“Neither with thine eyes hast thou seen, nor with thine heart hast thou loved.”—Arabic Proverb.
Zarah the Cruel leaned back in her ivory chair, staring unseeingly at the men she ruled. She frowned and stretched her arms and played with the crystal knobs until her jewelled fingers looked like the claws of some great cat, whilst the men glanced at each other as they watched the movement which, they knew, heralded the conception of some new idea or plan in the girl’s masterly, unscrupulous brain.
She had reigned for a year in her father’s stead, and the tales of her cruelty, her infamy and treachery had spread from Damascus to Hadramut, from Oman to the Red Sea. In the days of her father the wealthy only had been in danger of the gang’s predatory attacks; the humbler caravan had been certain of a safe journey and a sure arrival at its destination; the needy, just as sure of help in money or in kind from the man who quietened his conscience by robbing the one to assist the other, whilst keeping the best part of the spoil for himself and his men.
His daughter attacked all and sundry, and as much for the love of the fight as in the hope of gain, meting out dire punishment to those who fought to the last, and, if taken prisoner, lacked deep enough purse or strong enough sinew to pay or work their way back to freedom.
With the exception of Yussuf the men obeyed her and literally fought for the place of honour at her right hand when she led them to the attack.
The whole Peninsula rang with the tales of the mysterious, beautiful woman of the desert. Women used her name as a bogy with which to frighten their children, men looked[80] at each other before they spoke of their affairs and then said but little. Her spies were everywhere, from Damascus to Cairo, from Jiddah to Bagdad, watching the movements and learning the whereabouts of wealthy people. The cities made great effort to discover the channels through which the almost legendary woman gained her information, sending out spy to counter spy, with the result that some were found in the holes and corners of the Bazaars at dawn, knifed through the back, and others, who had been sent to find out the lay of the land round and about the Sanctuary, buried up to their necks in the sands, dead, with the letter Z cut upon their foreheads.
With a view to spreading reports of her beauty, her riches, and her power, she allowed some of the prisoners to return to their homes without payment of ransom; others disappeared leaving no trace, whilst many, wholeheartedly, threw in their lot with the band, working as grooms to the horses and dogs, as tenders to the cattle, as servants or labourers, marrying the women who looked after the comforts of the strange community; all of them happy in a freedom they could not have realized elsewhere, yet terror-stricken by their mistress, who ordered the severest punishments for the most trifling mistake.
Built in terraces as had been the ancient monastery, the servants’ quarters stretched up the eastern side of the mountains, hidden by the jutting wall of rock from the western side where Zarah lived, alone. The walls of the monastery remained, but the interior of the buildings had been changed out of all recognition. Where once her father had lived, with his friend Yussuf, in all the simplicity of those who belong to the desert, the girl lived in barbaric luxury, the presence of Yussuf the only cloud upon what seemed otherwise to be a clear horizon.
Of love she would have none.
Those who had succumbed to the tales of her beauty,[81] her wealth and her power, and who were willing to risk much through greed, sent emissaries, laden with many gifts, to negotiate for her hand in marriage. They would be met far out in the desert, and, blindfolded, led across the quicksands and into the presence of the mysterious woman. She received them right royally, fêted them, laughed at them in secret, and sent them back to their masters, with her own gifts added to those she had rejected.
She did not attempt to conquer her love for Ralph Trenchard; she did not want to; she hugged close the pain it caused her pride, and had sent spies to Egypt in an endeavour to trace him. A report came that he had landed at Port Said. After that, silence.
She was thinking of him as she lay back in the chair watching the men, gathered at her command, in the Hall of Judgment. Upon the first of every three months she called a council, with the object of making plans for the months succeeding. Those of the men who could, hurried from every part of the Peninsula to the gathering. A week of festival invariably followed the great day, during which sports were held and much wine drunk, in direct disobedience to the law laid down by Mohammed, the Prophet of Allah the one and only God. Those of the men who could not attend, and who were mostly those who had failed in the task set them, sent in reports of their work by safe messenger.
