Chapter VIII: Part ONE: The Book of His Luck (7)

There was a rush of turbaned men, a sharp struggle; the soldiers were torn away like trees by a winter torrent, and a hundred hands were eager to free the prisoners from their fetters. Files, knives, iron bars—every kind of tool and weapon was thrust forward to serve in the work of release. Rescuers and rescued were rocked to and fro in the battle raging around them. For once the Christians fought like wild beasts. Here a turbaned head was seen to fall, there a fez. Death shrieks mingled with the howls and shouts of the fighters. The uproar was frightful. For a while the issue of the fray seemed doubtful; but soon the Christians began to give way. The war-cry of Islâm gathered volume, until it seemed to roll along the sky in waves of sound.

“To the house of Yuhanna!” cried the old beggar, dragging Saïd’s arm. “Dìn Muhammed! to the house of ’hanna, the pig who protects Jurji, the evildoer!… Y’Allah!… Death to the heathen!”

Saïd, freed of his chains, forced his way earnestly through the crowd. Mustafa dogged him, screaming, laughing, and yelling like one possessed, keeping tight hold of his raiment so as not to lose him. A number of the faithful, fired by the hated name of Jurji, followed frantic as they.

XXIII

The house of Yuhanna was at some distance from the scene of riot. Its outer door stood open as on other days, and at the moment when Saïd burst into its pretty court, the girl Ferideh was seated on a cushion in the shade of the lemon-trees, her little brother in her lap. Suddenly, as if the stillness had been some brittle thing, it shivered to a great roar. There was a whirr and a flutter as the pigeons rose in a cloud from their researches on the pavement.

Snatching up the child, she sprang to her feet. The menace of the wild inhuman faces appalled her. She fled towards the door of the house in terror at that inroad of madmen as she deemed them. But the old beggar, outrunning Saïd caught her by the arm and shook her brutally.

“Say, girl, is the pig, thy father, in the house?”

Ferideh winced for the tightness of his grasp. Outraged pride and a certain fearful wonder were blended in her answer.

“Be not so rough, I pray!… Know that my father receives no man to-day, for he lies upon his bed, having fever. To-morrow he will perhaps be well, and, when well, he is accessible to all who seek him.”

Mustafa laughed aloud, and pushed her so that she staggered backward a few paces.

“He receives no man, sayest thou? By the tomb of the Prophet, he will receive us! Aha, O ’hanna, thou old rat, thou devourer of women, the avenger of blood overtakes thee at last!” He drew a long knife from his girdle and flashed it in the face of the girl.

“Dìn Muhammed!” he cried. “Death to the infidels! Y’Allah!” and rushed into the house, hurling to the ground an old woman, almost blind, who had come to the door seeking querulously to know the meaning of the uproar. The crowd raised a loud shout and pressed after him.

“O holy Miriam! O Yesua, Redeemer of the world, save him, save my father!” shrieked the maiden, falling on her knees, appealing to the sky above, whose bright peace mocked her anguish. The mob, bent on plunder, only laughed at her and praised her looks in passing. She grew white and red by turns, and her lips moved with difficulty as she prayed.

The scared pigeons circled overhead, whirling great flakes of shadow over wall and pavement. Their cooing and the tinkle of the rill from the basin, heard despite the tumult, were heart-rending as memories. The still foliage of the lemon-trees cast a dark pool of shadow on the flags. The leaves of a creeper on the wall trembled a little.

Saïd made no attempt to enter the house. He had no thirst for blood, no desire for gain. The screams and yells that arose within only confused his brain. He drew near to the kneeling girl, and she did not see him; but the child saw him and clung closer, burying its face in her bosom. He felt bashful—at a loss how to proceed. The court was deserted now; he thought he would have felt bolder in the presence of a crowd. The shouting and the noise, though friendly, numbed his wits. Forgetful for a moment of what was going on within the house, he began to make playful overtures to her baby brother.

Through an open lattice a frightful shriek rent the air, deadening all other sounds. Another, and then another …. The girl leapt to her feet and listened, hugging the little one so tight that it cried fretfully.

“O just Allah! they are killing my father!” she cried, and was rushing blindly towards the open door when Saïd caught her in his arms.

“Unhand me, loose me, wild beast! Let me go to my father. Dost hear his cry? They kill him—an old man and sick, lying on his bed with none to help him.”

She fought him frantically for a moment with teeth and feet, always holding the child fast to her breast. Then, as if all her strength were spent, she gave one bitter cry and was still.

Holding her thus in his arms, Saïd felt uplifted beyond all care of life or death. What matter though a hundred old men were butchered if only he could manage to convey her away from that place to the upper chamber of Nûr, the harlot.

“I suffer with thee, O my beloved!” he murmured soothingly. “But thy father was old; the days that remained to him were few in number. Also the people are mad this day against every Nazarene …. Listen, pretty one! If they find thee here they will surely slay thee, and this child also. Now I have so great love for thee that I would not let a hair of thy head be harmed. By Allah, I would slay the man who dared to touch thee with a finger! Come with me, O my soul, and I will lead thee to a place of safety.”

She gave no answer nor any sign that she heard, but weighed heavily upon him. Looking down, he realised that she had swooned.

