Chapter IX: Part ONE: The Book of His Luck (8)

Daunted by the hideous outcry and the gathering night, Saïd stood still, shuddering, until the voice died away upon a frightful shriek. Then he ran forward.

“May his house be destroyed,” he breathed ruefully between his clenched teeth. “It is sure he is possessed with a devil. Why else should he cry aloud to summon all men to the secret place of our wealth!” The recess on either side of the fountain was very dark. Saïd stood by the trough of stone and whispered his friend’s name. He spoke it aloud, then shouted it, then made the vault ring with it on a despairing yell of terror. Dead silence and a darkness which the tinkle of a slender thread of water made hollow as a bell; more than all, the echo of his own voice almost killed him with fright. He was haunted, the sport of malicious fiends. They were mocking him somewhere in the gloom, pointing at him and laughing noiselessly. He was minded to run, but his feet were become of one piece with the uneven pavement. It was that hopeless, blind terror which knows no beyond—the despair of a child alone in the dark. He shut his eyes; but fear lined their lids with eyes and wheels of flame, which rolled and dilated, scathing his very soul. Sure that dreadful shapes were drawing near him, he opened them from excess of fear; and, seeing nothing, was ten times more frightened than before. He breathed hard.

However, as long seconds passed and nothing happened, little by little the panic left him, and his wits, faint and trembling, returned to him. The arch by which he had entered was full of dark forms of trees quivering upon a starry sky. He heard the howl and yelp of a jackal; no doubt there were vineyards near with green clusters of half-formed grapes such as foxes love. The well-known sound and the everyday thoughts it engendered calmed him somewhat. A jangle of bells approaching along the road wholly reassured him. For all that, it was with heart in mouth that he stepped into the recess whence the cry of Mustafa had seemed to proceed.

Straining his ears to retain the friendly sound of the camel-bells, he passed a hand along the wall. All at once he stumbled on something. He stooped down to feel what it might be.

“O Mustafa!” he whispered fiercely, “what is this?… Arise! Awake! Say, where is our treasure? Let us take each his share and return with speed to the city. Come, awake, I say! Make haste!”

No answer. The mass was inert as he shook it; an arm flopped and that was all. He had nothing wherewith to get a light, and it was very dark. Yet he felt brave and master of himself, for the clangour of bells was drawing near and he could hear the voice of a camel-driver chanting in praise of love.

He found the old man’s head and placed his hand over his mouth. There was no warmth of a breath; the lips were cold and sticky. Then Saïd knew for certain that he was handling a dead body.

XXVII

Saïd shuddered, not so much for the knowledge of his own uncleanness, nor for the fear of death, as for the loneness of this end by the roadside and for horror of the wild cry he had heard. Since last the sun rose he had been present at the killing of many men and women. But they all had perished in the open street in the sunlight, amid the shouting of a great multitude, with prayers and curses on their lips; whereas Mustafa had met death in the dark, in a lonely place with none to witness.

He thought of the treasure, that it was now all his own; and sorrow, like a spring of sweet water, welled up in his heart for the loss of his more than father. But the next minute he wished Mustafa no good for dying ere he had made him privy to the hiding-place. By Allah, a loose stone in the pavement was not so easy to find in the darkness, without lamp or direction, and with a corpse for company.

The clash of bells grew very near indeed. The chant ceased, and the singer shouted to a comrade at some distance. Then the bells lost their rhythmic chime and jangled confusedly. The train of camels had halted.

Soon an unwieldy, groaning bulk was led in to drink at the fountain. Saïd stood very still against the wall of his recess, watching the black shapes fearfully, quaking for his treasure, lest the drivers should strike a light or any movement of his should rouse suspicion. There were sounds of sucking, gurgling and groaning, the swinging tramp of great beasts, and a hairy smell. He heard the voices of the men debating whether to enter the city in its present disturbed state or to sleep at a khan they named without the gate. He grew fretful, burning to begin his search for the treasure. It must be taken away at once, lest the discovery of Mustafa’s body should lead to a thorough search of the place.

At length the last camel was watered and he could hear the men swear as they marshalled the train. The rhythmic clangour broke out afresh. With an oath of relief he began to crawl upon his hands and knees, feeling the pavement stone by stone as he went. He felt everywhere to within a hair’s-breadth of the corpse; but not a slab was loose, though he fancied one or two rang hollow as he rapped them. The camel-bells were but a tinkle in the distance. He was alone and fear breathed hot upon him.

