit has a man though he destroy his enemies if he die for it? The Wâly has summoned the Council of Notables. They will take strong measures to prevent a disturbance. Calm your minds, I entreat you, all of you!”

Derisive shouts drowned his prayers. The old beggar sprang forward and gripped his shoulder. He swung the lawyer round so that he could grin in his face.

“What is this, effendi?” he said with a mad laugh. “Does a man change his mind with each moon? A little while since, when the chance of war seemed remote, thou wast a lion, exhorting us to battle with brave words. But now, on the eve of the tumult thy heart grows faint. In the beginning, when there is but a spark, it is easy to fan it or blow it out, whichever one please; but afterward, when it is become a great fire all the breath of a man avails not to extinguish it. Courage, O Excellency! It is a creditable thing to be chief among men. Be sure I will give thee all honour, and praise thee as my leader in this business!”

With an oath the lawyer tore himself away. His face was vivid as he pushed through the noisy crowd to the door. He passed quite close to Saïd, so that the latter could hear him mutter under his breath,—

“A madman—dangerous to the peace of the city—I go straight to denounce him. With Allah’s leave he shall be in a gaol ere sunset!”

Saïd watched him shuffle away in the direction of the Wâly’s house, keeping close to the castle wall, as though its strength were a protection, the skirts of his emerald coat bellying behind him. Then he elbowed his way to where Mustafa was leaping and dancing like a maniac in the midst of the press, screaming curses on the Christians to the joy of all.

Saïd plucked his robe and whispered, but the old man shook him off at first and raved more frantically than ever. But by dint of repeating his warning in a louder tone, and dragging him by main force towards the door, he at length won him to hear reason. They went out together into the blinding sunshine, Mustafa cursing all lawyers and their kinsfolk.

On reaching the cellar where they lodged, “Allah is gracious! The time is come, O Nûr!” cried Mustafa, capering and waving his skinny arms in a frenzy of glee.

XXI

In those days the taverns of the city were never empty except at dead of night. Each sun brought fresh tidings of a rousing nature; and the excitement of the vulgar is a gossip who must chatter or die. It was soon known for certain that the Maronites had been the aggressors in the first place; but now the Drûz were slaying them like sheep all along the mountain.

“Of a surety, the Drûz are our brothers!” was the judgment of every true believer. “It is not true, what is commonly told of them, that they worship a calf in secret places. By the Coràn they are no idolaters. They fall not prostrate before pictures of women and sheep, as do the Nazarenes; but worship Allah even as we do. May they utterly destroy their enemies, who are ours also!”

Men went about their work distractedly with brains on fire. Unrest was everywhere. The sunlight itself, which baked the roofs, quivered of anticipation. The crescent gleaming on dome and minaret had a message for all the faithful.

Only in the Christian quarter fear reigned amid a deathlike hush. The few inhabitants who ventured beyond its limits were hustled and spit upon. True believers cursed and reviled them so that they grovelled in terror of their lives. There was menace in the very air, so that they breathed it with deprecation.

In the dewy shade of an early morning Saïd bent his steps towards the house of Yuhanna. Wrapt in thought of his beloved he walked as in a dream. The ways were cool, he was conscious of a strip of radiance overhead, he saw men move as shadows. At a joyful shout of his own name he started as though one had struck him.

“Is it indeed thou, O Selìm?” he cried. “O day of joy! How goes thy business?”

The memory of his former scurvy treatment of the muleteer made him a little backward in cordiality. But upon Selìm embracing him tenderly as a brother, with no more than a playful reproach on the score of his desertion, he was truly delighted to see him once again; and they walked on, hand in hand, so far as their roads lay together. Saïd had little to relate. His life since their parting had been lazy and uneventful. Of the all-absorbing topic of Yuhanna’s daughter he cared not to speak, being far from secure of his friend’s approval. But Selìm, on the other hand, had much to tell. Alone, he had carried on the old business for a few days, in the hope of Saïd’s return; but things had not thriven with him. The voice of the master was gone, and he might shout till he was hoarse in praise of the wares, yet few paused to examine them. So he sold the remnant of his stock to a dealer for what it would fetch, and journeyed to the mountain-village where was his home, to dandle his baby and take counsel with his woman. On his return to the city he applied for help to Ismaìl Abbâs, the Sherìf—Saïd remembered?—who received him very kindly and gave him a letter—guess to whom! to Ahmed Pasha, to his Highness the Wâly himself! In short, he was now a member of the Governor’s household, receiving bakshìsh from all desirous to curry favour in his master’s neighbourhood.

