“at the close of night the cries are heard.”—arabic proverb.
yussuf, with his back against the door of ralph trenchard’s hut, lifted his face to the star-bestrewn sky.
he waited.
he waited for the striking of his hour of revenge, which had been fixed by fate in the beginning of time; he waited imperturbably for allah, in his compassion and wisdom, to remove the nubian, who sat cross-legged and contemplative and to all appearances absolutely unmovable by his side.
al-asad sat leaning slightly forward, looking into the shadows with dreamy, half-shut eyes, then turned his head and listened as though, above the distant noise of the men’s shouting and laughter, some sound had reached his ears.
“camels!” he said softly. “camels going out. methought our brothers were having their fill of wrestling?”
yussuf also had heard the sound of a dromedary grunting its disapproval as it made the steep ascent, but no sign of his inner perturbation showed on his placid, mutilated face.
“zarah the merciless makes ready for the white man’s journey into the desert to-morrow. our brethren of the stables even now revile her shadow, for instead of loading the dromedaries with water skins and provender, they would try their strength against bowlegs, who, in his vanity, swears by the wind that no man can excel him in the games taught by the white man.”
[274]
al-asad laughed scornfully as he rose to his feet, swallowing the bait which hung from the line fate dangled in front of him for his removal.
“bowlegs!” he spoke in infinite scorn as he pulled himself up to his full height, and laughed again as he caused the muscle to ripple up and down his arms. “’twere well to show the little man with legs even as round as thy turban that there is one who can spike him upon his finger. thinkest thou, yussuf, that the white maid will lose her golden covering at the rising of the sun? ’twere a pity to my mind to mutilate such beauty in a woman, even if she be sent to the slave market to ease the tiger-cat’s jealousy.”
yussuf pulled at his hubble-bubble, making no sign of his longing to accelerate his companion’s departure.
“methinks the beautiful zarah spoke in haste and in anger. perchance she is tired of her white playthings and yearns for a master.”
“thinkest thou, who hast learned much wisdom in thy blindness, that she will come to love me?” al-asad asked eagerly.
“yea! she loves thee even now. thou art her real mate. the great tiger-cats mate with one another, my son, and were it not wise to stay here, for fear that thou art bested by bowlegs, and that the news of thy defeat is carried to her.”
he showed no sign of his intense satisfaction when the nubian, primed with a desire to reduce bowlegs to shreds, ran, laughing, down the path.
strong in the fatalism of the east, yussuf sat on, pulling calmly at his hubble-bubble, waiting for the striking of his hour, and made no answer to a slight hissing sound which came from behind the rocks. instead, he rose slowly and pushed open the door of the hut, and, with the oriental’s love of elaborate detail where intrigue is concerned, shouted at ralph trenchard:
“thou infidel, thou white dog, sleepest thou? hast[275] thou no bowels of compassion for the white woman? dost thou leave her here to work as a slave, without an ache in thy heart of stone?”
ralph trenchard sprang up and crossed the hut quickly at the blind man’s beckoning finger.
“‘mine eyes’ waits without to lead you by the hidden path to where the dromedaries stand,” yussuf whispered. “nay, speak not, tarry not, there is little time to spare. the dromedaries must be but specks upon the horizon when the men cease their games to seek their slumber.”
trenchard wrapped himself in the burnous yussuf offered him and followed him to the door, where they stood for a moment in the shadows, listening to the shouts of the men, which came startlingly clear on the night air.
“bowlegs fights with the lion,” whispered yussuf. “now is the moment chosen by allah for the escape. ‘mine eyes’ will lead you to the dromedaries, and i will go to fetch her excellency, to carry her over the dangerous places and down the steep path to where love and happiness will await her.”
“but if the arabian does not sleep? how then?”
“then must you go to her and break her neck to save your own woman. what is she, this daughter of two races? we tire of her. if she dies he who will govern in her stead will be chosen by the casting of lots. hasten, excellency, for we know not at what hour the medicine of sleep was administered unto the tiger-cat. also do the women, who hate the white woman and who are the yeast wherewith this trouble has been fermented, rise early to be about the business of the new day.”
trenchard, wrapped in the burnous, followed yussuf as he made his way without hesitation to the spot where “his eyes” sat in the shadows.
yussuf whispered the dumb youth’s name and questioned him, and nodded his head in satisfaction when the youth, in the code they had invented, tapped the answers to the questions upon his friend’s arm.
