“upon every misfortune another misfortune.”—arabic proverb.
a straight, clear path stretched from her to the man she loved.
the end of the room near the door was empty, the men having pressed forward towards the dais so as to watch the white man’s face when the proposition, which would amount to an order, backed by a threat, should be made to him. they stood on each side, close together, leaving a path the width of the dais, their eyes over-bright and their fingers straying towards the dagger—which the arab ever carries—in their cummerbunds.
zarah sat leaning slightly forward, her face white under the tension of the moment, her jewelled fingers playing with the crystal knobs of the ivory chair. she sat in a sea of flaming orange, jewel-encrusted satin, the fans blowing the ospreys of her head-dress, as they swung the silver lamps above her head.
ralph trenchard, sensing that something out of the ordinary was afoot, sat right forward, alert, watchful, his eyes following the movements of the men as they walked restlessly to and fro, or stood talking with overmuch gesture.
he turned once and looked at zarah, who sat divided from him by the glistening folds of her train. he looked at her steadily, trying to find the answer to the riddle of the hour, and caught his breath when she stretched out her hand and laid it on his and whispered, “i love you.” he sat staring at her, stunned by the sudden realization of his blindness and his crass stupidity, then looked down at the nubian, who, arms folded, stood looking up at him, a world of hate and mockery in his face.
[228]
the hate in the man’s eyes, the love in the woman’s voice, the sense of pending danger, the unaccountable expectation in his heart.
love, hate? turmoil, peace? life, death?
which?
he lifted his head and looked straight across to the doorway. it showed black, with a background of purple, strewn with stars, and he sighed, unaccountably disappointed, and watched the benign patriarch move slowly forward until he stood in front of the dais.
as he moved helen moved forward and hid behind the velvet curtain hanging to one side of the door, and made another quick movement when the man she loved unknowingly looked straight at her, then stood quite still when yussuf, without turning, raised his hand.
the patriarch had begun to speak.
he bowed himself to the ground before zarah, then stood upright, reminding ralph trenchard of a picture of elijah he had loved to look at in the family bible on account of the ravens with loaves of bread in their beaks, little recking in his baby understanding that the word raven stood for a certain village, or tribe of people, in the holy one’s environs.
the patriarch’s fine voice and sonorous words rang through the building, causing the men to press closer still, and the nubian to look up at zarah. she looked down at him with a mocking smile, and then at the venerable old man, and lastly at ralph trenchard, who sat in amazement, looking from one to the other.
happily helen’s sharp cry was drowned in the patriarch’s sonorous words as he offered the arabian girl’s hand in marriage, with her wealth in cash, jewels, horses, camel and cattle, to the englishman; happily everyone was too enthralled at the sight of the englishman’s amazed face to look back to the doorway where she stood, her eyes flashing in a great anger, her heart beating heavily with fear.
ralph trenchard held up his hand.
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the baying of the dogs from the kennels could be heard in the silence that fell, whilst the men tugged at each other’s sleeves and surreptitiously made bets upon his answer to the proposition.
he repeated the patriarch’s proposal word for word, then turned to zarah, speaking slowly, so that all should understand.
“have i understood correctly? yon old man, who, he says, stands to you in place of a father, proposes that i—i, an englishman, a foreigner, should marry you, an arabian and a mohammedan. that i should live here with you and help you rule these fine men of yours, who could learn nothing from me. that i should give up my country, for which i fought, my people whom i love, to become one of a nation whose blood is not my blood, nor ways my ways. is that so?”
zarah’s hands lay still on the crystal knobs of her ivory chair as she answered, a dull crimson slowly flushing her face:
“verily,” she replied, holding up her hand to ensure silence. “it is as you say. it is our custom in arabia, though of a truth it is not customary for the maid to be present at the bargaining.”
she laughed suddenly, sweetly, and held out her hands, whilst her words beat like hammers upon helen’s brain. “for me, he who stands to me as father offers you my hand in marriage, with my wealth, my people, my horses, all i possess, asking naught of you in return. i have the blood of europe in my veins, i have learned the customs and the speech of the white races, even of my mother’s race. i am not ill-favoured, nor too much wanting in wit. i——” her voice changed as the song of the summer breeze might change to the warning of the coming storm. “i wait for your answer before my men, who desire naught but my happiness and, with mine, their own.”
at the veiled threat in the last words ralph trenchard turned and looked at the men, his dominant jaw out-thrust, his mouth a line of steel.