He was in the way of honour, and (under Allah) he thanked Saïd for it. Had it not been for that rich garment Saïd gave him he would never have caught the eye of the great Ismaìl Abbâs in the first instance. Moreover, he praised his friend’s generosity and self-denial in that he had not taken his share of the slender profits of their partnership away with him. It was a magnanimous action, but then Saïd was ever the father of kindness. He had grieved much for the loss of his brother, and had even been to the cellar of Nûr seeking news of him. But the mistress of the house—a tall old woman with painted eyes—had been short with him and he could learn nothing from her.

Saïd’s heart smote him as he listened. Allah had blessed him with the truest friend ever man had, and he had slighted the gift. He squeezed Selìm’s hand and swung it lightly to and fro as they walked. Might Allah destroy him utterly and quench the fire on his hearth if ever again he gave this good man cause to reproach him.

“I rejoice in thy happiness,” he said when the time came for them to part. “And what is the mind of his Excellency the Basha with respect to the war of the Mountain? Wait a little and there shall be war in Es-Shâm on the pattern of it.”

“Alas, O Saïd, they say in the palace of my lord that should the men of Es-Shâm follow the example of the Drûz, then the downfall of Islâm is sure, for the Franks will avenge the Nazarenes, that is known. The Wâly himself is very anxious: it is said that he weeps at night in his chamber. He is a great general of renown, but he loves study better than government. One of the soldiers of the guard, who has served under him in the wars of Europe, tells me that he was ever a great general—none greater—upon paper: victory waited on his science; but he loved not the turmoil of a battle and its perils.

“His mind is now torn asunder by the demands of the Franks wishing one thing, and the advice of the elders of Islâm, who desire the opposite. In truth, it seems to me who am a small man and no politician, that he hearkens too willingly to the speeches of the Franks, the sworn enemies of the Faith. It was no wise thing that he did yesterday in ordering the dog Jurji, who did outrage on the harìm of Asad Effendi, to be released without punishment. The Franks speak as lawyers on behalf of their clients, and they strengthen their pleading by threats. This pardon of an evildoer, simply because he is a Nazarene, will madden the faithful. As I came just now through the long bazaar, a band of youths armed with sticks passed me, running towards the Christian quarter, vowing they would do justice on Jurji with their own hands. I fear the Wâly has been ill-advised in this matter. He is a great man and a politic, but he is weak, and the Franks overbear him. I fear there will be trouble. Thanks be to Allah that Selìm is not the great Wâly of Damashc-ush-Shâm, but only a small servant whose duty is plain. May Allah guard thee in safety till we meet again!”

They parted. Selìm was quickly lost in the shifting crowd of a roofed bazaar, while Saïd, striking into a quiet alley, pursued his way to the house of Yuhanna. The news of the release of Jurji rankled in his mind, making him venomous towards the Christians.

As he passed the threshold of the outer door, seeking that corner of the entrance passage whence he was used to spy on his delight, he stumbled on a pitcher someone had left there. The earthern vessel crashed upon the stones and was shattered to bits. The noise was enough to bring the whole household running to the spot. Bitterly cursing the accident, Saïd took to his heels. A little way up the lane he hid himself in the angle of two walls.

Presently, as he stood there waiting till the alarm of the broken pot should have had time to subside, he heard loud voices approaching. A rabble of Muslim lads burst into the narrow way, cursing all the Nazarenes, and yelling that they were come to do justice on Jurji the evildoer and destroy his father’s house with fire. Most of them carried sticks; some had long knives in their hands. Seeing a man look out from the door of Yuhanna’s house they chalked the sign of the cross ostentatiously on the pavement, spat upon it, and trampled it underfoot. The head was quickly withdrawn and the door shut and bolted from within.

This seemed rare sport to Saïd. Lifting up his voice against the Christians, he joined himself to the mob.

They paraded the entire quarter, reviling all they met. Here and there a man cried shame upon them, but the most part slunk past them along the wall with a cringing salutation. At length, growing weary of their unchallenged progress, they were about to disperse, when a happy thought occurred to Saïd. He imparted it to his comrades, who were loud in acclamation. Such as had knives set to work to cut short lengths of stick, which they bound two and two together so as to form rough crosses. Then they took hold of the street-dogs, which lay around them by dozens, tied a cross under the tail of each, and with a kick sent them howling in all directions.