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“all is ready, excellency.” yussuf spoke as calmly as if he discussed a pleasure trip to the nearest oasis. “namlah waits at the edge of the sands of death. the camels are well laden with water and bread for many days. they are the swiftest in arabia, renowned from hadramut to oman. bred in oman, they will need no drink for ten days if there is none to spare. namlah accompanies you, and——”
“and you, yussuf? you’re coming with us; we can’t leave you behind to face the racket. you have got to come. ‘your eyes’ can’t let his mother go without him.”
yussuf smiled and shook his head and laid his hand upon the dumb youth’s shoulder, who also smiled and shook his head.
“excellency, not for ten thousand golden lira would i be away from the camp when the tiger-cat learns of the flight. a piece of news for you, white man, who comprehends not the guile of this woman of mixed blood. did you think she had tired of you? nay! by the beard she loves you even a hundred times more for your refusal of her love. she sends you to hareek after the rising of the sun, only to follow you and to beguile you in the solitude of the red desert. there is no leech that clings so close to its victim as a woman to the one she loves but who does not return that love. there is no trick she will not descend to, no lie she will not utter, no promise she will not make, with no intent to keep, to gain her end. this is the commencement of my revenge—the end, excellency, will be the death of her who blinded me. i have waited for this revenge these many years, even from the moment when the sun faded from my sight. i and ‘mine eyes’ will follow you, and if we do not overtake you by the noon, then place yourself in namlah’s keeping. she is of the desert born.” he raised his right hand and turned his sightless face to the skies. “may allah guide you, and keep you, and bring you to everlasting peace.”
trenchard stood for a moment to watch the blind man[277] make his almost miraculous way through the rocks which skirted the west end of the plateau, then turned and followed the dumb youth, who smiled and nodded his head in his delight at the trick which was being played upon the arabian. and namlah rose from where she sat in the shadows thrown by three dromedaries hobbled at the commencement of the hidden path across the quicksands, and pressed her hand against her forehead in humble salutation and smiled up at her son, and laughed softly in the delight she also felt at the way the beautiful zarah was being duped. within the hour she might have to give her life in her fight for the liberty she had lost some many years back when captured in the desert, or she might lose it in saving that of the white woman she had grown to love; but with all the oriental’s fatalism, she had resigned herself to liberty or to recapture, to life or death. allah had decided the result in the womb of time.
kismet!
yussuf’s eyes pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, then bent and touched ralph trenchard’s foot as a sign that he was willing to serve the white man to the end, whilst namlah, smiling all over her homely face, translated the gestures the dumb boy made as he tried to make trenchard understand.
“he says, excellency, that before the sun is above our heads at noon he will have guided the blind one to you upon the path we shall have made across the desert. he loves you for your gentleness and strength, o man of the great white race, and prays you to succour yussuf if aught should befall him before he reaches the great city of damascus, which is his home and my home.”
trenchard raised his right hand and made his oath after the manner of the arabs.
“before my god, who is thy god, i swear to make myself responsible for the comfort, welfare and happiness of the three who have so befriended me and mine. i swear[278] that my descendants, unto the farthest generation, shall befriend thy descendants, so that in some small way i shall pay my debt of gratitude.” he smiled down at the enraptured little woman. “let us sit awhile whilst we wait. come, namlah, tell me of the life thou wilt lead in damascus with thy people.”
the stillness of the night was broken by the grumbling of the dromedaries, the distant shouts of the men, and the body-woman’s whispered words as she told him of the house she would buy or rent in the bazaar, with rugs upon the floor and many brass pots and pans of her own, filled with milk and butter from her own kine.
“ ... and when her excellency returns to arabia, then will namlah wait upon her,” she said, smiling at the thought, being sure, with the fatalist’s conviction, of a happy ending to the flight. “then will her golden hair once more glisten like the silk in the sun which makes of the bazaar a paradise.” she paused for a moment as she drew out a packet wrapped in a cloth. “we have gifts which perchance his excellency in his goodness will allow his humble servants to present to the sit upon her marriage as a token of the gratitude the servants have in their hearts for the gentleness of the white people.”
trenchard took the packet, removed the cloth, and looked at the exquisite golden kerchief.
