“This is not the bishop’s square.”—Arabic Proverb. Abdul removed the locust from his bowl, laid it on one side with three of its brethren for future consumption, and looked at Ralph Trenchard, who sat, eating his evening meal, some yards away. Then he wet his finger and held it up, frowned, looked across the red sand ridges and over to the scene of the disastrous battle, and shook his head.
“Bad!” he said, removing yet another locust from his shoulder. “Bad locust, bad wind from the east, bad omen of death.” He spread his fingers against the power of dead bones and, a victim of superstition, twisted himself round from north to south as he sat. “All bad for the beginning of a second journey into this bad desert.”
He placed an iron plate, spread with camel fat, to heat upon the top of the up-to-date brazier, which was the joy of his life, spread a thin layer of dough made of durra upon it, and whilst waiting for it to brown, prepared the five large, dark locusts for frying, praying inwardly that his master would reject the succulent savoury.
“Five!” he commented, as he salted the insects and rolled them up in the thin, buttered cake. “Praise be to Allah that we have one good omen. A?! Six, nay, seven.” He plucked two more from his skirts, and, fearful of finding the eighth, which would bring the ill-luck of an even number, ran swiftly across to his master with his offering.
For two reasons Ralph Trenchard turned the savoury over with his fork. He had just finished an excellently[151] cooked meal of a highly spiced variety of the ubiquitous samh broth, and as highly spiced and as excellently cooked partridge, and a handful of dates; also had he become extremely suspicious of any fresh addition to the larder and of any new culinary effort on the part of his servant.
He refused the crisp, well-browned roll at first, then, thinking it only kind to reward the man for his devotion, bit off an end and finished the lot.
“Topping, Abdul! I’ll have one every day. What’s it made of?”
Abdul hid his hands in his sleeves as he lied with the ease which comes from long practice.
“Little bits of meat and fat and vegetables fried in butter, Excellency. The servant is rewarded by the light of pleasure in his master’s eye.”
Ralph Trenchard rose and shook himself.
“We’d better be starting, Abdul,” he said, flicking a locust from his sleeve. “The journey of a day and the journey of a night, that means the journey of two nights as we cannot travel in the sun, and then—and then I shall know, I shall be certain. And look here, my friend, don’t you go cooking any of these disgusting beasts and serving them up as fried dates or something.”
He plucked one of the disgusting beasts from his shirt sleeve and flung it away, then looked at his servant, who stood motionless, a cloud of despondency dimming the habitually merry countenance.
“Well? And what’s the matter now? Have the camels stampeded or the water-skins burst?”
Abdul suddenly knelt and touched the ground with his forehead.
“Give ear unto thy servant, O master! Hasten not the journey, linger yet one more night and yet one more day. The omens are not propitious for the starting. We are surrounded by death, by the bones of our brethren. The east blows the wind from her mouth and from the[152] north comes a puff of breath, so that the wind will blow slantwise towards the west and the south.”
“Well? Why not? As long as it doesn’t blow straight from the south like a furnace, I should say that we ought to be jolly well pleased.”
Abdul gathered three locusts from the ground, stored them surreptitiously in his voluminous sleeve, and rose to his feet, then walked close up to Ralph Trenchard, salaamed, and clasped his hands in fervent beseeching.
“These few disgusting beasts, O Excellency, are the forerunners, maybe, of a great storm of many disgusting beasts, which in time of stress or famine are thankfully eaten by the Arab and the camel. If the wind were otherwise set, Excellency, if it were but the locust wind from the east unto the west, then would I cry haste, haste, so that we should pass on and leave the storm behind. But, Excellency, the puff of breath from the north will cause the disgusting beasts to follow us even southwards, so that we are like to drown in a sea of crawling, disgusting beasts, or to flee before them into the heart of the bad desert, there to be fallen upon by the evil spirits which dwell therein. Excellency, the omens are bad. The locust is bad, the wind is bad, likewise the bones, and”—he paused to allow the dread of the last and worst omen to sink thoroughly into the white man’s mind—“and the servant’s camel has pulled the amulet of good luck from about the neck of the master’s camel and”—followed another pause for the same good purpose—“has eaten it!”