[230]
so this was the meaning of the feasting, the watchfulness, the tension, the solicitude.
the horror of it all.
love in the place of friendliness, the love of a despotic woman who had never in her life been denied or thwarted; a veiled threat as lining to the mantle of hospitality which had been thrown about him; a life-long captivity, or even death, for his freedom if he stood true to his love for helen.
captivity!
he shuddered involuntarily at the thought of some of the prisoners he had seen working under the lash of the overseer’s whip.
death!
he smiled.
a few steps across the no man’s land stretching between the now and the hereafter and he would see helen waiting for him, her lovely, fair face alight with the love of all eternity.
a great silence fell as he rose, followed by a sound like the wind as the men whispered amongst themselves.
“a fitting mate for the tiger-cat, a fitting sire for the whelps, if it were not for his blood.”
“yea, verily,” answered bowlegs. “’tis a rare beauty in a man and the stature of a giant.”
“he and the lion would be well matched in a fight.”
bowlegs would have spat in derision if he had dared.
“a mouse in the lion’s maw, brother. i lay thee my shirt of silk to thy sandals that the lion would break him in——”
the whispering stopped when ralph trenchard raised his hand, whilst the patriarch, by force of habit, searched for the counters in the folds of his new raiment.
“the honour you do me is very great, very great. i cannot find words to thank you. but——” ralph trenchard looked down at zarah, who rose slowly, a lovely glittering thing full of apprehension and a rising anger. she looked him straight in the eyes without a word, and[231] at the relentlessness which shone in hers he subconsciously wondered what kind of death by torture she would mete out to him in return for his loyalty to helen.
“but——?”
the word dropped from her lips like the first thunder drop heralding the coming storm, and helen, a great light blazing in her eyes, stepped forward and stopped as yussuf held her back by a movement of his hand.
“but,” continued ralph trenchard slowly, very slowly, so that every word could be clearly heard throughout the hall, “the honour, the great honour i must refuse, because——”
“because——?”
under the impulse of a great excitement the men moved forward in a body, then stopped.
there was not a sound to break the terrible silence, not a movement except for the jewels which flashed as they rose and fell above the arabian girl’s heart and the fans which swung the silver lamps and stirred the black and orange osprey of her head-dress.
she stood like a statue of terrible wrath, outraged in her pride before her men. like a cobra about to strike she waited motionless to pay back that insult a hundredfold.
“because——?” she repeated.
“because,” ralph trenchard said slowly, clearly, “because i love the memory of the white woman who died amongst you, too much to give a thought of love elsewhere.”
helen’s ringing, joyous cry was lost in the men’s shouting and the sharp sound of their daggers as they whipped them from the sheath, and her scream of rage was lost in their shouts of laughter when zarah, lifting her hand, smote the white man across the mouth.
then she ran, oblivious of the roar of amazement, up the clear path which stretched between her and her lover.
“ra!” she cried as she ran, with arms outstretched. “ra! i’m here! i’m coming to you, ra! come to me!”
she ran to him as he leapt from the dais; she was[232] in his arms and he had folded her close and kissed her before zarah had time to give an order to the men, who stood motionless with astonishment.
a moment of utter silence, then the storm broke.
“separate them!”
the order, given to the nubian, cracked like a whip as zarah, white with passion, sank slowly into the ivory chair.
“seize the white man!”
she flung her order to a young arab whilst the nubian struggled to wrench ralph trenchard’s arms from about helen.
