XXV
It was a relief to Stephen and Nevill to see one of the horsemen comingup the rough hill-track to the gate, and to think that they need nolonger wait upon the fears or inhospitable whims of the Arab servants onthe other side of the wall.
As soon as the rider came near enough for his features to be sketched inclearly, Nevill remembered having noticed him at one or two of theGovernor's balls, where all Arab dignitaries, even such lesser lights ascaids and adels show themselves. But they had never met. The man was notone of the southern chiefs whom Nevill Caird had entertained at his ownhouse.
Stephen thought that he had never seen a more personable man as the Caidrode up to the car, saluting courteously though with no great warmth.
His face was more tanned than very dark by nature, but it seemed brownin contrast to his light hazel eyes. His features were commanding, ifnot handsome, and he sat his horse well. Altogether he was a notablefigure in his immensely tall white turban, wound with pale grey-browncamel's-hair rope, his grey cloth burnous, embroidered with gold, flungback over an inner white burnous, his high black boots, with wrinkledbrown tops, and his wonderful Kairouan hat of light straw, embroideredwith a leather applique of coloured flowers and silver leaves,steeple-crowned, and as big as a cart-wheel, hanging on his shoulders.
He and Nevill politely wished the blessings of Allah and Mohammed hisProphet upon each other, and Nevill then explained the errand which hadbrought him and his friend to the Caid's house.
The Caid's somewhat heavy though intelligent face did not easily showsurprise. It changed not at all, though Stephen watched it closely.
"Thou art welcome to hear all I can tell of my dead relation, BenHalim," he said. "But I know little that everybody does not know."
"It is certain, then, that Ben Halim is dead?" asked Nevill. "We hadhoped that rumour lied."
"He died on his way home after a pilgrimage to Mecca," gravely repliedthe Caid.
"Ah!" Nevill caught him up quickly. "We heard that it was inConstantinople."
Ben Sliman's expression was slightly strained. He glanced from Nevill'sboyish face to Stephen's dark, keen one, and perhaps fancied suspicionin both. If he had intended to let the Englishmen drive away in theirmotor-car without seeing the other side of his white wall, he nowchanged his mind. "If thou and thy friend care to honour this poor farmof mine by entering the gates, and drinking coffee with me," he said,"We will afterwards go down below the hill to the cemetery where mycousin's body lies buried. His tombstone will show that he was El Hadj,and that he had reached Mecca. When he was in Constantinople, he hadjust returned from there."
Possibly, having given the invitation by way of proving that there wasnothing to conceal, Ben Sliman hoped it would not be accepted; but hewas disappointed. Before the Caid had reached the top of the hill,Nevill had told his chauffeur to stop the motor, therefore the restlesspanting had long ago ceased, and when Ben Sliman looked doubtfully atthe car, as if wondering how it was to be got in without doing damage tohis wall, Nevill said that the automobile might stay where it was. Theirvisit would not be long.
"But the longer the better," replied the Caid. "When I have guests, itpains me to see them go."
He shouted a word or two in Arabic, and instantly the gates were opened.The sketchily clad brown men inside had only been waiting for a signal.
"I regret that I cannot ask my visitors into the house itself, as I haveillness there," Ben Sliman announced; "but we have guest rooms here inthe gate-towers. They are not what I could wish for such distinguishedpersonages, but thou canst see, Sidi, thou and thy friend, that this isa simple farmhouse. We make no pretension to the luxury of towns, but wedo what we can."
As he spoke, the brown men were scuttling about, one unfastening thedoor of a little tower, which stuck as if it had not been opened for along time, another darting into the house, which appeared silent andtenantless, a third and fourth running to a more distant part, andvanishing also through a dark doorway.
The Caid quickly ushered his guests into the tower room, but not soquickly that the eyes of a girl, looking through a screened window, didnot see and recognize both. The servant who had gone ahead unbarred apair of wooden shutters high up in the whitewashed walls of the tower,which was stiflingly close, with a musty, animal odour. As the openingof the shutters gave light, enormous black-beetles which seemed toStephen as large as pigeon's eggs, crawled out from cracks between walland floor, stumbling awkwardly about, and falling over each other. Itwas a disgusting sight, and did not increase the visitors' desire toaccept the Caid's hospitality for any length of time. It may be that hehad thought of this. But even if he had, the servants were genuinelyenthusiastic in their efforts to make the Roumis at home. The two whohad run farthest returned soonest. They staggered under a load of largerugs wrapped in unbleached sheeting, and a great sack stuffed full ofcushions which bulged out at the top. The sheeting they unfastened,and, taking no notice of the beetles, hurriedly spread on the roughfloor several beautifully woven rugs of bright colours. Then, havinglaid four or five on top of one another, they clawed the cushions out ofthe sack, and placed them as if on a bed.
Hardly had they finished, when the first servant who had disappearedcame back, carrying over his arm a folding table, and dishes in hishands. The only furniture already in the tower consisted of two long,low wooden benches without backs; and as the servant from the house setup the folding table, he who had opened the windows placed the benches,one on either side. At the same moment, through the open door, a mancould be seen running with a live lamb flung over his shoulder.