The little boy, escaped from her embrace, was trotting eagerly towards the door of the house, through which rich carpets and other furniture of price were being flung out pell-mell. Saïd, who was fond of children, called to him that there were devils in there, and bade him fly to some neighbour’s house. Whereupon the little fellow toddled for the street in terror of his life.

He had raised the fainting girl in his arms and was bearing her swiftly towards the outer gate, when Mustafa overtook him.

“Aha, thou performest thy part? It is good—very good! Now listen!—I slew him. See, his blood is still warm on my left hand …. I was the first to plunge a knife into him; but, before I smote, I made him teach me the place where his treasure lies hid. At my bidding the multitude held their hands and stood back, knowing that I had private cause to hate him. He told me readily, in a whisper, thinking to save his life. But I slew him—with this knife I slew him. It is a good knife—a sharp knife. By Allah, I love this knife as my brother from this day forth. Ha, ha!”

He sank his voice.

“I go now to secure the money. There is a fountain—thou knowest it?—out yonder among the gardens, built on the pattern of a little mosque. In the pavement of its recess is a loose stone covering a hole where I am used to bury trifles. There I will conceal the wealth, and afterwards I will seek thee at the house of Nûr. Make haste, O my son!… Look, there is smoke: they set fire to the house!… The girl is pretty, and some of them might quarrel with thee for her sake. My peace go with thee!”

Saïd strode out into the street with his burden and plunged into the network of dark passages and byways he had threaded so often for desire of her. He had not gone far before she began to give signs of a return to consciousness. He paused awhile in a secluded place to give her time to recover. Presently, to his great relief, she was able to stand on her feet, though still dazed and needing support for every step. She asked not whither they went, nor seemed to care. Indeed, she evinced no mind or will of her own, but moved wherever he led her, without reluctance as without eagerness. Her beauty, and the strange sight of a Muslim shepherding a Christian maid, caused the men they met to stare at them; so that Saïd, having no wish to court notice, bade her draw the fall of her white hood across her face, as the Drûz women used to do. She obeyed by a vague movement which told that her mind wandered.

Nûr was cooking her noonday meal on the brazier when they entered. She welcomed Saïd with delight and cast a searching glance at his charge. Then, as he began to explain, she checked him with an impatient gesture and a nod of intelligence. She understood perfectly. He had been sent to sweep the streets of the infidels. Oh, the sin of it! She had heard the news from the son of Abu Khalìl when he brought some figs she had asked of his father. The whole city was ashamed. There had been a riot—not so?—and he had been rescued. And then Mustafa—the old madman!—had led the mob to the house of ’hanna, his enemy. And this then was Saïd’s beloved?

She thrust her painted face close to that pale one and scanned the features narrowly. Then she passed her hands down the loose robe, feeling the limbs beneath.

“She is sweet—a pearl!—a darling!” she exclaimed. “By Allah, thou art in luck’s way, O my soul. Art happy at last?… She neither sees nor hears us. Poor love! she is distraught with grief. It happens timely that the upper chamber is ready. I prepared it for the pleasure of a certain effendi, but his girl is a Nazarene and, in these troublous times, will not dare come hither. I will tend her there, the priceless gem! And thou must not come nigh her until the evening. Dost hear, O Saïd? She must sleep and take refreshment, and Nûr will tend her. Wait until the evening, I say; and then, when she is a little rested, I will present thee as her deliverer.”

With that she put an arm round Ferideh’s waist and supported her very tenderly up the flight of steps to the guest-chamber. And Saïd sat on his heels, rolling cigarette after cigarette, drinking glass after glass of rose sherbet, too perturbed to eat though Nûr pressed him to share her repast. And Nûr, for her part, took a malicious joy in his distress, looking forth from time to time from the door of the upper room to wag her head at him and whisper, trumpeting with her hand,—

“She is sweet, I tell thee!—white as milk!—a darling! I that am a woman cannot choose but kiss her!”

XXIV

The first lilac gloom of night had fallen on the city ere the old beggar regained the vault of Nûr. A feeble glow from the brazier showed his wrinkled face ghastly pale and distorted with nervous twitchings. Madness burned in his eyes. His fingers clenched and unclenched spasmodically; his staff fell from them with a thud upon the earthern floor.

“O Nûr, hear me! Where art thou?” he cried, peering about in the darkness. “I have slain him, I tell thee—I have slain the pig ’hanna—the enemy of my house ….”

“Hist!—Hold thy peace!” The door of the upper chamber was opened and shut. There was the rustle of a dress and clank of trinkets as the old woman came down the steps. “She is up there: his daughter, dost understand? Saïd has been with her, but against my advice he was violent and frightened her. She fought like a tigress and screamed so that I had to interfere. By my head, it is lucky that my house is a place apart, walled off and secluded, else all the quarter must have come together, seeking the cause of her outcry. For long I have been trying to soothe her; now at length she is silent and I am glad of it. As for Saïd, she has scratched and bitten him finely. A little while since he went out to gather tidings; he will return presently. Now sit down, O my uncle, and I will warm up thy supper, which was ready long ago.”

But Mustafa gave no heed to what she said. Except that he lowered his voice somewhat it seemed that he heard nothing of it. Clutching her arm, he launched into a sort of chant of praise and thanksgiving.