“by jove! what a beautiful thing,” he exclaimed.
namlah smiled and nodded her sleek head at his genuine admiration.
“it is woven of her excellency’s hair!”
“helen’s hair!” he turned to yussuf’s eyes as the youth pressed something hard and heavy into his hands, speaking by gesture, which his mother translated.
his fine teeth gleamed and his beautiful eyes flashed as he watched trenchard remove the wrapping from the heavy object.
“however did you get this?” trenchard cried, as he[279] delightedly turned his own automatic over in his hand and released the full clip.
“the mistress, and may allah guide a bullet to her black heart, commanded the patriarch, who is the oldest amongst us and possessed of a very devil of gaming, to guard the weapon of death for your departure, excellency. the old one, bereft of his last piastre and of the very qamis from about his shrunken old body, did lose the weapon in a bet to my son when you did wrestle with and overthrow the nubian.”
trenchard tried to express his delight at the gifts, upon which, with all the arab’s genuine and world-famed hospitality, the two natives offered him all they possessed.
“my son,” whispered namlah, “will live with me in the bazaar, yea! and with us will sojourn yussuf, his friend. the blind one will sit peacefully in the sun until he find a wife to take pity upon him, whilst ‘his eyes,’ even my son, will sell the steel of damascus inlaid with gold to the faithful and to the infidel. our home will be humble, o white man, but our food and our drink, our raiment and our couch, will be for you and her excellency if your excellencies should see fit to honour our humble dwelling and i——” she stopped suddenly and held up her hand as she listened to the sound of a dog barking.
it barked angrily, at which sound the little woman shook her head.
“verily, ’tis a dog!” she whispered. “when the blind one shall have carried her excellency safely by the steep and dangerous path, which is midway between here and where zarah the merciless sleeps, then will he bark thrice, and in all the kennels there is not one who can say if it be a dog which barks or yussuf. methinks, he is over long upon the road.” she clasped her hands together upon her faithful heart. “has mischance befallen them? does your excellency think that mischance causeth him to tarry thus?”
[280]
mischance did not cause yussuf to tarry. seated in the shadows beneath the window through which namlah had spied upon the arabian and al-asad, he waited calmly for the moment of his revenge.
there was utter silence and stillness inside the building. no sound of voice or movement gave yussuf any indication as to what had taken place in the last hour, neither in his blindness had he any means by which to find out if the arabian slept or if she lay awake upon the divan watching the stars through the doorway.
he sat as immovable as the fate to which, as an arab, he was resigned, and he made no movement when zarah’s mocking laugh suddenly broke the silence.
helen sat on the floor with her back against the wall, the light from the lamp shining on the golden curls which were to be shaven on the morrow.
a shaven crown!
the hindoo widow! the vision of bald pate seen in the mirror ’twixt the curtains of the hair-dresser’s cubicle! the asvogel sitting disconsolately on its perch in the zoological gardens.
she shivered as the pictures flashed across her mind.
zarah, lying like a tiger behind the golden bars of her elevated bed, laughed when helen suddenly clasped her head in uncontrollable horror, twisting her fingers in her curls, and she laughed again when the white girl sprang to her feet and stood looking up with the world of rebellion in her eyes.
“do you remember my vision, helen, dear school-friend?” she said mockingly in arabic, “when i saw you in the dust at my feet and the white man coming towards me? verily will you be in the dust to-morrow, and so covered therewith that my children will walk upon you and cleanse their feet and sandals upon your raiment. you fool!” she slid her feet over the edge and stood[281] upright upon the fourth step, straight, slender and very beautiful; then, balancing herself upon her precarious foothold with outstretched arms, descended slowly and walked to where helen stood against the wall. she laughed as she looked at helen’s golden curls.
“i hate you, helen r-r-aynor-r. i hated you the first time i say you in cairo, when you tried to show your superior breeding to the contemptible half-caste.”
“i did not.”