The fun was at its height when a man dressed in the Frankish fashion, but swarthy and wearing a fez, emerged from a doorway close by in earnest conversation with a Muslim in a fur-edged mantle of emerald green. He of the foreign garb cast one searching glance at the crowd, and then, seeing its occupation, walked off hurriedly, dragging the lawyer along with him.

“Dìn Muhammed!” Saïd yelled after them in derision. “Behold we follow thy advice, effendi!”

“Dìn Muhammed—Allah! Allah! Perish the unbelievers!” shouted a few of his companions; but the greater part were silent, seeming afraid.

“It is the dragoman of the Muscovite Consul,” one murmured with consternation. “He knows me well, whose son I am. He will surely lodge information against us and we shall be imprisoned for this day’s work.”

“Let us after and slay him!” cried another, valorous from a whole morning spent in insulting men with impunity.

“Let us go quietly each to his own place!” pleaded a third, who had cause for alarm, being well-known to the dragoman.

His advice seemed best to all, and they disbanded forthwith. Saïd went to the coffee-house of Abu Khalìl, where he smoked a narghileh. The tale of his morning’s pastime made the fat taverner quake with inward laughter. Camr-ud-dìn and his mother stopped work to listen; the customers applauded it as a merry jest. He was obliged to repeat it from the beginning for every new-comer. At midday he made a hearty meal of lentils and bread, drank a cup of coffee, and disposed himself for a nap.

About the second hour after noon he was roused by a strong hand on his shoulder shaking him. To the first blurred glance of his sleepy eyes the whole tavern seemed full of soldiers; but when he sat up he found there were but four of them.

“A scar on his forehead,” one was saying, as if he read over a description in writing, “the beard black, tall and robust, the son of perhaps twenty-three years, his raiment striped of blue and yellow, soiled. This is the man, by Allah!… Arise, O my uncle, and come along with us!”

“What means this? What evil have I done?” Saïd rubbed his eyes and stared aghast.

“Who said thou hadst done any wrong? Not I, by Allah! To my mind thou didst well to spit upon the infidels; would to Allah thou hadst slain a few of them! But it is the Wâly’s order that thou go to prison. Make haste, O lazy one!”

Saïd was dimly aware of Abu Khalìl quaking and wringing his hands somewhere between him and the sunlight, of the voices of Camr-ud-dìn and his mother mingled in curses upon the soldiers and their ancestry. Then he was led out into the white glare of the street, where a small crowd of idlers and ne’er-do-wells gaped upon him, and ran along with his captors as an additional escort.

It was clear that the guards had orders to avoid all crowded thoroughfares, for they hurried him through dark tunnels and passages and along mean alleys of an evil savour. But with all these precautions they were obliged to cross the open space before a large khan at an hour when traffic was at its height; and such a group was sure to attract notice, even without the little crowd which followed it implicitly as the tail the dog. The person of the prisoner was much scrutinised, and questions were put to the soldiers, who answered with an “Allah knows!” and a surly shrug. All at once a well-known plaint struck Saïd’s ear.

“Allah will give to you!… For the love of Allah, take pity or I die!… O Lord!… Allah will give to you!…”

He started, and then howled “Mustafa!” with all the strength of his lungs.

“Hold thy peace, O fool, lest I strike thee on the mouth!” hissed the chief of his escort fiercely.

But the old beggar had heard his cry. The crowd parted suddenly, giving way to a wild, lean figure a-flutter with rags. Mustafa raised hands and eyes to Heaven for horror of what he saw.

“What is this?” he shrieked. “Allah cut short their lives! They have taken my son—the staff of my days!—the light of my eyes!… These sons of iniquity have robbed me of my son!… O Allah!… O Lord!… O men of Es-Shâm—O fathers of kindness, will you suffer this great wrong to be done in your sight? By the Prophet, there is no sin in him!… O Lord!… He was ever been a good son and a pious. Say, O Saïd, for what cause have they taken thee and bound thy hands? Let all men judge of thy innocence!”

“For the cause that I cursed the heathen!” shouted Saïd, at the cost of a smart blow on the mouth, which made his gums bleed.

