XXII
An elderly man, with a reddish beard, got up from the row of men groupedbehind the musicians, and muttered to one of the youths who had beenmaking the powder speak. They argued for a moment, and then the boy,handing his gun to the elder man, walked with dignity to a closed gate,large enough to let in the goats and donkeys pertaining to the twohouses. This gate he opened half-way, standing in the aperture andlooking up sullenly as the Roumis came down the narrow, slippery trackwhich led to it.
"Cebah el-kheir, ia Sidi--Good day, sir," said Nevill, agreeably, in hisbest Arabic. "Ta' rafi el-a' riya?--Do you speak Arabic?"
The young man bowed, not yet conciliated. "Ach men sebba jit lhena, iaSidi?--Why have you come here, sir?" he asked suspiciously, in veryguttural Arabic.
Relieved to find that they would have no great difficulty inunderstanding each other, Nevill plunged into explanations, pointing toJosette's card. They had come recommended by the malema at Tlemcen. Theybrought good wishes and a present to the bride of the village, thevirtuous and beautiful Mouni, from whom they would gladly receiveinformation concerning a European lady. Was this the house of herfather? Would they be permitted to speak with her, and give this littlewatch from Algiers?
Nevill made his climax by opening the velvet case, and the brown eyes ofthe Kabyle boy flashed with uncontrollable admiration, though his faceremained immobile. He answered that this was indeed the house ofMouni's father, and he himself was the brother of Mouni. This was thelast day of her wedding-feast, and in an hour she would go to the homeof her husband. The consent of the latter, as well as of her father,must be asked before strangers could hope to speak with her.Nevertheless, the Roumis were welcome to enter the yard and watch theentertainment while Mouni's brother consulted with those most concernedin this business.
The boy stood aside, inviting them to pass through the gate, and theEnglishmen availed themselves of his courtesy, waiting just inside untilthe red-bearded man came forward. He and his son consulted together, andthen a dark young man in a white burnous was called to join theconclave. He was a handsome fellow, with a haughtily intelligent face,and an air of breeding superior to the others.
"This is my sister's husband. He too speaks Arabic, but my father not somuch." The boy introduced his brother-in-law. "Messaud-ben-Arzen is theson of our Caid," (he spoke proudly). "Will you tell him and my fatherwhat your business is with Mouni?"
Nevill broke into more explanations, and evidently they weresatisfactory, for, while the dancing and the powder play were stopped,and the squatting ranks of guests stared silently, the two Roumis wereconducted into the house.
It was larger than most of the houses in the village, but apart from thestable of the animals through which the visitors passed, there was butone room, long and narrow, lighted by two small windows. The darkestcorner was the bedroom, which had a platform of stone on which rugs werespread, and there was a lower mound of dried mud, roughly curtained offfrom the rest with two or three red and blue foutahs suspended on ropesmade of twisted alfa, or dried grass. Toward the farther end, a hole inthe floor was the family cooking-place, and behind it an elevation ofbeaten earth made a wide shelf for a long row of jars shaped like theRoman amphorae of two thousand years ago. Pegs driven into one of thewalls were hung with gandourahs and a foutah or two; and of furniture,worthy of that name in the eyes of Europeans, there was none.
At the bedroom end of the room, several women were gathered round acentral object of interest, and though the light was dim after the vividsunshine outside, the visitors guessed that the object of interest wasthe bride. Decorously they paused near the door, while a great deal ofarguing went on, in which the shriller voices of women mingled with theguttural tones of the men. Nevill could catch no word, for they weretalking their own Kabyle tongue which had come down from theirforefathers the Berbers, lords of the land long years before the Arabsdrove them into the high mountains. But at last the group opened, and ayoung woman stepped out with half-shy eagerness. She was loaded withjewels, and her foutah was barbarically splendid in colour, but she wasalmost as fair as her father; a slim creature with grey eyes, and browncurly hair that showed under her orange foulard.
Proud of her French, she began talking in that language, welcoming theguests, telling them how glad she was to see friends of her dearMademoiselle Soubise. But soon she must be gone to her husband's house,and already the dark young bridegroom, son of the Caid, was growingimpatient. There was no time to be lost, if they were to learn anythingof Ben Halim's wife.
As a preface to what they wished to ask, Nevill made a presentationspeech, placing the velvet watch-case in Mouni's hand, and she opened itwith a kind of moan expressing intense rapture. Never had she seenanything so beautiful, and she would cheerfully have recalled everyphase of her career from earliest babyhood, if by doing so she couldhave pleased the givers.