“you, whose grandfather was of a caste of water carriers, whilst my father’s fathers dwelt in the shadow of the great pharaohs and my mother at the court of spain. the white man shall see you with your shaven crown; then, when the picture of your bald head is set for eternity in his mind, so that, waking or sleeping, he will laugh at the thought of you, i will ride out to meet him in the desert, to sit with him under the moon, to talk with him until dawn, to sing to him until his eyes close in dreams of my beauty. you fool, to pit yourself against me!”
helen smiled as she looked at the arabian from head to foot. she was sick with fear of the morrow, and sick with disappointment at the absence of all sign of help, but she smiled with the indomitable spirit of the splendid race from which she sprang. she took no notice of zarah when she stretched herself upon a divan in a corner of the room, nor of the body-women when they passed her, laughing derisively and making signs of contempt with their expressive fingers. she watched them descend the steps, and involuntarily listened to the jokes they bandied amongst themselves about the ceremony of shaving, which would take place at the waking of their mistress at the rising of the sun; then sat down with her back to the wall, hoping against hope for a sound or a sight of namlah or yussuf.
as there could be no doubt as to zarah’s intention of carrying out her threat, the situation was desperate; and the help promised seemed so vague, hanging upon the[282] chance that the arabian would ask for sherbet or coffee before she went to sleep—if she went to sleep.
she was just as capable of staying awake the whole night, smoking her naghileh or countless cigarettes without touching food or coffee, as she was of sleeping, without stirring, until dawn.
and if she called for coffee and drank it, drugged, and slept, what then?
what could namlah, a humble slave, do, even if she connived with yussuf, to further their escape?
“bring me sherbet instantly!”
yussuf made no movement as the words came to him through the window. helen’s heart beat heavily as she prayed for help in her hour of great need.
“now, god, help me now,” she whispered, as she rose slowly and crossed the room to the corner where she prepared the drinks or messes of sweetmeats the arabian consumed frequently in the night. with her back to her tormentor she pulled the flask which contained the drug from inside her belt and unscrewed the tight-fitting top, and with steady hand dropped ten drops into the golden goblet which zarah loved on account of its barbaric jewelled stem.
“in the name of allah, was a snail included in your parentage, or are your fingers as heavy as your wits? you will fetch but a poor price with your clumsiness and shaven crown. hasten, or by the prophet’s beard i will lower your price still further by marking your shoulders with the whip.”
helen slowly crossed the room, carrying the tray with the goblet, filled to the brim with sweet, frothing drink, and offered it to the arabian, who sat up suddenly, making a quick, savage gesture with both her hands.
“do you think such arrogance suits a slave? kneel!”
the prisoner’s fate trembled in the balance as for one brief second helen, consumed with a desire to fling the goblet in the beautiful, mocking face, grasped its jewelled[283] stem; then, remembering that the victorious or disastrous ending of the attempt to escape depended entirely upon her, she knelt and, stirring the sherbet with an ivory spoon, offered the tray on uplifted hands.
to keep her kneeling zarah drank slowly, whilst helen half closed her eyes under the agony of her suspense. there was no sign in her face of her terror when, with but a drain to drink, zarah sniffed at the goblet, scowled and flung it to the farther end of the room, thereby drinking one drop too little of the drug.
“have you not yet learned how to mix so simple a drink as this?” she raved, inelegantly wiping her beautiful mouth with the back of her hand. “were it not that my women taste all that you touch and replace all you have touched every hour, and likewise that none but my women approach you or have speech with you, i would swear by the prophet that you had put something in my cup. bring me coffee, hot and strong, in the big bowl. hasten, lest i summon the black women to teach you the real meaning of speed.”
helen’s heart sank.
she had no idea of the potency of the drug or the time required for it to take effect, but she knew the stimulating effect black coffee had on the arabian, and how, once she had drunk a bowlful of it, she would pass a sleepless night, reading or smoking or roaming about the camp, paying surprise visits to the kennels and her people’s quarters.
she spent long precious minutes in fanning the brazier, which burned brightly behind a screen, casting fleeting glances towards the divan to see if the arabian showed any sign of somnolence.
zarah sat cross-legged, looking through the doorway at the stars, and showing as much sign of sleep as an angry cat. she turned and frowned at helen when she clattered various brass pots and pans, making a great to-do, so as to waste still more precious moments over[284] the intricate process of brewing the sickly, sweet arabian coffee.
