“Oh you whose portion it shall be to broil everlastingly, and to eat thistles and thorns, and to lie bound in red-hot chains as I lie in this cage! Have you brought me out into the desert to die of thirst like a lame camel? Surely your entertainment on the day of judgment shall be boiling water and the fruit of Al Zakkam, and whenever you try to get out of hell you shall be dragged back again and beaten with iron clubs, and your skin shall dissolve, and the boiling water shall be poured upon your head!”
In this way the captive cried out, for he was very thirsty. But when Khaled saw that no one gave him water he called in the darkness to the women who sat by their tent.
“Fetch water and give the man to drink,” he said.
One of the women rose quickly and filled a jar at the well close by, and took it to the cage. But then the railing and cursing broke out afresh, so that Khaled wondered what had happened.
“Who has sent me this unbelieving woman to torture me with thirst?” cried the prisoner. “Are you not Aziz whom I was about to take for my fourth wife on account of your red hair? But your hair shall be a perpetual flame hereafter, burning the bones of your head, and your flesh shall be white with heat as iron in a forge. If I were still in my kingdom you should eat many sticks! If Allah delivers me from my enemies I will cause your skin to be embroidered with gold for a trapping to my horse!”
The moon rose at this time, being a little past the full, and Khaled looked towards the cage and saw that the woman was standing two paces away from the Sultan’s outstretched hand. She dabbled in the cool water with her fingers so that a plashing sound was heard, and then drank herself, and scattered afterwards a few drops in the face of the thirsty captive.
“It is good water,” she said. “It is cold.”
Khaled knew from her broken speech that it was Almasta, and he understood that she was torturing the prisoner with the sound and sight of the water, and with her words. So he rose from his place and went to the cage.
“Did I not tell you to give him drink?” he asked, standing before the woman.
“Oh my lord, be merciful,” cried the captive, when he saw that Khaled himself was there. “Be merciful and let me drink, for your heart is easily moved to pity, and by an act of charity you shall hereafter sit in the shade of the tree Sedrat and drink forever of the wine of paradise.”
“I do not desire wine,” said Khaled. “But you shall certainly not thirst. Give him the jar,” he said to Almasta. But she shook her head.
“He is bad and ugly,” she said. “If he does not drink, he will die.”
Then Khaled put out his hand to take the jar of water, but Almasta threw it violently to the ground, and it broke to pieces. Thereupon the captive began again to rail and curse at Almasta and to implore Khaled with many blessings.
“You shall drink, for I will bring water myself,” said Khaled. He went back to his tent and took his own jar to the well, and filled it carefully.
When he turned he saw that Almasta was running from his tent towards the cage, with a drawn sword in her hand. He then ran also, and being very swift of foot, he overtook her just as she thrust at the Sultan through the bars. But the sword caught in the folds of the soft carpet, and Khaled took it from her hand, and thrust her down so that she fell upon her knees. Then he gave the prisoner the jar with the water that remained in it, for some had been spilt as he ran.
“Who has given you the right to kill my captives?” he asked of Almasta.
“Kill me, then!” she cried.
“Indeed, if you were not so valuable, I would cut off your head,” Khaled answered. “Why do you wish me to kill you?”
“I hate him,” she said, pointing to the captive who was drinking like a thirsty camel.
“That is no reason why I should kill you. Go back to the tents.”
But Almasta laid her hand on the sword he held and tried to bring it to her own throat.
“This is a strange woman,” said Khaled. “Why do you wish to die? You shall go to Riad and be the Sultan’s wife.”
“No, no!” she cried. “Kill me! Not him, not him!”
“Of whom do you speak?”
“Him!” she answered, again pointing to the prisoner. “Is he not the Sultan?”
Khaled laughed aloud, for he saw that she had supposed she was to be taken to Riad to be made the wife of the Sultan of Shammar. Indeed, the other women had told her so, to anger her.
“Not this man,” he said, endeavouring to make her understand. “There is another Sultan at Riad. The Sultan of Shammar is one, the Sultan of Nejed another.”
“You?” she asked, suddenly springing up. “With you?”
The moon was bright and Khaled saw that her eyes gleamed like stars and her face grew warm, and when she took his hands her own were cold.
“No, not I,” he answered. “I am not the Sultan.”
But her face became grey in the moonlight, and