The spy who had reported the arrival of Ralph Trenchard at Port Said had not appeared in person, nor sent in further report, so that Zarah sat a prey to a great anger, which increased every moment under the goad of suspense and uncertainty, and craved for a victim upon which to vent herself.
The business of the hour, with its reports and reprimands, suggestions, punishments and rewards, had been concluded, and the men waited, eager to draw out a programme for the week of festival; they looked at their[82] despotic ruler, raised above them on a dais, as she lay back in her chair sullenly regarding them out of half-closed eyes; they murmured amongst themselves but, under the spell of her beauty, murmured only.
She made an arresting Eastern picture outlined against an enormous fan of peacocks’ feathers, which spread on each side and above her. It glowed vividly against the south wall of the hall, which had been covered in Byzantine gold leaf, outlined by an arabesque design carved out in rough lumps of turquoise matrix, agate, jasper, onyx, and different coloured marble.
Seven jewelled lamps, hanging above her head by golden chains, were reflected in the polished surface of the huge dais hewn out of one great block of black granite, up which she ascended by seven steps carved to represent seven crouching lions.
Skins of wild beasts were thrown upon a mosaic floor which replaced the rough stones laid down by the Holy Fathers. It had been set by skilled Italian workmen, taken prisoners as they returned from Bagdad, where they had been sent to set the famous mosaic floor in the house of the Eastern potentate, who is almost as famous as his flooring.
The Italians had won back their freedom by promising to outrival the beauty of this floor in Bagdad, and, having fulfilled the promise, had returned, laden with gifts and well content, to their own country. The pillars of palm trees had been removed and replaced by others of stone, inlaid roughly with uncut turquoise matrix, jasper and agate, which reflected the light of the jewelled lamps hanging from the roof. The flat roof, which the dead Sheikh had considered good enough as a covering, had been removed and replaced by another, vaulted, painted the colour of the night sky and powdered with silvery stars. It showed misty, this night, above the smoke of torches held above their heads by thirty prisoners who stood upon the stools once used as seats by the Holy[83] Fathers, pushed back against the walls hung with curtains of purple velvet.
Informed that one movement meant instant death, prisoners awaiting sentence would be ordered to hold lighted torches above their heads whilst the Arabian girl sat discussing the events of the day or merely idling away time watching the men wrestling or gambling, in which last pastime she frequently joined.
Men meant nothing to her, but her overwhelming vanity caused her to change her raiment many times a day and to smother herself in jewels.
This night her slender limbs showed through voluminous trousers made of some semi-transparent material, woven by her women slaves, and caught at the ankles by bands of gold inlaid with precious stones; her body, save for breast-plates blazing in jewels, was bare, and showed like white satin in the light of the torches and the lamps above her head; her hands glittered with precious stones, her arms were bare, and a broad gold band set in diamonds bound her head, confining the thick, red curls.
She sat alone, furious, tortured, her sandalled feet upon an ivory footstool, her strange eyes flashing from one side of the hall to the other in an endeavour to find an outlet for her wrath.
She scrutinized the twenty men and ten women of Damascus who had been captured on their way to Bagdad with a precious load of steel weapons, and smiled as she glanced from their leader, a fine old man with white hair and beard and flowing robes, to the girl, his granddaughter, at his side, and on to the young men and women who had gained a world-wide reputation through their work of inlaying steel with gold.
With the fear of death, the one for the other, they had stood throughout the whole evening, motionless, save when slaves replaced the burnt-out torches; but a shiver swept them, and a smile of satisfaction lit the faces of the men[84] in the body of the hall when the old man swayed, then crashed to the ground with a cry.
Zarah sat upright, her eyes gleaming, her jewels flashing, whilst the men looked from her to the prostrate man and back.
“Get up!” she cried, too intent upon her enjoyment of the moment to notice that her enemy Yussuf had entered the hall, standing, a menacing figure, against the wall. “Get up!” she repeated, “lest I give orders to have thee thrown from the rocks so that thou standest for eternity upon thy head in the quicksands.”
A shout of laughter rang out at the words, and ceased as Zarah sprang up, white with rage.