“bring the coffee!” zarah shouted suddenly, swinging her feet to the floor and half rising from the cushions.
helen placed the brass pot, the porcelain bowl, and a smaller bowl of scented water upon the silver tray, looked over her shoulder at the arabian and caught her breath.
zarah yawned, widely, heavily.
the whole future depended upon the next five minutes—her future, the future of the man she loved.
another few moments and zarah the cruel might be asleep. yet what excuse could she make for wasting those precious moments? everything was ready on the tray; it would take but a moment to cross the floor, and another five, perhaps ten, for the strong, hot, black coffee to be drunk and to react against the drug, and then farewell to all hope of escape.
“must i come and fetch it myself?”
helen moved forward, carrying the tray. zarah glared at her, and yawned until it seemed her scarlet mouth could not bear the strain.
“the coffee,” she said slowly, and rubbed her eyes, just as helen, with a sharp cry, twisted her foot sideways, pretended to recover her footing, and let fall the tray and its contents with a loud clatter to the floor.
zarah sprang to her feet with a shout of rage which ended in a yawn, staggered forward a step or two, swung sideways and fell back across the divan, where she lay peacefully, sound asleep.
helen lay perfectly still, so as not to attract the arabian’s attention in any way; then, assured that she slept soundly, gathered herself up and stole across to the divan.
“oh, yussuf, if you were only here!” she said as she stood looking down at the sleeping girl, wondering what step she should take next; then turned to look out at the night sky.
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outlined against the sky, yussuf stood in the doorway.
she ran to him and touched his arm, whereupon he smiled as best he could for the distortion of his mouth and put his hands to his forehead, lips and heart.
“she sleeps, yussuf, soundly. i gave her ten drops!”
helen whispered the words, though she might have safely shouted them aloud for all the effect they would have had on zarah.
“does she lie at ease, excellency? if not, stretch her forth as though she passed the night in natural sleep. let nothing cause her fret and thereby hasten her waking.”
helen crossed to the divan and looked down at the merciless girl who had no pity for man or beast. she lay full length in the exquisite raiment she had worn for the tournament, her face half hidden in her arm, smiling like a child in her sleep. helen watched her for a moment, then drew a satin coverlet over the arabian’s feet, glanced round the room, moved slowly round the walls blowing out the lamps which hung from silver sconces, and returned to yussuf.
“i will carry your excellency down the steep unused path, for fear that some of those who wrestle with each other might see you. come! i will lead you to where your lover waits, even i, blind yussuf.”
helen put her hand in his and looked back at the woman who had tried her best to humble her to the dust and failed. she touched her curls and smiled involuntarily at the thought that neither the daily round of menial tasks nor the threat of death had frightened her as had the threat to shave her head.
“i shall never be able to thank you, yussuf,” she said, as he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the broad ledge upon which the holy fathers had built the dwelling-place.
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“put your arms about my neck, excellency, for in times of stress must custom and thought of race vanish. i will hold you on my left arm; my right hand knoweth every jutting rock, my feet every stone upon this path. shut your eyes, excellency, for they say that one with vision would not dare to tread this road. we must hasten, for who knows if the tiger-cat will not waken ’neath the urging of her hate-filled mind? your arm about my neck and your heart full of courage until the waning of the morning star, when you and your lover will be far upon the road to freedom and happiness.”
helen did not shut her eyes, and until the end of her life she never forgot the descent.
certain of every inch of the path, rendered as sure-footed as a goat through the blindness which had uprooted the dread spectre of fear from his mind, feeling with his feet, clinging with his hand, climbing, scrambling, dropping safely upon the narrowest foothold, yussuf carried helen safely by the hidden and almost unnegotiable path to where the dromedaries lay in the shadows.
just once he stopped to give the pre-arranged signal.
“the sit, excellency,” he said briefly, as trenchard sprang towards him and took helen into his arms.
“helen! my beloved! you at last!”
he let her slip to her feet and crushed her up against his heart whilst the arabs busied themselves with the camels’ packs.
“dearest,” whispered helen, as she lifted her radiant face to his, “i began to think i should never see you again.”
“we must hasten, excellencies. life stretches before you full of hours of happiness; these moments are fraught with danger. ‘mine eyes’ and i will follow you or not, as wills allah, the one and only god of mercy and compassion. i will lead her excellency’s camel across the hidden path, ‘mine eyes’ will lead yours, your excellency;[287] namlah, desert born, will ride her own, wilt thou not, sister?”
namlah laughed softly.
she was helping her son to tighten knots and to fasten the loads upon the camels’ backs still more securely.