“Allah is bountiful!… I slew him, I tell thee! He lay on his bed shamming sickness; and I held the rage of the faithful in check till he had whispered me the secret of his treasure. He thought to preserve his life thereby, deeming we were come to rob him. But I spoke the word, I called on the name of Allah! I shouted in his ear the name of the girl, my sister, whom he ruined. A hundred knives struck down at him as he lay; but mine was foremost and it cut his life …. Praise to Allah!

“Ha, ha! He was fat and lay on a soft bed, whereas I am lean and used to sleep on the earth. Yet I slew him!… See the stains on my left hand—O hand of honour, O blessed hand!… The fat who dwell in palaces must reckon with the lean beggar at their gates. I would, O Nûr, thou hadst seen him in the death-throe. He looked so funny that all men laughed. Ha, ha, ha!… Thanks be to Allah! The reproach is taken away from my father’s house. Allah is gracious!”

“Thou art overwrought, O father of Mansûr,” she said soothingly. “Sit down and rest. See, thy supper is ready!… By Allah, thou art very old for this work, and I fear lest it prove harmful to thy health. Sit down, dost hear me? After a little while Saïd will return and we shall learn what news there is. In the meantime I will make some coffee for thee.”

The old beggar allowed himself to be persuaded. He sank down cross-legged by the threshold of the inner room, while she, having made fast the door, shook an earthen lamp to be sure it had oil enough, lit and set it in a hollow nook of the wall opposite to him. By its light she observed him furtively as she busied herself about the brazier, and she shook her head bodingly from time to time. A torn strip of his filthy turban dangled over one ear. His scanty robe, all ragged, displayed the thick growth of grizzled hair upon his chest. His bare limbs were shrivelled and sinewy, of the colour of a sun-dried apricot, the legs dusty almost to the knee. His withered hand was extended as when he sat by the wayside for alms.

It was as if mere change of posture had been a charm to quench his excitement. The life was gone from his limbs, the fire from his eyes. He was become bowed and very feeble—an old, old man whose hours are numbered. His mouth hung open slavering. The under lip moved perpetually us he gurgled certain phrases, always the same, seeming catchwords to something he would fain recall.

“Allah is bountiful …. I slew him …. Dìn Muhammed …. O blessed left hand …. Allah is bountiful!…”

Nûr shook him with rough kindness as she set a smoking bowl of chopped meat and rice at his knees with the charge to wake up and eat. She held the dish under his nostrils that the savoury steam might beget a craving. She grew poetical in praise of its contents; but all in vain.

Mechanically he thrust a trembling hand into the mess and raised a portion to his mouth; but he let the rice slip through his fingers without so much as licking them.

Nûr was greatly concerned. He must be on the brink of death, she told herself, thus to neglect good victuals, he who was always wont to come in ravenous from a day’s begging. She made shift to feed him with her own hands and rejoiced to find that he swallowed the morsels placed in his mouth.

While she was thus occupied the door was tried from without. A knocking ensued, and the voice of Saïd calling to her to open. She left her charge and flew to shoot back the bolt.

“Where is Mustafa?… Bid him come away with all speed! It is said that search is made for us for our part in the destruction of Yuhanna’s house. Ah, there he is! Rise, O my father, and come with me. The carnage of this day is nothing compared with what to-morrow’s sun will see. Know that a great multitude of Christians, fugitives from the Mountain, have entered the city seeking refuge. And many Drûz, both from the Mountain and the Hauran, have pursued them hither. I met a party of them in this minute as I came through the streets. They are strong men of war and armed like soldiers. They are eager as ourselves against the pagans …. Arise, O Mustafa, and come away! It is known that we frequent this place, and it were a shame to be taken a prisoner on the eve of so great a festival …. Arise, I say! What ails thee? Art ill? Speak! What is this, O Nûr?”

The woman clung to his arm.

“Merciful Allah! I fear he is at the point to die. At his first coming he was as one possessed, shouting and screaming and waving his hands. It was very hard for me to quiet him. Now he is like one in a swoon; he sees me not nor hears me, and is weaker than a baby.”

“I warrant he is only tired. If Allah will I shall find means to rouse him. He is as my father, and this place is dangerous for him.”

He strode to the place where Mustafa sat cross-legged, mumbling fragments of sentences, and staring at the basin of rice and meat. He grasped the old man’s shoulder and bent over him, raising his voice as if to overtake the wandering mind and call it back.

“Fie upon thee, O my father!” he cried, “thou who hast this day slain the enemy with thy own hand, and hast done battle so bravely for the Faith, to sicken and faint like a vaporous girl. Allah witness I am ashamed for thee! Awake, O Mustafa! This place is not safe for us. The soldiers—Allah blast them!—may be seeking us even now. If we stay here we shall be taken and put in prison, and must forego all the glory of to-morrow’s slaughter. The wrath of Islâm burns like a great fire to consume the infidels. From the hour of sunrise the slaying will begin. Men will look for thee, O my father, in the front of the battle. They will marvel greatly and say one to another, ‘Where now is that old lion which devoured Yuhanna, the pig?’ They will look for thee to lead them on; it were a sin to disappoint them. Up, O Mustafa! The danger grows with every minute. Awake!—y’Allah!—for the faith of Muhammed!”

The last words were of magic virtue. The dying embers of the old man’s wit leapt up at them in lurid flame. With a cry he sprang to his feet, staring wild-eyed at Saïd.