“drive them in!”
the young arab turned the dagger he held in each hand and drove the blunt handle hard down on to the ribs just above ralph trenchard’s waist, and jerked him roughly back when his arms slackened under the shock and agonizing pain.
there was a moment’s breathless silence.
helen stood perfectly still, her elbows held from behind by al-asad, her face, radiant with love, turned towards ralph trenchard, who sickened at the sight of the nubian’s glistening skin so near the girl he adored. he knew that they were in a desperate plight, the tightest corner any two could have got into, but he was not giving the arabian the satisfaction of seeing a sign of his dismay in his face, and he worshipped helen for her outward calm, though his whole being revolted at the nubian’s close proximity to her.
he knew he had only to make a certain movement to fling off the man who held his elbows from behind, but before he made it he wanted to find a way to make the half-caste loosen his hold of helen.
and the way came to him as he looked at al-asad, who stood staring down at helen’s golden hair with an indescribable look on his face.
“you, al-asad,” he said slowly, pronouncing each word so that it sounded clearly in the hall, “you nigger, let[233] go of the white woman. in our country we do not allow the black——”
he rid himself with a lightning movement from the hands which held him and sprang and caught the nubian, who, hurling helen back against the dais, leapt at the man who had so direly insulted him.
there came one tremendous yell as the men rushed to form a ring, then a very babel of voices as they laid their last qamis and their last piastre upon the outcome of the struggle between the two men who stood locked in a mighty grip.
“my shirt of silk to thy sandals,” yelled bowlegs, “that the foreigner is crushed like a mouse in the lion’s maw.”
“taken, o thou little one with legs like the full moon,” yelled his neighbour, who had learnt a thing or two in the fine art of wrestling when he had fought so magnificently for the whites. “the white man will use our brother as a cloth with which to wipe the marks of thy misshapen feet from the ground. bulk counts not against knowledge.”
bowlegs spat as he glanced at ralph trenchard, who, trained to a hair, stood well over six feet, yet looked like a stripling beside the gigantic nubian, who overtopped him by inches.
the men’s attention was diverted for one moment when helen ran up the steps of the dais, and they held their breath in sheer delight when the arabian rose from her chair to confront her.
the two girls were about the same height, both of an amazing beauty, and they both loved the same man, who was likely to have his neck broken within the next few minutes.
what more could they desire as an evening’s entertainment?
“will you take a bet, zarah?”
the lamps seemed likely to spill their oil as they swung to the men’s shouting.
[234]
“take it! take it!” they yelled. “take it, zarah the beautiful. let it not be said that an infidel could show thee a path.”
“the stakes?”
“ralph trenchard’s life against my locket, which hangs around your neck!”
“they are both mine!”
“the locket is mine, his life is god’s, in your keeping for a little while.”
“you, helen r-r-aynor, you sign his death warrant? he cannot win against my slave!”
“will you take the bet?”
the arabian unfastened the chain and, laughing, flung the locket at helen’s feet as the two men moved.
the nubian put forth all the strength of his mighty muscle. ralph trenchard, one of the finest exponents of jiu-jitsu to be found anywhere, took advantage of the movement to slip his hand an inch or two, and to move his foot an inch or so. for a second he stood quite still, then, as the nubian moved, with a movement too quick and too fine to be described, lifted the gigantic man and flung him so that he struck his head against the dais and lay still at his mistress’s feet.
in the uproar which followed helen was down the steps like a bird, and, laughing happily in her complete misunderstanding of the oriental mind, was in her lover’s arms.
“his life!” she cried, looking over her shoulder towards zarah. “his life! i’ve won! i’ve won!” then flung her arms round him and held him close at sight of the fury in the arabian’s face, whilst the men pressed upon them, their hands outstretched, waiting for the order which they knew must come.
“separate them!”
helen’s hair came down about her like a mantle as hands, only too willing, dragged her away from the man she loved, and ralph’s silk shirt ripped to the waist as he fought desperately for her until overpowered by numbers.
zarah stood half-way down the steps, looking like some[235] great bird with her train spread out behind her, the ospreys blowing this way and that above her death white face with its half-shut tawny eyes and crimson mouth. she stood looking from the one to the other evilly as she planned a torture for the two which might, in some little way, ease the torture of her own heart.
she had given her word to spare the white man’s life, and as it had been given before some hundred witnesses, her word she had to keep, but she would make of that life such a hell that the white girl would wish, before she had finished with both of them, that death had overtaken her and her lover in the battle.
in the intense excitement of the moment no notice was taken of yussuf as he crept quietly through the doorway from behind the curtain where he had been sitting, nor of the clamour from the kennels, which a few moments later rent the peace of the night.