In a kind of fury he gripped the dead man’s arm and dragged him into a corner. With a shiver of that contact upon him he knelt down to examine the place where the body had lain. There was a stone cast up—a wide hole. Oh, for a little light!

He let his forearm down into it; and his hand felt gold, both coinage and jewellery, which seemed to be contained in a strong coffer of iron or brass, of which the lid was open. Lying flat on his belly, with both arms in the hole, he long strove to lift that chest—by the lid, by the side—but it would not budge. Then he thought if he could only get his fingers under it he would have better purchase. He needed something thin yet strong to thrust beneath it as a prise.

“May Allah cut short his life!” he panted. “Who but a madman would have left our wealth thus exposed? By the Prophet, it is lucky that I alone was at hand to hear his last cry …. May his house be destroyed.”

“Peace to him,” he added as an afterthought, setting to work once more. He took a knife from his girdle, and managed so to force its stout blade under the treasure-box that his fingers could take hold. He tugged and strained, tendons cracking, sweat streaming from every pore. At last, after many failures, he raised it clear out of the hole and set it on the pavement. Praise to Allah!

Sitting back on his heels to recover breath he mopped his face with the lap of his robe. Mustafa was indeed a marvel of strength to have carried that burden with anything like secrecy from the house of Yuhanna hither. He turned the miracle over in his mind, seeking its human side. Of a sudden he recalled how the old man had spoken of the fountain as a place where he was used to hide trifles of price. The riddle was solved; there was no great wonder after all. The strong chest was the beggar’s own. He had brought the wealth of Yuhanna hither in a sack, or some vessel unlikely to raise suspicion. He had then uncovered the hole, opened the chest, and poured the treasure pell-mell upon its contents. This evening he had naturally wished to gaze upon his riches. And even as his eyes were glutted the angel of death had passed over him.

Saïd’s heart grew faint with rapture as he thought that here was more than all the treasure of the Christian. Allah alone knew what hoards Mustafa might have amassed during long years of begging and pilfering.

“Thanks be to Allah!” he murmured. “May Allah increase thy goods, O abu Mansûr!”

But the question was urgent—How to dispose of all this wealth for the time being? He dared not replace it, lest, when men came to remove the body of Mustafa, they should chance upon the loose slab and haply discover it. To bury it somewhere in the darkness and return with a sack in the early morning seemed a bright thought; but he could not regard it with perfect favour, knowing what mischievous devils lurk at night in lonesome places. A jinni might see him bury the chest and play some vile prank such as turning the gold to dross, or ashes, or salt, or freezing the ground above it to solid rock.

At last he resolved to take his fortune along with him in the pendant sack of his voluminous trousers. A weight down there would attract no notice, for it is the custom of all men to carry their marketings thus—their implements or whatever is cumbrous in the hand. He stood and pulled up his overrobe. Holding up the placket of his pantaloons, he took money and jewels by handfuls and dropped them in. Passing his hand along the bottom of the coffer to be sure it was quite empty, he found a small coin which he left for an alms or gleaning. He took a step to and fro to see how it felt. The treasure swung as a solid whole, bumping his ankles, his shins, and the calves of his legs. There was no clink or jingle to betray its nature. It was clumsy, very uncomfortable, but (praise to Allah!) quite safe.

He squatted to replace the chest and close the hole. The posture was restful, for while it lasted the pavement bore his burden. Then he rose, and, with a faint glance towards the carcase of Mustafa, moved gingerly away. But no sooner had he turned his back upon the dead than a panic got hold of him. He stumbled through the archway out into the whispering night as fast as the weight of his treasure would allow.

Weary and bruised all over, he sank within the threshold of Nûr’s dwelling, bumping against a small donkey, saddled and hung about with gaudy tassels, which stood there patiently with swishing tail. A lamp was burning on the floor of the inner room, and Saïd could see the vast bulk of Abu Khalìl seated beside the mistress in a languorous attitude. Nûr rose full of reproach on beholding the fisherman.

“Thou art returned, O my soul? What is this? Did I not counsel thee not to come nigh her for a while? Moreover, it is not safe for thee to be here. Search may perhaps be made; all wise men concerned in the riot sleep beyond the walls to-night. Our friend, Abu Khalìl, is come seeking news of his son, Camr-ud-dìn ….”

