He urged the horse forward; but the old man still kept hold of the bridle, and the steed knew his master. His hesitation, and the misgiving which showed a little through his brave mask, had taken something from his prestige with the onlookers. They closed in upon him, clamouring for justice. It was a lonely place; in all the darkness there was no friend. He began to be afraid.
“At least the saddlebags are mine,” cried the sheykh, setting to work to free them.
“Fruit and bread and coffee are worth money, O my uncle! even without syrup of roses and the narghileh,” said the master of the khan in tones of blandest remonstrance. As he spoke his face was very near to Saïd’s, and its expression was terribly at variance with the suavity of his utterance.
All who stood by looked meaningly at one another. “By Allah, the right is with him!” they exclaimed, “All this is worth money. It is just that he be paid for it.”
Saïd moved uneasily in his seat.
“Take thy saddlebags, old madman!” he cried. “What are they to me? As for thee, dog, thou mayst count thyself happy if I send thee not to prison. I saw thee whisper to the sheykh here, and knew that thou wast warning him to be gone quickly with his horse. Thou art no true subject of the Sultàn. If I spare thy life it is payment enough.”
At that there was a great outcry from all the group. They beset him angrily with intent to drag him from the saddle. Saïd felt deadly sick. Only the thought that he was a high officer of the Sultàn’s army upheld him. Rough hands were already laid upon him, when he shouted “Praise be to Allah!” very fervently, with joy in his voice. They all drew back in surprise.
“Make haste, Ahmed!—Mustafa!—Muhammed! I, your leader, am assailed by robbers. Hassan and Ali, ride fast! Let Negìb, whose horse is lame, take charge of the captured beasts! I, Saïd Agha, am in peril of my life!”
Turning to the terrified innkeeper and his friends, he said shortly—
“Dogs, count yourselves dead! Hear ye not the sound of hoof-beats?” And digging the sharp corners of the iron stirrups deep into the flanks of the horse he galloped away into the night. The last he saw of his assailants, they were standing huddled together, like silly sheep, half-dead with fright.
X
It was evening when Saïd at last came in sight of the great city. He reined in his horse on the brow of a steep hill, the last wave of the bare brown highlands through which his way had lain all day. Hard by was a little shrine, the crescent fiery above its dome. The sun was just setting among the dark peaks behind him, and the last gleam of day was warm upon the shrine and all the hilltop. Horse and man had a glory at their backs. But beneath, the city and its endless garden lay already in the lap of night. White domes and minarets, mosques and palaces, loomed wanly in the heart of a vast grove, which stretched, far as the eye could ascertain, to eastward towards a smooth horizon which was the desert. Gathering shades spread a thin veil over all the plain, like the bloom on a purple grape. An amethyst flush suffused the eastern sky—a spirit flush, soft, yet living, wherein starlight and daylight seemed mingled. Saïd’s heart leapt as he beheld the mistress of his dreams, set in her gardens, seeming the fairer and more desirable for the grim, treeless mountains which were her girdle.
“It is paradise,” he murmured in ecstasy.
At the foot of the hill, on the utmost fringe of the gardens, he could see a little village of flat-roofed houses. A string of camels was drawing near to it along the base of the steep. The tinkle of their bells rippled the twilight cheerily. Of a sudden the noise of chanting arose—a wild, delirious song of piercing shrillness. It came from the high platform of the only minaret of the village. Somewhat mellowed by the distance, it reached Saïd’s ears as heavenly music. The clangour of bells ceased of a sudden. The camels had halted. Their drivers, obedient to the muezzin’s call, were prostrate in prayer.
Saïd got down from his horse and went through the form of ablution with some dry dust he collected. Taking off his grand garment, a good deal the worse for his five days’ wearing of it, he stretched it on the ground for a mat. He turned his face carefully to the south and knelt down as near to the shrine as he conveniently might. He raised his thumbs to his ears and spread his hands over his eyes in the likeness of an open book. He rose, stooped, knelt again, prostrated himself and pressed his forehead to the earth. Then he sat awhile upon his heels with eyes closed, and then glanced to left and right, to exorcise any evil spirits who were thereabout.
At last he rose and resumed his cloak. The orange glow of sunset was fading fast, and the mountains he was leaving were black and grey upon it. He bestrode his horse once more and began to descend. It was night when he entered the city. The streets were almost deserted. The few men he met were wending homeward, some in a hurry, others with the leisure of importance. Light streamed from an arched doorway, making a yellow pool on the rough pavement. A red glow, sifted through the tracery of an upper lattice, made a delicate filigree upon the wall opposite. But for such chance alms the streets were pitchy dark. The strip of sky above, sprinkled thick with stars, was a brightness in comparison. At the clatter of a horse’s hoofs, dogs, seemingly without number, rose grudgingly and slunk snarling from the roadway. Every wayfarer had