“yea, brother, that will i. i would cross the desert on foot to escape from the claws of the tiger-cat. all is ready, excellency. a water-skin each, and much bread and many luscious dates, coffee and the wherewithal to make many cups. a tent for the noonday heat. to the north-east, and then due north, his excellency says, and may allah guide our feet and thy feet, o blind brother, to liberty and peace!”
trenchard and helen made one last effort to induce yussuf and “his eyes” to join them.
“now’s your chance, yussuf. it seems so much like running away to leave you to face the row by yourself.”
“come with us, yussuf.” helen laid her hand on the blind man’s arm as she spoke. “you and ‘your eyes.’” she laid her other hand on the dumb youth’s arm, standing linked to them in a friendship that was to endure a lifetime.
“excellencies,” replied yussuf, “before allah i would rather pass my life in prison than miss the tiger-cat’s rage when she finds you gone. behold, the calmness of the white people when in the midst of danger has won our hearts and will pass as history down the generations. not by word or sign have you shown fear or anger, thereby, with the mercy of allah, winning your way to freedom. nor,” he added with a smile, “do the white people waste overmuch time in rejoicing or protestations of affection.”
“have a little patience, yussuf,” said helen, as she righted herself after having swayed backwards and forwards and bent this way and that in answer to the movement of the camel as it lurched to its feet with considerable lamentation and sounds of wrath. “wait until we[288] come out to damascus to visit you, then we will all rejoice together, won’t we, ra?”
“rather!” said ralph trenchard, as he leant over and took helen’s hand and kissed it, then let it go as yussuf led her camel forward, having found his direction by turning his face to the night wind as he touched the spear.
“not a word, excellencies,” he said when the three camels stood in a line upon the narrow path, upon each side of which lay a terrible death. “the wind plays strange tricks with sound from this spot, carrying at times the spoken word from the quicksands to the rocks, which increase it a hundredfold, until the camp is filled with whispering. allah grant that the dogs do not bark and waken the tiger-cat until dawn, and that my brothers cease not their games until i am seated once more without the empty hut.”
helen turned and smiled at her lover, and leant sideways and waved her hand to the devoted body-woman, who, in her placidity, looked as though she were embarking upon a picnic instead of a dash for liberty across the desert. the mountains towered behind them, grim and menacing, the desert stretched, silvery and peaceful under the stars, the quicksands lay on each side of their hidden path, still and treacherous.
yussuf walked ahead, leading helen’s camel, “his eyes” followed, namlah came last, looking as must have looked ruth or naomi or any other woman of the scriptures.
the great beasts, as they stepped off the hidden path on to the safety of the desert sands, were urged into line with namlah between helen and her lover.
“namlah will ride three paces in front, excellency,” said yussuf. “ride at fullest speed until the first ray of the sun breaks through the clouds of night, keeping the great star behind the right shoulder; then guide yourself by the sun as i have instructed you, and may allah have you and yours in his keeping. i and ‘mine eyes’[289] will overtake you if it is the will of allah, whose prophet is mohammed.”
the camels moved forward slowly; then, gathering speed, sped across the desert.
yussuf and “his eyes” waited at the beginning of the path until the faint sound made by the beasts’ huge feet upon the sand died away altogether, then turned and, yussuf leading, retraced their steps across the hidden path.
“allah guide them, little brother, for behold, my heart is soft towards those white people of great courage. go thou and pit thy strength against that of the half-caste lion, so that his suspicions are not aroused, whilst i sit here to await the awakening of zarah the beautiful.”
he sat cross-legged before the door of the empty hut, from which, if he had had eyes, he could have seen the tombs of the holy fathers. he sat calmly, patiently, resigned to fate, until, as the sky lightened way down in the east, a dog, then another, and then a many began to bark.
they barked without ceasing, whilst the grooms stirred in their sleep and the voices and laughter of the men died down as they stopped to listen to the noise.
knowing that the barking of dogs never failed to waken zarah, yussuf raised his sightless face to the heavens and offered a prayer of thanksgiving.
the hour of his revenge was at hand.