Peering into his face she broke off and cried,—

“How is Mustafa? Where is he? Speak!”

“O Nûr, Mustafa is dead!” murmured Saïd with a woeful shake of the head. And in truth his heart was near to breaking, for the treasure had barked the shins of both his legs, not to speak of ankles and the great weight to carry.

She screamed,—

“Just Allah! Hearest thou that, O Abu Khalìl?… O day of disaster! O evil day!… Where is he? Lead me to him! None but Nûr shall lay him out for burial!… Hearken, O Saïd—O son of his soul and heir of all his wealth! I will hire a goodly company of women to bewail him with beating of breasts and tearing of hair. Thou wilt not grudge the money, for thou art a rich man through his death …. Where is he? Lead me to him!”

Very mournfully Saïd told her that the body lay a long way off, in the chamber of a certain fountain among the gardens. He recounted the cry he had heard, the sudden silence, and his finding Mustafa dead in the black recess.

“Allah is just!” he said. “It were well if some men set out at once to fetch him hither, for I heard the voice of a jackal near to that place, and I would not have my father’s corpse a prey to unclean beasts. For myself, I am weary and broken with grief, I may not return thither. I am now a rich man, as thou sayest, the wealth of Mustafa being greater than any man supposed. Let the burial be according to thy desire.”

During the narrative Abu Khalìl had risen slowly from the couch and dragged his vast bulk to the door to listen. Hearing talk of the wealth of Mustafa, he appeared dazed, and exclaimed, “Ma sh’Allah!” under his breath. He strove to treat Saïd as the heir, with a deference which old habits of patronage made to sit awkwardly upon him. Nûr was suddenly inspired. She laid her hands wheedlingly on the shoulders of the fat taverner and, darting love into his eyes,—

“O my beloved,” she pleaded, “thou wilt go to the fountain of which Saïd speaks. Thou canst find a neighbour or two to go with thee: and thou wilt bring hither the body of Mustafa! Saïd, as thou seest, is broken with fatigue, else he would bear thee company. I shall be very grateful to thee, O my soul, and I shall await thee here …. Say not ‘Nay’!” she cried impetuously, discounting his scandalised stare by a pout and a girlish gesture. “I beseech thee, cross me not in this matter. He was a rich man, remember; and thou wilt not only oblige me, that am a woman and of no account, but also confer a favour upon Saïd Effendi, heir to all his wealth, who will henceforth rank with the great ones of Es-Shâm …. What sayest thou?”

Abu Khalìl, greatly perturbed, pushed his turban awry the better to scratch his head. He glanced furtively from Nûr to Saïd, and from Saïd back again to Nûr.

“Now, by Allah, this is no light thing you require of me. Nevertheless, since it is the case of an old friend … and to serve Saïd Effendi whom, I call Allah to witness, I have ever regarded as a favourite son … I say not that I will not go. For all that, it is a hard thing for an old man, the father of a family, to go out by night into the gardens where, as all men know, gipsies and other children of sin do abound; not to speak of those who are more than men—jin, I mean, and afærìt; and the uncleanness I shall incur, and the tedious purification to follow ….”

Saïd broke in coaxingly,—

“Be assured, O Abu Khalìl, O lord of kindness, thou shalt have a large reward; may Allah increase thy property!”

“Good. I go!”

Abu Khalìl shuffled to the place where the ass stood swishing its tail, and bestrode it so earnestly that he nearly fell over on the other side. Then, remembering that his steed was tethered, he leaned over its head to untie the rope. Nûr led the staggering beast up the steps and out into the alley, which the beams of a rising moon were beginning to silver.

“I will seek out Zeid the carpenter and Abbâs the Nubian who sells sweet stuff!” said the taverner, bowing his head to avoid contact with the lintel as he rode out. “Both are young men, strong and fearless. Both have donkeys belonging to them, so that we shall seem a goodly company riding together. Moreover, Abbâs has a rare whip he showed me yesterday, being a strip of the hide of a crocodile or other monster common in Masr where he bought it. By Allah, it is a fine thong! Two strokes of it would flay a dog …. In your grace!”

“With my peace. Allah guard thee in safety!” cried Saïd and Nûr in one breath as the doughty taverner ambled away in moonlight and shadow, thwacking his steed bravely on the hindmost part. The clip-clap of the donkey’s hoofs and its thousand mocking echoes soon died away.