“Dìn Muhammed!—I slew him! O glorious left hand! Allah is bountiful! Yes, I hear thee, my son, and I understand. I was asleep, not so? I was weary and so I fell asleep, and methought the angel of death was with me. But it was a dream surely. I will go with thee, O my eyes, whither thou wilt, so that there be men to kill—fat men like him, who lie on beds of down—Ha, ha!—while I who slew him am used to lie on the hard-trodden ground. I must be strong, sayest thou? Now, by my beard, that is a foolish word; for who is stronger than Mustafa? ’Hanna was weaker for I slew him easily, witness Allah and the blood-stains on my left hand. O glorious hand! But it is true what thou sayest, that a man’s strength must be nourished with meat. Of course, I will eat; and to-morrow I will do great slaughter—thou and I together, O my soul. O blessed left hand! Allah is bountiful!”

He swallowed the food hastily by great mouthfuls, with no signs of relish. When the bowl was empty Nûr brought him a cup of hot coffee, which he gulped down in like manner. He grew reasonable, taking counsel with Saïd as to the best place for them to lie till morning. The old woman, seeing him fairly in the way of health, wished them both a happy night, and returned to the upper chamber to look after the girl Ferideh, whose moans and lamentations, though unheeded in the greater anxiety attending the beggar’s plight, had long been audible.

“Take care that she do herself no mischief: she is a very tigress!” Saïd called after her as he and his adopted father stepped out into the night. They went stealthily, by narrow ways the moonbeams seldom fathomed, to a small tavern kept by a Muslim, which was towards the Christian quarter. Others of the insurgents had likewise chosen that place for their night’s shelter. There were blithe greetings. A discussion was going on, in which Mustafa, having no care to rest, joined eagerly. But Saïd, being very drowsy, yawned cavernously at all that was said. He soon stretched his length on the floor and fell fast asleep.

XXV

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … “Allah! Allah!” … “Death to the unbelievers!” … “Perish the Nazarenes!”

Saïd awoke to the consciousness of a frightful uproar streaming in with a sunbeam through the open door. The whole city was filled with it—wrapt in it as in a mist. Frenzied shouts for Allah and the Prophet, devilish yells and cries of exultation mingled with the run of a great multitude in the street without, the distant beat of a drum and a sound of desultory firing.

The tavern, in deep shadow, was empty save for the old beggar, who stood over him brandishing a curved knife like a sickle in his sound hand, while with the withered he pointed to the piece of an iron bar which lay on the ground close to Saïd. A fierce devil looked out at his eyes.

“Arise, O sluggard!” he cried with a mad laugh. “Is this a time to sleep and be lazy? Come, let us out! There will be blood!—blood—blood of unbelievers to flush the streets like water! Aha, the dogs of the city shall drink rare wine to-night!”

Saïd’s eyes caught fire from the speaker’s. Grasping the iron, he sprang to his feet. “Ready!” he cried; and with a bound like a wild beast’s they cleared the threshold together.

A live stream filled the alley—a torrent of men and boys; all with the murder-light in their eyes, all flourishing weapons, all racing in one direction. The current caught them and swept them along.

“In case we be sundered in the tumult,” breathed Mustafa, “meet me in the place thou knowest—in the secret place of our treasure among the gardens—at the hour of sunset. Forget not!”

Saïd turned his head to answer; but the old man was torn away from him in a sudden eddy of the human tide to avoid the frantic kicking of a donkey which held the middle of the causeway. He found himself roughly shouldered between two Drûz of giant build, clad in the black-and-white cloak and white linen turban of their tribe. Each had a long-barrelled gun slung across his back and a knife in his hand. They ran steadily, with teeth clenched and eyes full of a grim purpose, hustling Saïd along with them unawares.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … The mountaineers, though unbelievers, joined lustily in the cry of El Islâm. They had come fifty miles in pursuit of their quarry and now they had run him to earth. “Dìn ’hammed!” a child’s voice piped manfully; and Saïd beheld a little boy in a man’s arms, brandishing a toy knife as he was borne along, crowing for joy of the merry race and the shouting. There was a stoppage in front; but those behind still continued to push on, regardless of the protests of such as were tall enough to see the nature of the obstacle.

The giant on Saïd’s right proclaimed that certain persons of authority were sorting the crowd, sending some this way, others that, to join bands already at work. He licked his lips as he added that he himself had slain fifty Maronites between the first hour and the fourth, at the taking of Zahleh. By Allah, it was the business to whet a man’s appetite. He remembered to have eaten a whole sheep that day—to have rent it limb from limb and devoured it yet warm and uncooked, he was so hungry. But his remarks were lost for the most part in the general uproar.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!…” Saïd was past the obstacle, speeding over the rough pavement of a lane in shadow. The sky, a narrow streamer of living blue, seemed to flutter and wave overhead as he ran with throbbing brow and panting chest. With the two Drûz and a hundred others he was told off to join a part of the mob who were gone to raze the house of the Muscovite Consul, whose ill-timed meddling had fired the people. The two Drûz lost their eagerness.

“What have we to do with this Frank?” Saïd heard one say to the other. “Let us turn—what sayest thou? Our enemies are yonder!”

“True,” breathed the other; and they slackened so as to drop behind.