“bring them here, both of them, to my feet. hold them apart! thou dog! who told thee to strike the white man?” zarah pointed at a pock-marked youth who had pushed ralph trenchard forward by the shoulder in an exuberance engendered by the uproar so dear to the arab’s heart. “’tis well for thee that it is a day of festival, else would ten strokes of the whip have been paid thee for thy presumption.”
the youth shrank back behind a pillar, whilst zarah looked from one to another of the men, dominating them all by her unconquerable will and her magnetic beauty.
she had but to smile and to speak to them as her beloved children and the prisoners would be free to go where they pleased; to say one word for the hall to be emptied; to raise her hand for the prisoners to die on the spot.
she was supreme in her command, superb in her beauty, but as she looked at the english girl she knew she was beaten.
she could see the love in ralph trenchard’s eyes as he looked across at helen, who stood smiling, dishevelled,[236] with her golden hair in a cloud around her over-thin, death-white face; and she knew that in his love for helen, the love she herself craved for and had failed to inspire, he would fight to the death to save her from harm.
death!
even as the word flashed into her mind, the youth whom al-asad had whirled like a club and shaken like a sack of durra for mimicking his mistress sprang forward.
in the arab’s supreme callousness towards his brother’s feelings he used the nubian’s limp body as the first step as he ran up the steps of the dais and knelt at zarah’s feet.
“her death, mistress!” he shouted, his eyes blazing at the thought of the white girl’s insult towards his womenfolk. “behold, she mocks thee and the women who tend and serve her. she mocks them this wise.”
he sprang back, landing, with the arab’s supreme callousness towards his brother’s feelings, full upon the nubian’s back, so that, the last ounce of breath being expelled forcibly from his lungs, he lay limper than ever. followed a mimicry of helen’s supposed mimicry of namlah the busy and the surly negress, until the men shouted with laughter and yelled with appreciation, whilst zarah looked down without a smile and helen looked on in amazement.
she understood at last, and tried in her indignation to free herself, and failing, shouted her denial of the untruth.
“it is a lie! it is a lie! i could not, would not——”
as the youth spat in her direction, and the men, their pride once more ablaze at the thought of the insult offered their own women, cursed and yelled, ralph trenchard, with an effort beyond all telling, broke from his captors and sprang straight at the youth who had spat.
“you swine! you filthy swine!” he cried, and with a fist like a flail caught the spitter full on the point, smashing his jaw, whereupon the men yelled “wah! wah!” and[237] at a sign from their mistress, shouting with joy, flung themselves upon ralph trenchard and held him fast.
“pass not the sentence of death upon him this night, mistress,” suddenly cried bowlegs, waddling forward. “he has grievously insulted thee, as has the white woman, but let him live for a space and under the eyes of al-asad teach us his cunning tricks, for, behold! if ’twere but a question of muscle even could i pinch his life out ’twixt thumb and finger. after we have learned the tricks, then——”
a shout of appreciation followed hot upon his words of wisdom. helen in despair fought to free herself so as to protect her lover, whereupon zarah looked slowly in her direction.
“and the woman?”
“kill her! sink her in the sands of death! give her to the dogs! drive her out into the empty desert!”
zarah shook her head at the suggestions shouted by men who are taught in their religion that woman is devoid of soul, and therefore to be looked upon either as a plaything or a drudge, or the potential bearer of sons, and, in any case, far below the level of the horse at her very best.
“death is but a closing of the eyes in sleep.” zarah translated the line she had learned at school. “and i would keep her wide-eyed in life, working as work the women she has mocked.” she caught the horror in ralph trenchard’s eyes as he looked from her to helen, who stood mute, her heart aglow at the thought of her lover’s safety for the moment. lost to all thought of self, she but half understood zarah’s words, and looked questioningly from the men to her and back.