“O Lord!” screamed the old beggar, dancing and rending his clothes as one gone mad with grief. “See, they strike him! There is blood on his lips!… They side with unbelievers!… They buffet the champion of Islâm and lead him to prison!… O men of Es-Shâm, O faithful people, you have heard his crime from his own mouth!… O Lord!… Rescue him!—rescue my son!—my only son!—the staff of my life!”

The soldiers and their charge were at a standstill, a crowd pressing upon them from every side. There was a sound of muttered curses on all hands, and the shrieks of the old maniac seemed ominous to the guardians of law and order.

“Bah! it is nothing,” shouted the chief of the party so as to be heard afar. “He will be rebuked and lie idle in gaol for a few hours …. By Allah, we are no infidels but true men. That old rogue there lies when he says that we side with the Nazarenes. Allah be my witness, it is a lie! But the Wâly’s order is upon us, which to hear is to obey, and those who dare to resist us do so at the risk of heavy punishment …. Oäh! Oäh! In the name of the Sultàn, make way, I say!”

By soft speaking, mingled deftly with threats, he managed to force a path through the press. In the quiet alley into which they plunged directly he cursed Saïd for a madman and threatened him with every kind of torment as the guerdon of his misbehaviour. There was peace again, and the soldiers were able to breathe freely. They waxed courageous and blustered as Saïd became sullen and crestfallen. But the old beggar had joined the faithful few who clung to them through all vicissitudes of the road; and he ceased not to revile and execrate them, imploring Allah to strike them all dead and so release his son, until he had watched Saïd disappear within the gate of the prison. Then he sped fleet-foot to the vault of Nûr, to take counsel what was next to be done.

XXII

Saïd’s first impression of the gaol would have been a pleasant one but for the dejected looks of its inmates and the foul stench pervading its atmosphere. His captors left him unshackled in an open quadrangle. An arcade supporting a flat roof made a sort of verandah on two sides of it, affording shelter to the prisoners from the glare of noon. The remainder was shut in by a high wall, in which was the entrance gate, strongly barred and further secured by a small guard of soldiers hardly less wretched in appearance than the criminals themselves. On one hand the rays of the sinking sun were warm upon wall and pavement; on the other, a deep blue shadow stretched out from the arcade before mentioned almost to the middle of the court.

Saïd stood for some time where his escort had left him, just within the gate. His eyes strayed over the various groups lying or squatting in the shade or striding wearily up and down in the red glow that dyed the eastern wall. Most of them were ragged; all were dirty, with the exception of three young men, who sat aloof together, cross-legged, on the edge of the sunlight. The gaiety of this little party, talking and laughing bravely in the face of misfortune, attracted Saïd even before he knew them for his associates in transgression. His approach was hailed with shouts of welcome, and he was made to sit down with them.

They affected to treat their imprisonment as a jest. It was not likely, Saïd agreed, that men would be greatly punished for so slight a misdemeanour. The Wâly was a Muslim, and all believers must surely feel with them. Their arrest was only a sop to the Franks. That dragoman—curse his religion!—had complained to the Muscovite Consul, his master; and the Consul had gone in a rage to Ahmed Pasha, who was ever ready to humour a Frank in small matters. The Consul’s word was law: the ring-leaders were put in prison. On the morrow they would be brought before a council of true believers, gently reprimanded and set at liberty.

Thanks to these assurances, and a good supper which a soldier gladly brought in for them from a neighbouring tavern, Saïd slept well enough that night, though on the bare stones. He had no money to procure bedding such as his friends obtained from the gaolers for a trifle of bakshìsh. But having supped well at their expense, and being used to rough couches, he scarcely envied them the luxury. He awoke in gladness to the prospect of a speedy release. But the day wore on, and the little company sat ever in the shadow of the arcade, gazing at the gate until their eyes ached. They murmured and grew despondent; darkness returned and they were still in durance. Saïd slept ill that night; his companions moaned and stirred uneasily in their sleep. They were forgotten, or the Franks had poisoned the Wâly’s mind against them. In either case they had small cause to rejoice.

About sunrise, Saïd was awakened by the clank of an iron chain. A peevish voice bade him arise and that quickly. He scrambled to his feet and looked for his companions. They were standing a little way off, under a strong guard of soldiers. Their limbs were fettered, and they were linked together by a heavy chain. He read blank dismay in their faces.

“What is this? What have we done to deserve such usage?” he asked indignantly, as two men, detached for that purpose, fitted irons to his wrists and ankles. There was no answer; the men seemed morose yet handled him gently. Upon his repeating the question in a louder tone the officer in command, who appeared in a towering rage, turned on him fiercely.