Nûr stood in the doorway looking after him. She stepped forth into the street and listened towards the Christian quarter.

“The tumult still continues,” she said, returning. “It is thin now and feeble—the shadow of that I heard during the day. With the dawn it will revive; and so it will be for many days till every Nazarene is either slain or escaped far away. There is a redness of fire on the sky yonder, where all day long there was a cloud of smoke. They have slain Allah knows how many hundred Christians; and Mustafa is dead.

“My heart is very sad, O Saïd, light of my eyes! Hadst thou seen him as he was when first I knew him, thou wouldst grieve for the days of a man which are as steps hewn in the rock leading downward to a sepulchre. He was a fine man, I tell thee—straight as a Bedawi’s lance, strong and healthy even as thou art. As the breath of winter tears leaves from a mulberry-tree, so does the length of years strip the beauty and the majesty from a man. At last the tree falls and only the bitter wind remains …. Allah is greatest!”

Saïd groaned aloud,—

“Allah is merciful! But, by my beard, it was a cruel word thou spakest, that I must go sleep without the city. Only let me abide here and I swear I will not go near the girl to trouble her.”

“It cannot be,” said Nûr, firmly. “My house is thy house, and thou art ever welcome to that which is mine. But Abu Khalìl has heard a rumour that search is made secretly for the leaders in rebellion. It is true, what I told thee, that no wise man sleeps within the city this night. To-morrow, in the day-time, thou mayst show thyself without fear; the slaves of power will then be fast within doors for terror of their lives. I will care for the girl and order all things seemly for the burial of Mustafa. Go quickly, with my peace!”

Saïd, who, for all his freedom of address, stood greatly in awe of the old woman, rose grumbling from the floor, and, holding up the pouch of his trousers like a sack, stumbled up the steps into the moonshine. His nether limbs were very sore and stiff with bruises. In walking he was careful to keep his feet wide apart. He cut such a queer figure, seen from behind, that Nûr called after him to know what ailed him.

“I am happy—in the extremity of good health!” he cried back with affected cheerfulness. “I did but trip over a stone as I ran hither. My knees are somewhat bruised from the fall.”

“Stay, O my eyes, and let me rub them with a salve!” she cried again with seduction; for, contrasting his gait with the tones of his voice, she knew that he lied.

“May thy wealth increase!—there is no need,” he answered, striving to quicken his step.

From a rhythmic bellying of the skirt of his long robe, as well as from the manner of his going, Nûr made a shrewd guess at the nature of his embarrassment.

“He walks like a she-goat whose udders are over-full,” she thought, laughing to herself; “there is something heavy and cumbersome in the sack of his trousers.”

That he was loth to linger or speak of the matter afforded her more light.

“By the Coràn, it is the treasure of Mustafa he carries thus for safety, lest one should rob him of it! He would not trust me so much as to let me know, and he bears his punishment along with him. Allah is just!”

And in the midst of her grief for the old beggar she chuckled most heartily out there in the moonlight, pointing the finger of scorn after him with keen and friendly relish of his avarice.

XXVIII

That was a ghastly night for Saïd—a night full of strange faces, of awful whisperings, and of the shadow of death. His first thought on leaving the city was to find some shelter where he might sleep within call of his fellow-men. To that end he sought the coffee-house of Rashìd, thinking to find a welcome there now that he was again on cordial terms with Selìm. But as he went, in the tremulous shadow of the trees and the moonlight between, he grew more and more afraid, until the bump of the treasure against his shins and the patter of his own footsteps were separate terrors.

It was almost within hail of the tavern, in the gloom of some apricot-trees, that he blundered upon something soft, yet tight, like a body or a full waterskin. He drew back aghast. A shapeless mass rose before him with a horrid groan. Catching up the sack of his trousers he ran for dear life. Far from allaying his terrors the lowing of a cow at his back lashed him to fresh exertions. He knew it for the angry voice of a jinni cursing him.