“yea! ralph tr-r-enchar-r-d!” said zarah slowly, pouring the balm of revenge into her smarting wounds. “to work as my servant, to wait upon me, to serve me, even as thou shalt work under the ruling of that fool, who would even now be dead if it were not for the thickness of his skull.” she held up her hand as the men shouted.[238] “has the white man aught to say, the man who changes his coat to the wind? the white woman at dawn, the arabian at noon, the white woman at dusk, and allah knows which in the watches of the night!”
“you liar! you despicable coward! there isn’t a word of truth in what you say, you liar!”
helen’s words, forcible, if somewhat lacking in diplomacy considering her position, rang through the room, and yussuf, standing hidden just outside the door, raised the electric torch he held as a sign to “his eyes” standing outside the kennels deserted by the grooms, who, against orders, had crept to the feast en bloc, instead of in shifts. yussuf, who knew his brethren backward and looked upon them as children, had planned the death of the arabian and the escape of the whites as a grand finale to the day’s festivities.
for the last half-hour the dogs, headed by rādi the bitch, had been driven to the point of madness by “his eyes,” who had drawn one of zarah’s sandals across the bars of the kennels, inciting them to a very lust to kill.
yussuf had planned everything, but had forgotten to take into consideration the extraordinary trait in the character of the white races which urges them to give their life for their brother at the slightest provocation. he raised his hand to flash the signal, then dropped it to listen to ralph trenchard speaking.
“there is a proverb in england,” he was saying slowly, so that everyone should understand, “which says, ‘one man can take a horse to the water, but ten cannot make him drink.’ you will never make the girl, who will one day be my wife, wait upon you as a servant, neither will you make me work under your half-caste lover.”
which words were also lacking in diplomacy, taking everything into consideration.
a great silence fell. the men thought that zarah had been rather badly cornered; she waited out of sheer dramatic instinct. then she laughed, laughed until the[239] hall was full of the sweet sound, as she turned and sank into her chair.
she had the prisoners in the hollow of her hand, and not one whit of their punishment would she spare them.
she put her exquisite, golden-sandalled foot upon the ivory footstool, and looked at helen.
“loosen the white woman!”
she spoke curtly, and the men holding helen sprang back.
“i would remove my sandals, helen r-r-aynor-r! come and loosen them!”
helen smiled and shook her head. torture would not force her to save her life by humiliating the white races.
“you will not? remember you are a prisoner, my prisoner, and that the power of life and death and punishment is in my hands!” zarah leant right forward and looked into the steady blue eyes, whilst the men, knowing their mistress’s cunning, pressed forward. “you will not, you say?”
“no! i will not!”
zarah sat up, her hand pointing at ralph trenchard, her eyes half closed in the strength of her terrible cruelty.
“i will make you, and i will make him in like manner if he refuses to obey.” she paused for a moment, and then spoke sharply. “take the white man out, and whip him till he drops. stop!”
she had won.
yet as she leant back slowly she felt no triumph as she watched helen swing round to the man who fought to get free.
helen laughed, laughed good humouredly, splendidly, with all the pluck of her race, as she spoke to the man she was fighting for.
“why should i not unfasten the very pretty sandal, ra? why should you be made to suffer, if my very capable fingers can undo the gold laces of my lady’s footwear? don’t get angry, ra, it’s a great waste of energy; besides, you know i always do exactly as i please.”
[240]
yussuf listened to the men’s exclamations and laughter, to the sound of helen’s feet mounting the steps, then flashed his torch three times.