The house of the Consul was already in flames when Saïd’s reinforcement came up. Little pillars and wreaths of brown smoke curled upward from it, to condense in a low cloud like a frown upon the tranquil sky. A seething, roaring throng, close-packed from wall to wall, choked every approach. By mounting on a high stone beside a doorway Saïd contrived to see what was doing.

Furniture and other goods, which the greed of the insurgents had dragged from the burning house, were being tossed back into the blaze by order of an aged man invested with some sort of authority. This person seemed some prophet or dervìsh—a holy man in any case, for he was naked save for a loose shirt of sack-cloth, and his legs and arms were almost black through long exposure. He capered about in a solemn measure, screaming, praising Allah, and exhorting the faithful to fresh exertions.

There was a movement on the outskirts of the crowd. Where was the good in standing idle, looking on at the prowess of others, when there was work enough for every man that day?

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … Even to Saïd’s maddened brain it occurred that there was some rough order in the mob. A band of butchers were there in their slaughter-house garb, with long knives dripping blood not of beasts. Men forced their way into homes, he among them, upsetting costly furniture, trampling rich carpets in their zeal to seize on the inmates. These they spat upon, spurned, insulted and dragged out into the street, where the aforesaid butchers waited to despatch them.

Girls were embraced brutally and borne shrieking away in the arms of men whose clothing was bespattered with the blood of a father or mother. Crones strained and knotted their wizened throats in supplication for the spark of life that yet warmed them. Dwellings were looted, then set on fire. Saïd, in his search of the house of a rich merchant, saw a foot peeping out from a heap of bedding. He laid hold of it and, pulling with a will, elicited an old, white-bearded man whose face was grey with terror. He shrieked to Miriam, Mother of God, to help him; but Saïd had him fast by the throat, thin and grisly as a hen’s, and soon pitched him headlong down a short flight of stone steps. He toppled senseless at the feet of one of the butchers, who, being idle for the moment, knifed him at once.

The thought of Ferideh, awaiting his further pleasure in the safe keeping of old Nûr, filled the fisherman with a kind of drunken joy. She had bitten his arm last night and the wound pained him yet. What matter! There would be plenty of leisure to punish and tame her by-and-by. She would learn to worship him in the beautiful house he would build for her out of her father’s hoard. His brain whirled. He had the strength of two men. He saw all things in the redness of eyelids closed against the sun; felt and cared for nothing save the lust of blood and the joy of killing …. “Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

A sound of firing came out of the distance—a single volley followed by faint cries. One or two strained ears to listen; but the hoarse shouts of the slayers and piercing shrieks of their victims made it hard to ascertain noises more remote. Zeal continued unabated. Men, women and children were dragged out of the shadowy doorways to be hacked to death on the causeway beneath the ribbon of peaceful blue sky which the smoke of burning houses began to veil in part. The mob jeered and reviled their last agonies. Some were found to spit in the faces of the newly slain. And the name of Allah was in every man’s mouth.

Of a sudden a tremor ran through the multitude. The uproar dwindled to a murmur, above which terrified cries were heard, growing louder and nearer.

“The soldiers!”—“The soldiers have scattered us!”—“Allah destroy them!”—“They have killed Ahmed, my brother!”—“I am wounded even to death!”

The broken remnant of some other band poured headlong from the arched entry of a by-street and made haste to mingle and lose themselves in the stagnant crowd which choked their way. They came running, beards on shoulders, faces blanched with fright, and slipped in among the throng as a lizard slips under a stone for safety.

The butchers stayed their hands and wiped their knives on the skirts of their clothing. The feeders poured out of doorways to hear the news. Saïd struck a squealing Nazarene on the head with his iron bar and looked out from the lattice of the upper storey where he found himself. He glanced down upon the press of dark fezes and light turbans in fierce sunlight and plum-coloured shadow. The sea of heads rolled purposeless like beads unstrung from a chaplet. All at once a yell of rage uprose.

“The soldiers!—Allah cut their lives!—The soldiers!—let us slay them!—Let us fly!—Let us stone them to death who favour the infidels!” At the street end, where there was a great pool of sunlight, Saïd caught the glint of gun-barrels and recognised the uniform of the irregular troops. He saw a sword flash as an officer of high rank flourished it; and through all the cursing of the mob he heard a word of command, short and gruff like the grunt of a pig. A howl of execration rent the air. The front rank of the troops were taking deliberate aim at the rioters.

Saïd beheld the surging sea of heads with the unconcerned pity of an angel or a sage. Packed close as they were down there, every shot must tell. He gave warm praise to Allah Most High, who had placed His servant in that upper chamber, whence he could observe all that passed without peril.

Then he saw a strange sight. The rabble had shrunk back before the muzzles of the rifles covering them. Across the space of pavement thus deserted rushed the wild figure he had observed before the Consul’s house. The holy one ran up to the officer and confronted him with gestures of command and entreaty.

“Shall Muslim war with Muslim?” A shrill voice rang clear on the hush which ensued. “Will you then separate yourselves from the cause of Allah and His Apostles to side with pagans and idolaters? Will you shoot down the servants of the Highest like dogs? I heard a voice in the night saying, Go to the city, Es-Shâm, and tell the dwellers there: The word of Allah to such as are faithful. Slay me the unbelievers which aspire to sit in high places! Slay the whole race of them, the child with the strong man, the woman giving suck with the aged one whose eyes are dim! Let not a soul of them remain alive, for the welfare of Islâm is in it!—Will you then anger the Praiseworthy? Will you then ….”

