“Because I thinkest that thou goest to thy death tomorrow I have brought thee aside to speak with thee.”
“What can be done about it now?” asked Blake.
“Thou art passing fair with thy lance,” she said, “and it is still not too late to change thy selection of weapons. I beg thee to do so.”
“You care?” he asked. There can be a world of meaning in two words.
The girl’s eyes dropped for an instant and then flashed up to his and there was a touch of hauteur in them. “I am the daughter of the Prince of Nimmr,” she said. “I care for the humblest of my father’s subjects.”
“I guess that will hold you for a while, Sir James,” thought Blake, but to the girl he said nothing, only smiled.
Presently she stamped her foot. “Thou hast an impudent smile, sirrah!” she exclaimed angrily. “Meliketh it not. Then thou art too forward with the daughter of a prince.”
“I merely asked you if you cared whether I was killed. Even a cat could ask that.”
“And I replied. Why then didst thou smile?”
“Because your eyes had answered me before your lips had spoken and I knew that your eyes had told the truth.”
Again she stamped her foot angrily. “Thou art indeed a forward boor,” she exclaimed. “I shall not remain to be insulted further.”
Her head held high she turned and walked haughtily away to rejoin the other party.
Blake stepped quickly after her. “Tomorrow,” he whispered, “I meet Sir Malud with sword and buckler. With your favor upon my helm I could overthrow the best sword in Nimmr.”
The Princess Guinalda did not deign to acknowledge that she had heard his words as she walked on to join the others clustered about Sir Malud.
XII
“Tomorrow Thou Diest!”
There was a great celebration in the village of Batando the chief the night that Ulala returned. A goat was killed and many chickens, and there were fruit and cassava bread and native beer in plenty for all. There was music, too, and dancing. With all of which it was morning before they sought their sleeping mats, with the result that it was after noon the following day before Fejjuan had an opportunity to speak of serious matters with Batando.
When finally he sought him out he found the old chief squatting in the shade before his hut, slightly the worse for the orgy of the preceding night.
“I have come to talk with you, Batando,” he said, “of the desert people.”
Batando grunted. His head ached.
“Yesterday you said that you would lead them to the entrance to the forbidden valley,” said Fejjuan. “You mean, then, that you will not fight them?”
“We shall not have to fight them if we lead them to the entrance to the forbidden valley,” replied Batando.
“You speak in riddles,” said Fejjuan.
“Listen, Ulala,” replied the old chief. “In childhood you were stolen from your people and taken from your country. Being young, there were many things you did not know and there are others that you have forgotten.
“It is not difficult to enter the forbidden valley, especially from the north. Every Galla knows how to find the northern pass through the mountains or the tunnel beyond the great cross that marks the southern entrance. There are only these two ways in—every Galla knows them; but every Galla also knows that there is no way out of the forbidden valley.”
“What do you mean, Batando?” demanded Fejjuan. “If there are two ways in, there must be two ways out.”
“No—there is no way out,” insisted the chief. “As far back as goes the memory of man or the tales of our fathers and our fathers’ fathers it is known that many men have entered the forbidden valley, and it is also known that no man has ever come out of it.”
“And why have they not come out?”
Batando shook his head. “Who knows?” he asked. “We cannot even guess their fate.”
“What sort of people inhabit the valley?” asked Fejjuan.
“Not even that is known. No man has seen them and returned to tell. Some say they are the spirits of the dead, others that the valley is peopled by leopards; but no one knows.
“Go therefore, Ulala, and tell the chief of the desert people that we will lead him to the entrance to the valley. If we do this we shall not have to fight him and his people, nor shall we ever again be bothered by them,” and Batando laughed at his little joke.
“Will you send guides back with me to lead the Bedauwy to the valley?” asked Fejjuan.
“No,” replied the chief. “Tell them we shall come in three days. In the meantime I shall gather together many warriors from other villages, for I do not trust the desert people. Thus we shall conduct them through our country. Explain this to their chief and also that in payment he must release to us all the Galla slaves he has with him—before he enters the valley.”
“That Ibn Jad will not do,” said Fejjuan.
“Perhaps, when he sees himself surrounded by Galla warriors, he will be glad to do even more,” replied Batando.
And so Fejjuan, the Galla slave, returned to his masters and reported all that Batando had told him to report.
Ibn Jad at first refused to give up his slaves, but when Fejjuan had convinced him that under no other terms would Batando lead him to the entrance to the valley, and that his refusal to liberate the slaves would invite the hostile attentions of the Gallas, he finally consented; but in the back of his mind was the thought that before his promise was consummated he might find an opportunity to evade it.
Only one regret had Fejjuan in betraying the Beduins, and that was caused by his liking for Ateja, but being a fatalist he was consoled by the conviction that whatever was to be, would be, regardless of what he might do.
And as Ibn Jad waited and Batando gathered his black warriors from far