"But yes," she answered to Nevill's first questions, "the beautiful ladywhom I served was the wife of Sidi Cassim ben Halim. At first it was inAlgiers that I lived with her, but soon we left, and went to thecountry, far, oh, very far away, going towards the south. The house waslike a large farmhouse, and to me as a child--for I was but a child--itseemed fine and grand. Yet my lady was not pleased. She found it rough,and different from any place to which she was used. Poor, beautifullady! She was not happy there. She cried a great deal, and each day Ithought she grew paler than the day before."
Mouni spoke in French, hesitating now and then for a word, or putting intwo or three in Arabic, before she stopped to think, as she grewinterested in her subject. Stephen understood almost all she said, andwas too impatient to leave the catechizing to Nevill.
"Whereabouts was this farmhouse?" he asked. "Can't you tell us how tofind it?"
Mouni searched her memory. "I was not yet thirteen," she said. "It isnine years since I left that place; and I travelled in a shut-upcarriage, with a cousin, older than I, who had been already in the houseof the lady when I came. She told her mistress of me, and I was sentfor, because I was quick and lively in my ways, and white of face,almost as white as the beautiful lady herself. My work was to wait onthe mistress, and help my cousin, who was her maid. Yamina--that was mycousin's name--could have told you more about the place in the countrythan I, for she was even then a woman. But she died a few months afterwe both left the beautiful lady. We left because the master thought mycousin carried a letter for her mistress, which he did not wish sent;and he gave orders that we should no longer live under his roof."
"Surely you can remember where you went, and how you went, on leavingthe farmhouse?" Stephen persisted.
"Oh yes, we went back to Algiers. But it was a long distance, and tookus many days, because we had only a little money, and Yamina would notspend it in buying tickets for the diligence, all the way. We walkedmany miles, and only took a diligence when I cried, and was too tiredto move a step farther. At night we drove sometimes, I remember, andoften we rested under the tents of nomads who were kind to us.
"While I was with the lady, I never went outside the great courtyard. Itis not strange that now, after all these years, I cannot tell you moreclearly where the house was. But it was a great white house, on a hill,and round it was a high wall, with towers that overlooked the countrybeneath. And in those towers, which were on either side the big, widegate, were little windows through which men could spy, or even shoot ifthey chose."
"Did you never hear the name of any town that was near?" Stephen wenton.
"I do not think there was a town near; yet there was a village not faroff to the south. I saw it from the hill-top, both as I went in at thegate with my cousin, and when, months later, I was sent away with her.We did not pass through it, because our road was to and from the north;and I do not even know the name of the village. But there was a cemeteryoutside it, where some of the master's ancestors and relations wereburied. I heard my lady speak of it one day, when she cried because shefeared to die and be laid there without ever again seeing her owncountry and her own peop
le. Oh, and once I heard Yamina talk withanother servant about an oasis called Bou-Saada. It was not near, yet Ithink it could be reached by diligence in a long day."
"Good!" broke in Nevill. "There's our first real clue! Bou-Saada I knowwell. When people who come and visit me want a glimpse of the desert ina hurry, Bou-Saada is where I take them. One motors there from Algiersin seven or eight hours--through mountains at first, then on the fringeof the desert; but it's true, as Mouni says, going by diligence, andwalking now and then, it would be a journey of days. Her description ofthe house on the hill, looking down over a village and cemetery, will bea big help. And Ben Halim's name is sure to be known in the countryround, if he ever lived there."
"He may have been gone for years," said Stephen. "And if there's aconspiracy of silence in Algiers, why not elsewhere?"
"Well, at least we've got a clue, and will follow it up for all we know.By Jove, this is giving me a new interest in life!" And Nevill rubbedhis hands in a boyish way he had. "Tell us what the beautiful lady waslike," he went on to Mouni.
"Her skin was like the snow on our mountain-tops when the sunrise paintsthe white with rose," answered Mouni. "Her hair was redder than the redof henna, and when it was unfastened it hung down below her waist. Hereyes were dark as a night without moon, and her teeth were little,little pearls. Yet for all her beauty she was not happy. She wasted theflower of her youth in sadness, and though the master was noble, andsplendid as the sun to look upon, I think she had no love to give him,perhaps because he was grave and seldom smiled, or because she was aRoumia and could not suit herself to the ways of true believers."
"Did she keep to her own religion?" asked Stephen.
"That I cannot tell. I was too young to understand. She never talked ofsuch things before me, but she kept to none of our customs, that I know.In the three months I served her, never did she leave the house, noteven to visit the cemetery on a Friday, as perhaps the master would haveallowed her to do, if she had wished."
"Do you remember if she spoke of a sister?"