For hours he fled on by shadowy ways, pursued by a host of devils. Foul shapes flitted and danced behind him; dread hands were stretched out to stay him and clutch his treasure; a flapping of huge wings filled the welkin. Pale faces he had seen in death that day grinned at him from the ground, from the sky, from the gloom of the trees. Even the dwellings of men—a sleeping village half-seen between the trunks, flat-roofed hovels and pleasure-houses bosomed in foliage—were sinister, the abode of unknown fears. Fiends rollicked over the whole earth. The vista of his life was packed with them—a gruesome throng. From his youth up he had been their sport. In the hour of his prosperity, whenever wealth had seemed within his grasp, they had appeared to balk him. His flight from his native town, the loss of his donkey, the robbery which had deprived him of the price of his horse—he saw plainly the cause of all his misfortunes. Then, as now, he had been the butt of evil spirits.

Of a sudden it occurred to him that the whole night was a procession of ghastly, pallid shapes, moving silently as one man. It seemed that he had a moment’s insight into the hidden mysteries of earth, that this gliding march of a vast, fiendish army, unsuspected of men, had been going on ever since the world began, and would continue unbroken till the Last Day. The horror of it was not new to him. He had experienced it before many times, but could not remember when or under what circumstances.

Was not Abdullah himself an evil spirit? And the soldier who had lifted his donkey—was he not an afrìt in disguise. There was no doubt of it now as he recalled their faces.

In his despair he thought lovingly of Hasneh. Why—oh, why had he cast her off? To his fevered brain she seemed desirable as on the day when he had first beheld her, a young girl, at play with other maidens on the seashore. He would have given the half of this treasure which was killing him for a touch of her hand, for the sound of her voice.

Once he stood still in an open place. He had a mind to lighten his
trousers by flinging all his wealth upon the ground. It was for that
the hordes of darkness were tormenting him. He cried aloud that all
of them might know his purpose, and bade them swear a solemn oath
that they would let him go in peace. But there came no answer; only
a jackal’s cry out of the distance, ending in three short yaps. It
rang derisive—very like a laugh. At that Saïd grew dogged. Since not
a jinni of them all would swear, it was their look-out and he would
keep the treasure. For two seconds he felt courageous and knew that
there were trees about him rustling peacefully in the moonlight.

Fear breathed hot on him again and he ran, a hideous whisper in his ears. The balm of the silky Eastern night had no sweetness for him. Shifting the sack of his trousers from aching hand to hand, striving to keep his mind intent upon the name of Allah, he fled on. The trees thinned about him; the gardens gave place to vineyards; the vineyards thinned in their turn with spaces of waste land between; the wide plain rolled out before him with soft undulations to some low hills on the horizon floating in pale haze. The boundless silence throbbed in his ears like the pulse of a living creature. The plain whitened in the moonshine. Here and there, as the ground waved, there were ribs of velvet gloom. A lonely tree, a peasant’s hovel, a dark patch of cultivated land, a square-built khan, a knoll, a jutting boulder—the least object was distinct with a black shadow on the smooth-rolling expanse.

With a clear view all round him and no shades to irk his fancy, Saïd’s panic subsided to a holy awe and he slackened his pace. He was very weary, the weight of his wealth seeming more than he could bear. The howl of a wakeful dog was wafted to him from the distance. In the quarter whence it came black specks were discernible upon a rising ground. It was an encampment of Bedawin or gipsies, Saïd supposed, and instinctively turned his face thitherward. But care for his treasure and the fear of marauders prevented him, and he held straight on.

There was already a bite of dawn in the air when he came to a large khan, square-built and frowning like a fort, and caught the welcome tinkle and stamp of beasts in a stable. There was a well before the gate, watched by a great sycamore-tree. The door was open. Saïd stole among the beasts in the yard and found a snug nook amid a pile of bales. With a sigh of contentment he curled himself up and fell fast asleep.

He dreamed.

It was the last day, or he was newly dead; he knew not which. He was lying spellbound in a place of tombs. Mustafa lay not far from him with a great stone at his head. Veiled women flitted to and fro like phantoms. He knew without looking that Hasneh was among them, and his soul yearned after her. On either side the stone stood an angel, black and shadowy, with a mace in his hand. There was a balance between them, hanging in the air, and they were weighing the works of Mustafa. All that was good went into the one scale and all that was evil into the other. The faces of the examiners were set and moody, as those of men who watch a grave issue. Ever and anon they beat the old man’s head with their maces, so that he shrieked frightfully. Saïd sweated cold with fear lest Mustafa should lose Paradise, and also for his own turn, which was to come.

“This soul is lost, O brother,” said one, gravely. “Thy scale kicks the beam, though each deed placed there counts two of what is placed in mine. Allah is just!”