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

The words of the saint were drowned in a shout which thrilled Saïd to the marrow and made tears start in his eyes. The officer took a written paper embodying his orders and tore it to little pieces. The soldiers flung down their rifles with a great noise. With frantic exclamations the crowd surged towards them, enveloped them, embraced them and made them one with it. The Colonel waved his sword on high, shouting for Allah and the Prophet. It was who should kiss his hand, his scabbard, his clothing—anything that was his.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!…” The mob, thus reinforced, set to work once more. “To the French convent!” someone shouted. “Let the nuns be ravished and then slain!” The cry was taken up on all hands with laughter and coarse jibes. “The nuns! The nuns!” “Aha, the nuns are sweet!” “They have kept their flower for us, the darlings!” “Let us see how the nuns are fashioned!”

There was a breathless rush, of sheep following blindly the track of an unseen leader. Saïd was more than once crushed against a wall of the narrow ways they traversed; but he was stalwart and held his own. Then there was a standstill. Those in front hammered at a strong door, while those behind stood on tiptoe and craned their necks to see what was doing.

All at once there was a backward movement. Another panic got hold of the crowd. A cry, “The soldiers!” was again raised; but was received with jeers by such of the mob as were of that calling. A small troop of armed men rode up to the door of the nunnery. They were seen plainly of all, towering as they did on horseback above the seething mass on foot. Most of them rode their chargers at the foremost, who drew back in alarm; while a few, among whom was the leader, dismounted and entered the convent, the door of which was promptly opened to them.

A mighty roar went up from the multitude.

“It is Abdul Cader!”—“May Allah preserve his Grace!”—“He goes to take vengeance upon his enemies!”—“It was the French who wronged and imprisoned him, though he fought them brave as a lion!”—“He is come to claim the French nuns for his harìm!”—“Allah is just!”—“May all the Franks perish, and their women be dishonoured!”—“Long live the might of Islâm!”—“May Allah preserve Abdul Cader, the glory of the Faith!”

But applause was turned to oaths and howls of rage when the hero and his officers reappeared, escorting with respect a train of black-robed nuns, each with the obnoxious cross shining on her bosom. The horsemen closed around them as a body-guard; the leaders sprang to their saddles. Then the fury of the crowd broke all bounds. The coolness of the rescuers as they rode away had a point of contempt which stung the rout to madness.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” … “Death to the enemies of Allah!” … “Who dares protect those whose lives are forfeit to Islâm!” … “Perish Abdul Cader!” … “Death to the traitors of Eljizar.” Raging like a winter-torrent, the crowd surged forward in pursuit. The horsemen were constrained to a foot’s pace, having regard to the women in their midst. The mob was close upon them. Stones and other missiles began to whizz through the air. Of a sudden the whole mass swayed back, every man jostling his neighbour.

Abdul Cader had turned his horse about and was sitting motionless, his eyes ranging sternly over the sea of turbaned heads and swarthy, malignant faces. A last stone, flung at random from the heart of the throng, struck his arm and made him wince. He raised a hand to his tarbûsh, commanding silence. An awe-stricken hush spread like a breath over the crowd. This man was the established idol of the populace. He was the greatest living hero of Islâm, and at heart they gloried in his intrepidity.

“What is this, O my friends?” His voice rang out clear and measured. “Will you provoke the wrath of Allah against this city? Will you anger Him so that He turn away His face from us for ever? It has been told you how I have fought for Islâm—ay, and borne imprisonment and exile for our holy Faith. But I tell you I would rather be the meanest Christian slain this day in the sight of Allah than one of you whose hands are red with his blood. Shame on you, Muslimûn!—Shame on you, I say! Would to Allah I had gone to my grave ere ever this day dawned for the Faith!”

He gazed for a moment, silent on the silent crowd; then, turning, set spurs to his horse and cantered away. But the foremost, among whom was Saïd, saw that his eyes glistened.

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!” It was the holy man who raised the shout once more, waving his gnarled brown arms above the crowd. “Who dares withstand the justice of Allah? Slay him also, who rescues the condemned of God! Onward! Dìn! Dìn!”

But the words of Abdul Cader had wrought a change in the temper of the multitude. Some there were who lagged behind. Saïd’s thirst for blood was somewhat slaked by this. There was time, he bethought him, to visit Ferideh and snatch a kiss from her before keeping his appointment with Mustafa. He slipped aside into an archway which gave access to a shady passage barely wide enough for two to walk abreast, and made his way by forsaken paths to the prison of his desire. And ever as he went the roar of the tumult was in his ears, now loud and near, now soft and melting in the distance, like the thunder of surf upon a rock-bound coast:

“Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

XXVI

For once Nûr was cross with Saïd. No sooner did she understand the reason of his coming than she lifted up her voice and chid him roundly. Upon his persisting, she threw herself in his way and forbade him to advance another step. The girl was ill enough already without the aggravation of his presence. If he so much as set foot in that upper room, she (Nûr) would cease to befriend him and would let the girl go free.