The old man’s granddaughter, flinging her torch to the far end of the hall, where it fell at Yussuf’s feet, sprang to the floor and, kneeling, gathered the old man into her arms.
“He shall not be touched! He shall not be touched!” she cried, looking fearlessly up at Zarah, who stood at the edge of the dais, looking down. “Shameless art thou, woman, in thy cruelty! Shameless in thy nakedness! Shameless in all thy ways! If this old man, my father’s father, be thrown from the rocks, then thou must throw me also, for naught but death shall unclasp my arms from about him. Nay! thou shalt not touch him, thou shalt not, I say.”
She bent down over the old man as Zarah ran down the steps and caught her by the shoulder. The men gathered in a circle round the two women, watching the one who shook with rage and the other who looked up fearlessly, strong in her protecting love.
“Seize them, all of them!” commanded Zarah, “and——” She stopped dead and looked towards the door, through which a man came, running at full speed. Zarah turned and, mounting the steps, sat down in the ivory chair, holding up her hand until silence reigned.
“Hither,” she said curtly, and watched the spy, who[85] had reported upon Ralph Trenchard’s doings, with no gentle look in her eyes as he hastened across the floor.
“’Tis well indeed, O my brother, that thou hasteneth thy feet at last. Perchance the delights of the great city prevented thee from keeping the hour of council to which thou wast summoned.”
The man flung himself upon his knees before the dais, then sprang to his feet.
“Thy servant tarried so as to bring good news.”
“Good news! ’Tis indeed well for thee that the news is good. Speak!”
“The white man with a scar upon his forehead is even now upon his way—here!”
“Here!”
“Yea! Here! He crosses the water in the company of another man, white, but of great age. They travel, O my mistress, they travel, O my brethren, in search of the miraculous water which, so ’tis said, is hidden in the heart of certain mountains in the Red Desert.”
Laughter rang out, in which Zarah joined, the sweet sound mingling with the men’s deep voices as they shouted grim suggestions and coarse pleasantries the one to the other.
Zarah leant forward, her eyes gleaming.
“They come alone, the two white men, in search of this miraculous water?”
“Nay, O mistress! They travel in a good company of men and camels, led by a woman——”
“Led by a woman! O my brethren, is there one of thee in need of a wife or yet another wife?”
Ribald laughter and obscene jest followed close upon her question.
“What is she like? this woman who dares lead men and camels across the empty desert.”
“She is as the heavens at sunrise when the light wraps the world in softest colouring. Her eyes are the blue of the night in which shines the morning star, her mouth[86] as the sun-kissed pomegranate, her teeth as shimmering pearls. Her hair! The houris which wait in paradise to reward the faithful have not such hair as she. It is as the web of the spider gilded by the sunlight, as the corn glowing in the noonday sun, and, in its waywardness, twineth about the heart of men as a child’s fingers about the mother’s breast.”
The men secretly touched each other as they watched the effect of the man’s words upon the woman who ruled them with no gentle hand. Thrones built upon a foundation of consideration towards others are rocky enough at any time, but there is absolutely no security for the monarch who uses his sceptre as a stick with which to drive his subjects.
Zarah sat back in her chair, too primitive in her love to try to hide the jealousy which consumed her.
“Who is she and what position does she hold in the expedition?”
“She rules men, O mistress, and is the granddaughter of the aged one.”
“His name?”
“It taketh a twisted tongue, O mistress, to pronounce it. I have essayed and failed. He is a great Sheikh from Inglistan, the land where, ’tis said, the heavens drop water without ceasing. His men are well armed; his camels, over which devil-possessed animal the white man with a scar has a strange control, are of the best; his men content, and averse to speech with strangers. They have started; a great caravan awaits them at the port of Jiddah; I hastened by swiftest camel to bring thee the news.”
Zarah sat silent for a moment, then called the names of six of her most trusted and unscrupulous followers, and sharply ordered the hall to be cleared for the space of one hour.
“And the Damascenes, mistress?” asked Al-Asad, who had mounted the dais at his mistress’s call and stood,[87] gigantic, powerful, behind her, ready to do her bidding.