Ralph Trenchard laughed heartily, being one of the thrice blessed few who are absolutely free from the faintest trace of superstition, the greatest curse of modern days.
“Look here, Abdul.” He put his hand on the faithful man’s shoulder and turned him in the direction of the south. “Not so very far ahead, in an almost straight line from here, is the range of mountains in which the woman Zarah dwells....” Abdul spat with vindictive vigour in a southward direction. “That woman has[153] knowledge of her Excellency, who is to be my wife....” Abdul, remembering the holy man’s statement about her Excellency’s health, spread his fingers westward in the direction of the bones glistening on the battlefield. “And if you think locusts or bones or amulet-eating camels can prevent me from starting when I said we would start, and that is in an hour’s time, then are you thrice mistaken....” Abdul pushed one of the disgusting beasts, afflicted with an inclination to stray, back into his sleeve. “And I should advise you, my son, to heave those thoughts out of your mind or you’ll have us wading up to our necks in locusts, or the bones getting up and following us, or the camels bursting from an overdose of good luck. Besides, remember your prophecy about the holy man, who, you said, was a bad holy man. He hasn’t brought us bad luck so far. You were mistaken, and you were, and you are, afraid and....”
There was a limit to Abdul’s capacity for holding his tongue. He made finger gestures towards the four quarters of the globe, then shook his fist in the direction where lay the Bedouin camp which they had left behind many days ago.
“Mistaken! O master! Mistaken! Why did the holy man run, run like the ostrich, so that the marks of his holy feet showed hardly upon the soft sand? Why did I, thy servant, find the footmarks of a camel far out in the desert just where the feet of the holy man made no more marks upon the sand?”
“I expect someone was waiting to give him a lift, Abdul.”
“Then why not lift him to the gate of the Bedouin camp, O my master?”
Ralph Trenchard took his servant by the shoulder and turned him in the direction where lay the camels.
“I expect he didn’t want the others to know that he was living in the lap of luxury, my son. Go and eat, because I am coming to overhaul everything and see that[154] all is shipshape before we start on the last bit of the journey, at the end of which this uncertainty will be lifted from me.”
In spite of its pleasantry, Abdul recognized the one tone in his master’s voice which always caused him to obey with alacrity.
He salaamed and departed to do his master’s bidding, gathering a good sleeveful of locusts as he went, and sat, making finger gestures towards the east and returning thanks to Allah for the tasty addition to the meal, while the disgusting beasts browned nicely upon the iron plate spread with camel fat.
But a few hours later he turned in his saddle, then raised his hands to the heavens, which showed black as with thunder towards the east.
“May Allah burn them with the fire of His wrath! May His right hand crush the life from them! May He speak words of anger so that they are swept from the white man’s path.”
From his seat upon the first of seven camels he looked at Ralph Trenchard, who rode at his side, and back along the six beasts which, fastened muzzle to scrimpy tail by rope, had leisurely followed each other up and down the great ridges, whilst the menacing cloud spread rapidly across the sky.
Ralph Trenchard turned and looked back.
“I am sorry I have been the cause of your getting into this frightful danger, Abdul,” he said quietly. “Still, I have been in tighter corners than this and won out, so we won’t despair. You see, the swarm may pass well over our heads as there is nothing green for it to settle on within miles. Besides, if we had stayed where we were it would have been the same thing. We haven’t got so very far from the camp. Still, I’m sorry, and I....”
The rest of the sentence was jerked from him as his camel stumbled to its knees, half rose, fell, and with an[155] infuriated scream got to its feet with the curious back jump exclusive to a fallen camel. They proceeded in silence for almost a quarter of a mile, when there came a shout from Abdul which was lost in a chorus of shrieks and groans and lamentations from the string, as the middle camel crashed, pulling its brother behind to its knees by the rope attached to its halter, and its sister in front to a sitting position by the rope attached to her skimpy tail, until at last the seven beasts sprawled upon the ground.
Ralph Trenchard followed Abdul’s pointing finger. Lost in his thoughts and without looking at the ground over which he travelled, he had passed up and down the ridges which were soon to end in a great flat space. He looked down now, and shuddered at the sight. A thin layer of brown and crawling locusts lay upon the sands as far as eye could see—a t............