Cowed by her vehemence, Saïd grumbled that he had no instant wish to harm the maid; but was come just to see how she did; with much more, scarcely audible, about his own property, and kissing, and no sin. Whereupon the old woman became herself again, called him the light of her eyes, and detecting some tell-tale stains upon his raiment soaked a rag in a vessel of water and made haste to sponge it. The strong perfume of her unguents kept him quiet and submissive while she purified him. His eyes languished and his lips parted as he inhaled it.

Bending close to him over the task,—

“It is a kindness I do thee, O my soul!” she said. “Suppose soldiers or other slaves of authority met thee with the marks of blood on thy robe, by thy beard, I think it would fare ill with thee. As for that girl thou lovest, she has been all day like a madwoman. She is deaf to all my comfortable words, and cries ever to Allah that He should take her life. She boasts that she will beat herself to death against a stone of the wall sooner than endure thy embrace; that is why I stayed thee. To-day is but the morrow of her disaster. Leave me alone to deal with her, and, after a few days, I warrant thou shalt find her tractable. When she is tame enough I shall send thee word. With thy share of the treasure of which Mustafa speaks, thou mayst well afford to hire a fine house for her. With a fine house and a gift in thy hand what girl could gainsay thee? For thou art handsome, my dear, straight as a palm-tree, strong as a lion. Does the work of slaughter flag that thou comest hither thus early?”

Saïd told her something of the day’s doings, while she, vowing that he must be famished, brought some bread and dried raisins from the inner room. He was in truth pretty hungry, though the fact had escaped his mind. His jaws worked as a busy mill to which grist came unfailingly by great handfuls. Nûr wished him two healths, and, squatting on her heels, kept her painted eyes fixed on him in a kind of dotage.

“I am sorry thou didst lose sight of Mustafa,” she said at length, speaking chiefly to herself. “He was ill yesterday in the evening—very ill, so that I deemed him at the gate of death. Allah restore him to us in safety and good health!”

Saïd’s utterance was somewhat choked, his mouth being crammed with leathery bread.

“Hadst thou been with us in the tumult, O my eyes, thou wouldst not marvel that we were forced asunder,” he mumbled. “No man thought of his neighbour, but each ran alone for himself, taking care not to stumble lest the multitude behind should tread out his life. Praise be to Allah that He has granted me to see this day! Not a street of that quarter but has dark pools of blood on its pavement—blood of the heathen, of the unbelievers, which to shed is a pious deed. At the hour of sunset I am bound to meet Mustafa in a place appointed among the gardens. O happy day!”

“In sh’Allah, thou wilt find him in the extremity of good health!” exclaimed Nûr, rising to prepare herself a narghileh. “As for the maiden, the daughter of Yuhanna, I have said that I will tame her for thee. Seek not to approach her until I send thee word. Prepare a fine house for her and bring a gift in thy hand. Force is one way to succeed, but there is a better, I do assure thee.”

The sun’s rays were red upon the upper roofs when Saïd left the cellar. He saw no man in the streets save such as were very old and feeble. Veiled women and girls, some with babies in their arms, stood chattering together in doorways or at the cross-roads. They called to him for news.

In passing the tavern of Abu Khalìl, he beheld the fat host seated on a stool in the doorway, wide awake, his face expressive of the deepest disgust. He appeared to be afflicted with an itch in the calf of his leg, for he was scratching the place slowly and woefully with a shard.

“Peace on thee, O Abu Khalìl!” cried the fisherman as he sped by.

“Upon thee be the peace, and the mercy of Allah and His blessings!” retorted the taverner, with a dismal groan. “But say, why dost thou hasten? Stay a little and tell me, hast thou heard aught of my son?—of Camr-ud-dìn? The villain escaped about the second hour. Doubtless, he is with the slayers—curse his religion! and behold there is none left to serve in the house, his mother being sick this day. Wait a minute, I say—may thy house be destroyed!”

But Saïd only cried “Allah comfort thee!” over his shoulder as he hurried on. The thought of Mustafa and the treasure lent wings to his feet. Besides, it seemed a small matter that Abu Khalìl should lack his son’s help that day, seeing it was a dull time of business, all likely customers keeping festival elsewhere. A surge-like roar was ever in his ears, loud or distant according to the trend of the streets he traversed.

Turning a sharp corner, he collided with a man in as great a hurry as himself. The shock was very great. Saïd rubbed himself ruefully, and so did the stranger. They were about to curse each other and pursue their several ways when recognition turned their gall to honey. The fisherman blessed Selìm, and Selìm blessed the fisherman. They embraced, and Saïd, having a view to his own profit, inquired with what eye his Excellency, the Wâly, deigned to regard the disturbance.

“Alas!” cried the other, lifting hands and eyes towards as much of the purpled heaven as was visible between the roof-lines, “my lord is distraught with grief. The Franks ply him ever with angry demands that he take instant measures to put down the tumult. Allah knows that he has done all that was in his power to do. The garrison was divided in two companies, and sent forth with orders to fire on the rebels without mercy. One division with its officers deserted to the people; the other, after firing one volley and wreaking great havoc, was withdrawn lest they too should make common cause with the insurgents. The Council was summoned, and Ahmed Basha signed with his own hand a paper declaring that the Government can do nothing. He sent an express for Abdul Cader, but was refused because Abdul Cader and all his followers were busy rescuing great numbers of the Nazarenes and conveying them by families to the castle. He invited the Basha to bring but fifty armed men and ride with him, saying that with so small a reinforcement as that he would undertake to quell the riot in a few hours.