"She had a photograph of a little girl, whose picture looked likeherself. Once she told me it was her sister, but the next day thephotograph was gone from its place, and I never saw it again. Yaminathought the master was jealous, because our lady looked at it a greatdeal."
"Was there any other lady in that house," Nevill ventured, "or was yoursthe master's only wife?"
"There was no other lady at that time," Mouni replied promptly.
"So far, so good," said Nevill. "Well, Legs, I don't think there's anydoubt we've got hold of the right end of the stick now. Mouni'sbeautiful lady and Miss Ray's sister Saidee are certainly one and thesame. Ho for the white farmhouse on the hill!"
"Must we go back to Algiers, or can we get to Bou-Saada from here?"Stephen asked.
Nevill laughed. "You are in a hurry! Oh, we can get there from here allright. Would you like to start now?"
Stephen's face reddened. "Why not, if we've found out all we can fromthis girl?" He tried to speak indifferently.
Nevill laughed again. "Very well. There's nothing left then, except tosay good-bye to the fair bride and her relations."
He had expected to get back to Algiers that night, slipping away fromthe high passes of Grand Kabylia before dusk, and reaching home late, bylamplight. But now the plan was changed. They were not to see Algiersagain until Stephen had made acquaintance with the desert. By settingoff at once, they might arrive at Bou-Saada some time in the dark hours;and Nevill upset his old arrangements with good grace. Why should hemind? he asked, when Stephen apologized shame-facedly for hisimpatience. Bou-Saada was as good a place as any, except Tlemcen, andthis adventure would give him an excuse for a letter, even two letters,to Josette Soubise. She would want to hear about Mouni's wedding, andthe stately Kabyle home which they had visited. Besides she would becurious to know whether they found the white farmhouse on the hill, andif so, what they learned there of the beautiful lady and her mysteriousfate. Oh yes, it would certainly mean two letters at least: one fromBou-Saada, one after the search for the farmhouse; and Nevill thoughthimself in luck, for he was not allowed to write often to Josette.
After Michelet the road, a mere shelf projecting along a precipice,slants upward on its way to the Col de Tirouda, sharp as a knife aimedat the heart of the mountains. From far below clouds boil up as if thevalleys smoked after a destroying fire, and through flying mists flushthe ruddy earth, turning the white film to pinkish gauze. Crimson andpurple stones shine like uncut jewels, and cascades of yellow gorse,under red-flowering trees, pour down over low-growing white flowers,which embroider the rose-coloured rocks.
Then, suddenly, gone is the green Kabyle mountain-world, gone like adream the tangle of ridges and chasms, the bright tapestry of fig treesand silver olives, dark karoubias (the wild locusts of John the Baptist)and climbing roses. Rough, coarse grass has eaten up the flowers, orwinds sweeping down from the Col have killed them. Only a few stuntedtrees bend grotesquely to peer over the sheer sides of shadowed gorgesas the road strains up and up, twisting like a scar left by a whip-lash,on the naked brown shoulders of a slave. So at last it flings a loopover the Col de Tirouda. Then, round a corner the wand of an invisiblemagician waves: darkness and winter cold become summer warmth and light.
This light was the level golden glory of late afternoon when Stephen sawit from Nevill's car; and so green were the wide stretching meadows andshining rivers far below, that he seemed to be looking at them throughan emerald, as Nero used to gaze at his gardens in Rome. Down the motorplunged towards the light, threading back and forth a network ofzig-zags, until long before sunset they were in the warm lowlands,racing towards Bordj-bou Arreredj and Msila. Beyond Msila, they wouldfollow the desert track which would bring them by and by to the oasistown of Bou-Saada.
If Stephen had been a tourist, guide-book in hand, he would havedelighted in the stony road among the mountains between Bordj-bouArreredj and Msila; but it was the future, not the past, which held histhoughts to-day, and he had no more than a passing glance for ruinedmosques and palaces. It was only after nightfall, far beyond the town ofMsila, far beyond the vast plain of the Hodna, that his first dimglimpse of the desert thrilled him out of self-absorption.
Even under the stars which crusted a moonless sky, the vast stretches ofbillowing sand glimmered faintly golden as a phosphorescent sea. Andamong the dimly gleaming waves of that endless waste the motor tossed,rocking on the rough track like a small boat in mid-ocean.
Nowhere was there any sound except the throbbing of their machinery, anda fairy fiddling of unseen crickets, which seemed to make the silencemore intense, under the great sparkling dome that hung over the gold.
"Now I am in the place where she wished to be: the golden silence,"Stephen said to himself. And he found himself listening, as if for thecall Victoria had promised to give if she needed him.