"Good heavens, what is he going to do with that?" Stephen asked,stricken with a presentiment.
"I'm afraid," Nevill answered quickly in English, "that it's going to bekilled for our entertainment." His pink colour faded, and in Arabic hebegged the Caid to give orders that, if the lamb were for them, its lifebe spared, as they were under a vow never to touch meat. This was thefirst excuse he could think of; and when, to his joy, a message was sentafter the slayer of innocence, he added that, very unfortunately, theyhad a pressing engagement which would tear them away from the Caid'sdelightful house all too soon.
Perhaps the Caid's face expressed no oppressive regret, yet he saidkindly that he hoped to keep his guests at least until next morning. Inthe cool of the day they would see the cemetery; they would return, andeat the evening meal. It would then be time to sleep. And with a gesturehe indicated the rugs and cushions, under which the beetles were nowburied like mountain-dwellers beneath an avalanche.
Nevill, still pale, thanked his host earnestly, complimented the rugs,and assured the Caid that, of course, they would be extraordinarilycomfortable, but even such inducements did not make it possible forthem to neglect their duty elsewhere.
"In any case we shall now eat and drink together," said Ben Sliman,pointing to the table, and towards a servant now arriving from the housewith a coffee-tray. The dishes had been set down on the bare board, andone contained the usual little almond cakes, the other, a conserve ofsome sort bathed in honey, where already many flies were revelling. Theservant who had spread the table, quietly pulled the flies out by theirwings, or killed them on the edge of the dish.
Nevill, whiter than before, accepted cordially, and giving Stephen aglance of despair, which said: "Noblesse oblige," he thrust his fingersinto the honey, where there were fewest flies, and took out a sweetmeat.Stephen did the same. All three ate, and drank sweet black _cafe maure_.Once the Caid turned to glance at something outside the door, and hissecretive, light grey eyes were troubled. As they ate and drank, theytalked, Nevill tactfully catechizing, the Caid answering with pleasantfrankness. He did not inquire why they wished to have news of Ben Halim,who had once lived in the house for a short time, and had now long beendead. Perhaps he wished to give the Roumis a lesson in discretion; butas their friendliness increased over the dripping sweets, Nevillventured to ask a crucial question. What had become of Ben Halim'sAmerican wife?
Then, for
the first time, the Caid frowned, very slightly, but it wasplain to see he thought a liberty had been taken which, as host, he wasunable to resent.
"I know nothing of my dead cousin's family," he said. "No doubt itsmembers went with him, if not to Mecca, at least a part of the way, andif any such persons wished to return to Europe after his death, it iscertain they would have been at liberty to do so. This house my cousinwished me to have, and I took possession of it in due time, finding itempty and in good order. If you search for any one, I should advisesearching in France or, perhaps, in America. Unluckily, there I cannothelp. But when it is cool, we will go to the cemetery. Let us go afterthe prayer, the prayer of _Moghreb_."
But Nevill was reluctant. So was Stephen, when the proposal wasexplained. They wished to go while it was still hot, or not at all. Itmay be that even this eccentric proposal did not surprise or grieve theCaid, though as a rule he was not fond of being out of doors in theglare of the sun.
He agreed to the suggestion that the motor-car should take all threedown the hill, but said that he would prefer to walk back.
The "teuf-teuf" of the engine began once more outside the white gates;and for the second time Victoria flew to the window, pressing her faceagainst the thick green moucharabia which excluded flies and preventedany one outside from seeing what went on within.
"Calm thyself, O Rose," urged the feeble voice of Lella M'Barka. "Thouhast said these men are nothing to thee."
"One is my friend," the girl pleaded, with a glance at the high couch ofrugs on which M'Barka lay.
"A young girl cannot have a man for a friend. He may be a lover or ahusband, but never a friend. Thou knowest this in thy heart, O Rose, andthou hast sworn to me that never hast thou had a lover."
Victoria did not care to argue. "I am sure he has come here to try andfind me. He is anxious. That is very good of him--all the more, becausewe are nothing to each other. How can I let him go away without a word?It is too hard-hearted. I do think, if Si Maieddine were here, he wouldsay so too. He would let me see Mr. Knight and just tell him that I'mperfectly safe and on the way to my sister. That once she lived in thishouse, and I hoped to find her here, but----"
"Maieddine would not wish thee to tell the young man these things, orany other things, or show thyself to him at all," M'Barka persisted,lifting herself on the bed in growing excitement. "Dost thou not guess,he runs many dangers in guiding thee to the wife of a man who is as onedead? Dost thou wish to ruin him who risks his whole future to contentthee?"
"No, of course I would do nothing which could bring harm to SiMaieddine," Victoria said, the eagerness dying out of her voice. "I havekept my word with him. I have let nobody know--nobody at all. But wecould trust Mr. Knight and Mr. Caird. And to see them there, in thecourtyard, and let them go--it is too much!"