“Thou mayst well ask what is this! I myself know not the meaning of it! Perhaps the Wâly is possessed with a devil—Allah knows! To hear is to obey; but to carry out such an order is a shame for one who is a Muslim. May all the Franks perish utterly!… Know that the dragoman of the Muscovite Consul—a Christian and the son of an Arab, may his house be destroyed!—was closeted with his Excellency yesterday afternoon. And a little later I received the order for your punishment; that you are to sweep the streets of the Christian quarter in chains. Allah witness, I count it a sin and dishonour to the Faith. Notwithstanding, to hear is to obey!”

He turned aside with a shrug to give a word of command to one of his men. Four common brooms were brought and distributed one to each of the convicts. Saïd was coupled on to the chain with the others, and thus bound together they were marched out at the gate, while every prisoner that was a Muslim ground his teeth and howled with rage at the indignity. The ragged privates who kept the door murmured together with lowering brows.

“Jurji, the Nazarene, that was a malefactor, was set free without punishment,” Saïd heard one of them growl; “while these believers, who have done nothing to be called a crime, are condemned to dishonour the Faith. In truth, the end of all things is at hand!”

Their road lay past the gateway of the great mosque. The sight of the white minaret with its crescent glittering upon the blue brought scalding tears to men’s eyes for the honour of Islâm which was dead. The cooing of the doves had a new and mournful note in it. The prisoners walked listless with downcast faces; the soldiers closed in to screen them, as far as might be, from the stare of the populace. But the guard themselves were sullen and dejected; the work in hand being a heavy burden on their minds. Suddenly a piercing cry broke upon the hush in which they moved.

“O Lord!… I behold my son—my only son—the staff of my age—whom the children of sin took from me! The slaves of iniquity have loaded him with chains—Allah, cut short their lives!… By the Coràn, he is no evildoer, but a pious man and a faithful—who did but curse some Nazarenes and spit in their faces. It is for that they have fettered and bound him!… O Lord!… Shall these things be done under the sun and in the sight of all men? Merciful Allah!”

The soldiers quickened step, but the voice went along with them, as it were a knife stabbing their hearts, which were sore enough already. Why did not the sun veil his face and spread a darkness over all the city that the shame of Islâm might be hid? Oh, that Allah would cause the earth to yawn and swallow up the infidels, as he did for Neby Mûsa of old; that all the world might know that God was still watching over his faithful as in the time of Nûh and Ibrahìm and Ismaìl, as in the days of Daûd and of Isa, and of Muhammed (peace to him!), his apostle. O day of woe! O cursed day of infamy!

That was a proud morning for the Christians. They swarmed in the streets of their quarter with exultant faces. The day of their deliverance was come at last. The conquerers were become the slaves of the conquered, to sweep their streets for them. They gloated on the sight with the coward’s triumph, who, seeing his foe laid low by a stronger than himself, spits valiantly in his face and cries, “Mine is the victory!” Secure of protection, they took pleasure in taunting the prisoners, cursing them for sons of dogs and mocking them with proffers of water when they seemed weary. The pent-up venom of centuries was on their tongues. The poor earthworm hissed like a snake.

A number of the faithful had flocked into the quarter, drawn chiefly by the frantic outcry of the old beggar. They failed at first to grasp the position. The valorous attitude of the Christians only shocked and bewildered them. But no sooner did they learn what work was doing than their eyes grew fierce with the old pride of Islâm—the battle-pride of their forbears, who had carried the white crescent on the green flag victorious from India to the Atlantic. There were scuffles, and Christians were hurled to the ground. The press grew menacing about the sweepers and their guard. The soldiers looked anxious. The prisoners were ordered to cease work, and the officer, foreseeing a riot, was minded to take them back to prison on his own responsibility. The courage of the Nazarenes began to waver. The older and wiser of them slipped quietly into the nearest houses. But the younger and more turbulent, loth to forego one tittle of the unwonted pleasure of retaliation, remained in the street, hurling insults at the religion of Muhammed, and all professing it. Even thus they outnumbered the believers, who, however, were constantly on the increase as the rumour of a tumult spread through the city. In vain did the captain attempt to draw off his men, for they were locked in the heart of a seething, yelling crowd. It was all they could do to hold their ground. All at once the voice of the old beggar was raised in triumph,—

“To the rescue!—Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”