“May thy house be destroyed!” muttered Saïd, grinding his teeth with mortification. “How far is it to the next village, old man?”
“Perhaps an hour—maybe an hour and a half—Allah knows!—perhaps two hours.”
“Who was that of whom thou wast speaking at the first?” asked Saïd with some eagerness. “He gave thee meat, thou wast saying, and money for thy journey. Doubtless it is some great one whose house is open to poor wayfarers?”
“I spoke but of a Frank who passed me in the way,” said the old man, with a chuckle at the recollection. “He was dressed all in black, and rode upon a fine horse. I knew him for one of those who preach to the Christians and would have all men believe in three gods. I saw him a long way off and, when he drew near, I flung myself down in the way, swearing horribly, and crying out that Allah had forsaken me. Thereat he got down from his horse and tried to comfort me with soft speaking and hard words from the book of his religion. But I cursed the louder and let him know that I was very hungry; whereupon he drew out a paper from his saddlebags, wherein was bread and meat, which he gave to me.
“When I had made an end of eating I began to weep and told him a grievous tale of how my house had been burned and all my children killed by Turkish soldiers. This I said knowing that a Frank loves always to hear evil of the Turks. He wept with me as he listened. He gave me money—as much as a man could earn by the labour of a week. Then he mounted and rode away, his face sad from the tale which I had told him. May Allah reward the unbelieving fool!”
“Y’Allah! Let us depart at once,” cried Saïd, eagerly. “Perhaps we may overtake him before the night.”
“Did I not tell thee that he rides upon a horse, and that a fine one?” said the beggar. “Thou canst never hope to overtake him. He told me that he was going two days journey on the way to Es-Shâm, to the place where he dwells. Whither goest thou?”
“To Es-Shâm,” cried Saïd, gleefully. “I will visit him and tell the tale of my great loss. Allah be with thee!”
Saïd set forward through the olive grove at a great pace, Hasneh shuffled after him with her usual docility—the good beast of burden, ready to stand or go on at her master’s word. As for the beggar, he stood looking after them until they were lost to sight among the tree trunks. He chuckled often as he went his way, repeating the word “Emìr” with scornful emphasis.
Sunset fires were blazing high in the west when Saïd and Hasneh drew near to the village of which the beggar had told them. It was a small place, built of stone, crowning the utmost slope of the mountain seaward. To reach it they had to climb a pebbly road, which wound upwards serpent-wise among terraces of fig and olive-trees. At the entering in of the village grew a giant sycamore, about whose trunk the elders of the place were squatting in solemn conclave, smoking. Saïd saluted them politely as they drew near.
“What news?” asked a reverend sheykh, who seemed the head man of the place.
“There is war,” replied Saïd, with a low obeisance. “Soldiers scour the country for horses and mules. I know it well, alas! for they have taken my mare—curse their fathers!—a thoroughbred worth fifty Turkish pounds, by Allah!—and I am forced to pursue my journey on foot.”
“Allah restore her to thee,” rejoined the sheykh, fervently. “We guessed that all was not well in the land, for this afternoon, as my son was ploughing on the hillside yonder, he beheld a company of soldiers ride across the plain, and many beasts of burden with them. Thanks be to Allah, we are warned in time. Ere the rising of the sun all our cattle shall be in a safe place among the hills, save a few that are sick, which they can take if it please them.”
Saïd, seeking tidings of the missionary, was told that he had ridden through the place about the third hour after noon, and must be sleeping at Beyt Ammeh, a mountain village four hours distant.
“Is there a guest-chamber in this village where I and my woman may pass the night?” asked Saïd, in some anxiety.
“Thy news is timely and thou art welcome,” replied the sheykh. “My house is thy house. Deign to follow me.”
With that he rose and led the way to a house which was larger by a room than other houses of the village. This room was built on the roof and had the appearance of a tower when seen from a distance. Within, it was a small chamber, softly carpeted, with a cushioned divan running round the walls, destined for the lodging of guests of distinction. Saïd would never have been admitted to its precincts but for that fabulous mare of his worth fifty Turkish pounds.
Here, having partaken of a feast such as he had seldom enjoyed, he spent the night, a pale sky flaked with stars watching his slumbers through open door and lattice.
VI
In the morning Saïd rose early, and having breakfasted and taken leave of his host, set forth with Hasneh in the cool twilight and started to climb the steep path which twisted among olive-trees up from the village. At the top he paused for a last look at the plain he was leaving. Away to the southwest a little promontory jutted into the sea. White buildings, a dome and two slender minarets were just discernible upon it in the pale light which comes before the sun. That was the city of his birth, and there, somewhere on the yellow rim of the bay, was his own little