"Why shouldst thou consider me, whom thou hast known but a few days,when thou wouldst be hurrying on towards thy sister Saida? Yet it willsurely be my death if thou makest any sign to those men. My heart wouldcease to beat. It beats but weakly now."
With a sigh, Victoria turned away from the moucharabia, and crossing theroom to M'Barka, sat down on a rug by the side of her couch. "I doconsider thee," she said. "If it were not for thee and Si Maieddine, Imight not be able to get to Saidee at all; so I must not mind beingdelayed a few days. It is worse for thee than for me, because thou artsuffering."
"When a true believer lies ill for more than three days, his sins areall forgiven him," M'Barka consoled herself. She put out a hot hand, andlaid it on Victoria's head. "Thou art a good child. Thou hast given upthine own will to do what is right."
"I'm not quite sure at this moment that I am doing what is right,"murmured Victoria. "But I can't make thee more ill than thou art, so Imust let Mr. Knight go. And probably I shall never see him, never hearof him again. He will look for me, and then he will grow tired, andperhaps go home to England before I can write to let him know I am safewith Saidee." Her voice broke a little. She bent down her head, andthere were tears in her eyes.
She heard the creaking of the gate as it shut. The motor-car had gonepanting away. For a moment it seemed as if her heart would break. Justone glimpse had she caught of Stephen's face, and it had looked to hermore than ever like the face of a knight who would fight to the deathfor a good cause. She had not quite realized how noble a face it was, orhow hard it would be to let it pass out of her life. He would alwayshate her if he guessed she had sat there, knowing he had come so far forher sake?--she was sure it was for her sake--and had made no sign. Buthe would not guess. And it was true, as Lella M'Barka said, he wasnothing to her. Saidee was everything. And she was going to Saidee. Shemust think only of Saidee, and the day of their meeting.
* * * * * * *
Stephen had never seen an Arab cemetery; and it seemed to him that thisMussulman burial-place, scattered over two low hills, in the midst ofdesert wastes, was beautiful and pathetic. The afternoon sunshine beatupon the koubbahs of marabouts, and the plastered graves or headstonesof less important folk; but so pearly pale were they all that the goldenquality of the light was blanched as if by some strange, white magic,and became like moonlight shining on a field of snow.
There were no names on any of the tombs, even the grandest. Here andthere on a woman's grave was a hand of Fatma, or a pair of the Prophet'sslippers; and on those of a few men were turbans carved in marble, totell that the dead had made pilgrimage to Mecca. All faces were turnedtowards the sacred city, as Mussulmans turn when they kneel to pray, inmosque or in desert; and the white slabs, narrow or broad, long orshort, ornamental or plain, flat or roofed with fantastic marabouticdomes, were placed very close together. At one end of the cemetery, onlybits of pottery marked the graves; yet each bit was a little differentfrom the other, meaning as much to those who had placed them there asnames and epitaphs in European burial grounds. On the snowy headstonesand flat platforms, drops of rose-coloured wax from little candles, laylike tears of blood shed by the mourners, and there was a scatteredspray of faded orange blossoms, brought by some loving hand from afar-away garden in an oasis.
"Here lies my cousin, Cassim ben Halim," said the Caid, pointing to agrave comparatively new, surmounted at the head with a carved turban.Nearer to it than any other tomb was that of a woman, beautified withthe Prophet's slippers.
"Is it possible that his wife lies beside him?" Stephen made Nevill ask.
"It is a lady of his house. I can say no more. When his body was broughthere, hers was brought also, in a coffin, which is permitted to thewomen of Islam, with the request that it should be placed near mycousin's tomb. This was done; and it is all I can tell, because it isall I know."
The Arab looked the Englishman straight in the eyes as he answered; andStephen felt that in this place, so simple, so peaceful, so near tonature's heart, it would be difficult for a man to lie to another, eventhough that man were a son of Islam, the other a "dog of a Christian."For the first time he began to believe that Cassim ben Halim had intruth died, and that Victoria Ray's sister was perhaps dead also. Herdeath alone could satisfactorily explain her long silence. And againstthe circumstantial evidence of this little grave, adorned with theslippers of the Prophet, there was only a girl's impression--Victoria'sfeeling that, if Saidee were dead, she "must have known."
The two friends stood for a while by the white graves, where thesunshine lay like moonlight on snow; and then, because there was nothingmore for them to do in that place, they thanked the Caid, and made readyto go their way. Again he politely refused their offer to drive him upto his own gate, and bade them good-bye when they had got into the car.He stood and watched it go bumping away over the rough, desert road,pieces of which had been gnawed off by a late flood, as a cake is bittenround the edge by a greedy child.
They had had enough of motor-cars for that day, up there on the hill!The Caid was glad when the sound died. The machine was no more suited tohis country, he thought, than were the men of Europe who tor
e about theworld in it, trying to interfere in other people's business.
"El hamdou-lillah! God be praised!" he whispered, as the yellowautomobile vanished from sight and Maieddine came out from the clusterof black tents in the yellow sand.