The other was thoughtful for a space. All at once his stern face brightened. A glory like moonlight emanated from it, flooding all the plain.

“See!” he cried, pointing towards the city. “There is blood—blood of the heathen!—blood of unbelievers!—blood of the enemies of our Master! There is a great pool of it, and it is counted to him for righteousness!”

At that Saïd waxed faint with relief. Hasneh bent over him and peace dropped from her like a precious ointment. The vision faded. There was sweet music of bells—a caravan passing in the distance. With a deep sigh he awoke to a deafening clangour of real camel-bells and the pungent reek of a stable.

It was quite dark and a little chilly. But the khan was astir, and through the gate he could see a white eye of dawn opening over the edge of the desert. Men with lanterns moved sleepily among the beasts. A group of camels were being laden with black millstones, each of which it took four men to lift and hold in position, while a fifth lashed it fast with a strong rope. The task was enlivened by a chant panted in cadence, invoking the help of a holy dervìsh long since in Paradise.

Another and more numerous train of camels had just arrived. They were laden with sacks of corn and seemed to have been journeying all night, for the drivers were stiff and surly. With them was a woman of wretched appearance, who stood timidly in the gate, trying to dispose her tattered veil so as to conceal her face.

A bare-legged hostler threw a coarse jest at her in passing. An idler pinched her arm and tore aside her veil, vowing he was sick for love of her. But a sturdy old man, one of the camel-drivers with whom she had come, interfered. He pushed her insulter away roughly, saying that she was a good woman and none should vex her while he was by.

In the hope of a quarrel, Saïd stole forward among the beasts and merchandise, careful to lift the sack of his trousers above contact with any of the coils of rope, halters and saddles which cumbered the ground. The other camel-drivers stopped work and gathered about the disputants. But the aggressor was a coward, or he thought the woman not worth a fight, for he slunk off, muttering that he knew not she belonged to any man there. Her champion contented himself with nodding his head after him and explaining pithily, in a long growl, how he would have punished obstinacy. Their forms moved black in the gateway; beyond them was the grey dawn upon the plain.

“The woman is thine, O sheykh?” asked one who stood by with a lantern.

“No, by Allah!” answered the champion, with a shade of defiance; “but I hold her as a dear daughter. When I cut my foot upon a stone in the neighbourhood of Mazarìb and thought to die for loss of blood, she used me tenderly and rent her veil that my wound might be softly bandaged. No, she is not my woman, but was given into my care by the men of Beyt Ammeh beside Nablûs. There is a strange story belonging to her.”

At the name of Beyt Ammeh, Saïd pricked up his ears. Observing the form of the woman narrowly, his heart leapt so that it became a lump in his throat.

“The story, O sheykh! Deign to tell us the story!” urged the bystanders. Unnoticed, Saïd joined the press about the narrator.

“Know that this woman had a husband, a fisherman, whose name was Saïd. He set out on a journey to Damashc-ush-Shâm, the woman with him. In a lonely pass of the mountains between Beyt Ammeh and the sea he met a man called Farûn riding on a camel, asleep. Then Saïd, being a joker, picked up a stone from the path and flung it at Farûn so that he fell to the ground. And as he lay there, stunned and bleeding, Saïd took all the money that he had and beat him somewhat with a stick, and so left him.

“Saïd went on his way rejoicing until he came to the village of Beyt Ammeh. There, his woman being faint, he entered the house of a certain fellah, who took pity on her and let her lie on his own bed. After that, as they sat smoking and conversing, the lord of the house questioned Saïd, saying, ‘Didst meet in thy road hither one riding on a camel? Behold, my brother, Farûn by name, is gone this day to the coast with a load.’ Then Saïd—a clever fellow, by Allah!—answered thoughtfully, ‘Yes, it is true; I met such an one. I found him by the road in a sad plight. His blood was upon the stones of the path. He had been robbed and almost killed by wicked men. I stayed a little to bind his wounds, and gave him money—all that I had. I caught his camel and set him upon it. Then I blessed him and came on hither.’