Zarah frowned.
Jealousy might torture, but hope and an abnormal vanity lay as balm upon the wounds. She had no time for the trivial occupation of finding a punishment befitting the crime of the prisoners. She had called her six most trusted servants with a view to making plans for the capture of the entire party, headed by the beautiful woman with the unpronounceable name.
Time pressed.
Let her but make a prisoner of the white man who had held her in his arms, subject him to her wiles, her beauty, and surround him with all the evidence of her great wealth, then what would she have to fear of any woman where love was concerned!
“Al-Asad!”
He knelt and touched her foot.
“They beg their freedom, those thirty fools. Their freedom they shall have! Lead them safely over the path, then whip them out into the desert to find their way back across the road by which they came. The desert is free to all—to man as well as to beasts of prey and carrion birds. They have asked for liberty and naught else; bid them begone with empty hands.”
But there was no fear in the heart of the girl who had leapt to aid the old man when he fell; she ran forward to the very foot of the dais and called down curses upon the woman above her, cursed her until the hall rang with the terrible words and the superstitious men drew back in fear.
“ ... and thou shalt be driven into the desert, O woman without heart,” she ended, “and death shall find thee bereft of power and love. Thou shalt leave thy beauty to the jackals and the scorpions shall nest in thine eyes and thy hair.” A speck of foam appeared at the corners of her mouth as she prophesied with the vision of the East. “I see thee pursuing, I see thee pursued, I see dogs upon[88] thy track, and one, whose light cometh from within to lighten his darkness, hard upon thy heels, hunting thee. I——”
She laughed shrilly, pointing at Zarah, who made a quick movement of the hand. Al-Asad sprang down and, seizing the girl by the throat, hurled her backwards, whilst the rest of the prisoners, with hope eternal to spur them, ran from one to the other, until at last, with the girl and the old man in the centre, they marched boldly from the hall, with the gigantic half-caste harrying them in the rear.
Whispered words fell upon the ears of Almana, the gentle Damascene, as she paused to allow those in front to pass through the door out into the night. She turned for a moment and looked up into Yussuf’s blinded face as he stood near her in the shadows.
“Put thy trust in Allah and hasten not. Journey westward and stop and wait. He will save thee and thine.”
He had caught the sound of the girl’s voice as she passed, encouraging the old man, and risked his life to tell her of the help that awaits those who put their trust in a higher power.
She whispered her thanks as she passed on, and in such wise did love come to Yussuf, the blind, and Almana, the Damascene.
Zarah sat in council with all her men; the women and children and servants slept, so that there were no eyes to watch, nor ears to hear Yussuf as he passed silently amongst the rocks to the paddock where the camels were herded at night, hobbled or tied to posts to prevent them from fighting, as is the custom of the brutes when together in great numbers.
He passed his hands over the animals, choosing three, then crossed to a shed in which were piled the “ghakeet” and “shedad” the saddles used for riding or baggage[89] camels, with water skins and sacks of dates, the emergency rations required by an Arab for a sudden journey.
Surely Allah, the one and only God, watched over him and listened to his prayers when, later, he walked unhesitatingly across the narrow path of rock, leading the first of three beasts, which followed, grumbling and snarling, but obediently, from fear, and guided them by the sound of voices to the Damascenes.
Almana ran to meet him when he rode towards them out of the night, and led him to her grandfather, who rose and blessed him.
“Come with us, my son, for surely yon place in the mountains is the dwelling-place of devils. Come with us to Damascus.”
“I will come one day when my task is accomplished, and that will be in the time appointed, O father,” replied Yussuf, raising his head and turning towards the East as the wind of dawn swept his face.
The Damascenes lifted their voices in prayer, calling down blessings upon him as he mounted his camel and rode away into the glory of the sunrise.
“How sad,” Almana whispered to her grandfather as they watched him moving swiftly towards the mountains, and “His Eyes” who rode to meet him. “How sad that he should be blind.”
“He is not blind, my daughter,” replied the old man, as he laid his hand upon her head. “There are those who see by the light of the soul, and, verily, our protector is numbered among them.”