“It was Selìm who was charged with the message, and I would to Allah it had been some other. For my lord began to weep and wring his hands, being, as I guess, afraid for his life to ride forth, yet ashamed to play the coward in the sight of an old lion like Abdul Cader. Before I left his presence he took a leaf of paper and began to draw upon it what seemed a plan of the city, crying, ‘Thus and thus it should have been. So and so I should have acted.’ It was as though the squeak of the reed on the leaf brought comfort to him. Poor great man! I tell thee, my heart was sick for pity of him. All in the palace agree that the Franks will have him slain for this hesitation which is his infirmity.

“I go now to buy a little food for those who have taken refuge in the palace-yard. There is a great crowd, and who can tell how long the slaughter will last? Many must die of hunger, and that is not pleasant to see in the court of the house where one dwells. To slay a foe in anger, and his woman, and his sons and daughters, is natural for all the Franks say. It is natural that a man should seek to destroy his enemy once for all, and wash the land clean of his name. Vengeance of blood, from what they say, is a thing unknown among the Franks. The price of blood has no claim among their customs. Were it otherwise, they would better understand our manner of warfare. But what do I, loitering by the way? In thy grace, O my brother! Allah guard thee till we meet again!”

When Saïd at length passed out at the town-gate, twilight was rising from the ground. Shadows, which were half a light, floated among the tree trunks. He had yet a good way to go, and the sun was set; he hurried on, therefore, along a fair road almost roofed with leafage and bordered by hedges which smelt sweet. In a place where black trees of mournful seeming grew sparsely amid a wilderness of white stones, he beheld veiled figures flitting darkly among the tombs and knew them for women caring for their dead.

The zeal of the faithful must have waned with the sun, for he overtook and passed several groups of men, dusty and disordered; and, as he crossed a bridge, the twang of an aûd and wailing chant of a singer reached him from some tavern down the stream. Nevertheless, he still heard the roar of the tumult through a tremulous veil, as it were, of nearer sounds—the droning plaint of the singer, the bark of a dog, chirping of birds, croaking of frogs, the murmur of the stream and the rustle of leaves. It was the same roar that he had heard on awaking, only fainter and with a note of satiety. He wondered what the drum was that had been beating all day, and was beating yet somewhere in the city. And even as he listened and wondered, the cry of the muezzin rose shrill above the din, followed by another—by a host of others, until all the plain was filled with their message. The turmoil sank and died away. The drum was no more heard. The unbelievers enjoyed a respite while the faithful said their prayers.

Selecting a little patch of grass by the wayside, beneath a great mulberry-tree, Saïd fell on his face and gave praise and thanks to Allah. It pleased him to think on how few days of his life he had omitted to pray at each appointed hour. He asked Allah to forgive him the omissions, not to let them weigh against his virtues to destroy him. Then, shrugging his shoulders resignedly, he rose, inhaled a perfumed breath of the night, and murmured, “Allah is just!”

At the point where a garden-track branched from the main road, and blunting the angle, stood a building one would have taken for a large wely or saint’s tomb, flanked and dwarfed by twin cypress-trees. A pious foundation from of old, it served the double purpose of a fountain and a place of rest for wayfarers. It consisted of a centre arch, admitting to the spout and trough, and of a recess on either hand; and was surmounted by three domes in proportion to these divisions, that in the middle being much higher than the other two, which peeped over the square roof as a skull-cap shows above a turban.

The fountain whitened in the half light amid the gloom of the surrounding foliage. The two cypress-trees stood up blackly, their tufts cutting the green sky, Saïd’s eagerness grew apace. He walked faster and faster, and was on the point of girding up his loins to run when a loud voice turned him to stone. It was the voice of Mustafa, but it had a new intonation which made his flesh creep. It came from within the building, very harsh upon the evening murmur and the twilight, which, between them, were soft as velvet.

“Allah will give to you!” There was something fierce and exultant in the cry, which assorted gruesomely with that prayer for alms. “Allah will give to you!… I slew him, I tell you …. See, I have a withered hand. O hand of my honour—O blessed hand!… O Lord!… Take pity, O my masters or I die …. Allah witness, I slew him. Aha, he was fat and lay on a bed of down, whereas I …. O Lord!… Allah will give to you!… I am poor and lean while you are fat and dwell in palaces. See the stains on my hand …. O hand of my love—O happy left hand! Take pity, hear you?—or I will slay all the race of you, fat men that lie on soft cushions …. Aha, you look very funny, all you fat ones with your mouths open, lying on green couches and your eyes turned over in your heads. It is a merry sight …. O Lord!… Have compassion or I die. Merciful Allah, is there none to pity me?… Behold my father’s house is washed clean of the reproach …. Blood!… I see blood!—blood everywhere—blood of pigs—blood of unbelievers. Lo! the steam of it rises up to heaven, and it is counted to me for righteousness. Allah rejoices! The Prophet smiles at God’s right hand!… O Lord!… Death to the unbelievers! Perish the Christians! Dìn! Dìn!…”