“At that the lord of the house praised and exalted Saïd above all the sons of Adam. He besought him to abide there several days. But Saïd, pretending that his brother was dead in Damashc-ush-Shâm, said that he must hasten to claim the inheritance. Nevertheless, since his woman was sick, he entreated that kind man to take care of her until she should recover her strength. The lord of the house agreed gladly, and when he had given Saïd to eat and drink, he blessed him and let him go. He paid great honour to the woman for the sake of the mercy shown by her husband to Farûn, his brother. But after two days Farûn returned, and then, as you may guess, his mind was changed. All the men of Beyt Ammeh cursed that clever joker who, having first robbed and beaten Farûn, had then left his sick woman to the care of Farûn’s brother. They kept her for two months, making her the common drudge of all, supposing that Saïd would return or send to fetch her, when they would have slain him or his messengers as the case might be. But he was too clever for that. By Allah, he is a devil! He had no care for this woman, for it seems she is barren.

“So at last, weary of her sighs and weeping, they delivered her over to us as we passed through their village, telling us her story and giving us a little money to take her to Es-Shâm. They charged us, if ever we should meet with Saïd the Fisherman, to slay him without ado for the affront put upon their village. But I admire the rogue. He is a famous joker—what say you?… By my beard, he is a devil!”

In the midst of the laughter at his cleverness, Saïd pushed through the group and confronted the woman. “Welcome, and thrice welcome, O Hasneh!” he cried. “Praise be to Allah, thou art alive and in health! My heart has been very sad for thee all this long time. I am rejoiced to find thee once again, O my soul!”

Throwing up her arms, with a shrill cry, she fell on his neck and wept.

“It is Saïd the Fisherman!”—“Saïd the Joker!”—“Saïd the Devil!” “How came he hither?” was whispered in tones of awe; as who should say, It is His Majesty the Sultàn—His Excellency the Basha. Men pressed forward to touch but the hem of his robe, to get but a glimpse of his face; so that Saïd began to fear lest the fulness and weight of his trousers should be remarked. He saluted the company, and circling Hasneh with his arm, led her out into the brisk air of the dawning.

At the angle of the wall which looks towards the desert they sat down on their heels side by side. He told of the awful night he had just passed, and she listened, with patient eyes devouring him.

“I am rich, O my beloved!” he cried, plucking at a dew-drenched thistle. “I will buy a fine house where we shall dwell together. Thou shalt rule over a numerous harìm. I have a sweet girl—a beauty!—the daughter of a Christian pig who is slain. She shall be thy handmaid to do thy bidding. Let us abide here to-day, for while the tumult continues there is neither buying nor selling in the city ….”

He paused, thoughtful, remembering the burial of Mustafa and his duty to be present. But reflecting that men would suppose him with the slayers, and excuse him for the cause of the Faith, his brow cleared directly and he continued,—

“To-morrow, or the next day, we will return thither, when thou shalt help me to choose a grand house, and shalt see the girl Ferideh of whom I spake. She is sweet, I tell thee—a perfect pearl. But thou art mistress of my fancy—that is understood. Now, in the name of Allah relieve me of some part of this treasure which bruises my legs and impedes my going.”

The prospect seemed very bright to Hasneh. She ceased to grieve that her veil was torn. Gladly she opened the bosom of her robe and bestowed the half of their riches in the pouch she wore there. The transfer made, Saïd rose and took a turn to enjoy his novel lightness. The well and the sycamore-tree grew rosy, casting long blue shadows. The wide plain was barred and flecked with pink.

“O Saïd, dost thou remember the fig-tree and our house among the sandhills by the sea?” murmured Hasneh; and then, with a blissful sigh, her eyelids closed against the sun’s first ray, “Allah is Merciful!”

END OF PART I

NOTES TO PART I

TIME TABLE

A. D. Year
of the
Hejra
(Lunar)

622 (16th of July) The flight of Muhammed the
Prophet from
Mecca to Medina —

1831 Ibrahìm Pasha, adopted son of
the Khedive Mehemed Ali,
conquers Syria. Battle of Konia 1256–7

1831–1840 A time of great prosperity for all
classes, Christians and Moslems
alike, under an enlightened
government —

1840 Syria signed back to the Sultàn
at Conference of London —

1858 Bombardment of Jedda by the
French as a punishment for
the massacre there 1275

1860 (March-April) Saïd leaves his native town, his
house and his fig-tree by the
seashore —

1860 (June) The Maronites attack the Drûz and
are slaughtered all over Lebanon 1277

1860 (June-July) Great massacre of Damascus 1277

1860 (September) Execution of Ahmed Pasha, Wâly of
Damascus, for culpable incompetence
shown during the massacre 1278