“the world is a mirror; show thyself in it, and it will reflect thy image.”—arabic proverb.
helen looked over her shoulder at her lover and smiled without a trace of bitterness, then turned and looked straight into the arabian’s eyes.
for a long moment the two girls looked at each other, until, unable to bear the contempt in the steady blue eyes, the arabian lowered hers, and pointed to her sandal, then lifted her head sharply as helen knelt.
pushing helen to one side, zarah sprang to her feet and walked quickly to the top of the steps and stood staring at the doorway, through which could be seen the star-strewn sky and through which could be heard the baying of dogs in full cry.
her face was white as death, her eyes wide in fear; her hands pressed down upon her heart as she backed away from the savage sound, until she stood upon her train, which swept around her like a shell.
the men stood facing the doorway, whispering to each other. they had hunted too often with the dogs; they knew every sound of their voices too well not to know that they were hard on the scent of whatever they were so strangely hunting at this hour of the night, when they were never allowed to be at large.
bowlegs, who loved the dogs almost as much as he loved his horses, under a strange excitement which had fallen upon him as well as on the other men, spoke to helen, whom he knew to be so beloved of the dogs.
“they cross the plateau in a pack, hot on the trail, ah! they have lost. canst hear rādi the bitch, the finest in the kennels? they near the water’s edge! hearken to the echo thrown by the rock above the cavern! they have found. ah! hunt they the devil? or is’t a pack of[241] djinns hunting the dead from the quicksands? tell——”
a man came running from the doorway, his eyes full of fear, his dagger in his hand. he ran up to the foot of the dais and stood half turned towards the door, to which he pointed frantically, and shouted up to helen.
“they come, they come, the greyhounds and the dogs of billi. they mount the steps; their eyes shine in the dark; they are mad with rage; death hunts with them——” he turned and looked at zarah, who stood like a pillar of stone, wrapped in her train.
she did not seem to count in this moment of great danger.
helen, knowing the dogs’ inexplicable hatred of their mistress, turned and looked at her, the contempt in her eyes deepening to scorn as she saw the frozen look of fear in the arabian’s eyes.
“the dogs have got out,” she said sharply. “look! your men are running before them. look! wake up and do something. order the doors to be shut or they’ll be in. quick, zarah!”
the arabian took no notice. lost in one of the visions which swept down upon her at times, she was looking into the future.
she stood stark with terror, her eyes wide and glassy, her crimson lips drawn back from her teeth, which chattered like gourds rattled by the wind. she shook from head to foot, and put out her hand and tried to speak as the dogs suddenly gave tongue.
she clutched at her throat and pointed to the door, and helen, who did not understand, turned away from the picture of abject fear and held out her arms to her lover, who stood a prisoner in the hands of men who showed great signs of uneasiness as they looked at their mistress and then at the door.
then helen stamped her foot and shouted, so that the men who stood near the door turned towards her, then impeded each other in their haste as they tried to obey her.
[242]
“shut the door!” she cried. “keep them out! quick! they’re almost at the top! shut it! you’re too——”
her words were lost in a piercing scream from zarah as she ran back and back until she reached the wall. she flung her arms out and fought, fought the imaginary dogs which in her strange vision she saw leaping upon her. she fought desperately, a wonderful picture against the glittering byzantine wall, fought nothing but her imagination or the shadows thrown by fate. then she screamed and screamed and, covering herself in her train, crouched down, as the whole pack of greyhounds and the hunting dogs of billi tore through the doorway.
“ra!” cried helen. “ra! come to me! they’re after her. she’ll be torn to pieces before our eyes, ra!”
the men holding ralph trenchard backed before the onslaught of the great dogs; he seized the opportunity and leaped for the steps, gaining the top just in time.
“my god!” he cried, as he watched the beautiful creatures tear across the floor. “if they leap to the top, sweetheart, we’re done; they’re too mad to recognize us.” he put his arm round her and kissed her on the mouth. “darling! we shall win through, never you fear; keep a brave heart, beloved, and remember that i love you.”
helen whispered as she put her hand in his: “and remember that i love you and that yussuf is our friend.”
they had no time for more, the dogs were on them. ralph trenchard caught the splendid bitch and flung her back as she reached the top of the steps. he caught her again and yet again as she returned to the charge, meeting her teeth in the younger dogs who tried to outdo her or to pass her on the steps, whilst the dogs of billi leapt and leapt and leapt again to reach the top of the dais, where crouched the woman they hated so deeply in their canine hearts.
yussuf’s “eyes” had over-reached himself in letting out the entire pack.
[243]
they were jammed too close together to get up the steps or for any single one to be able to get the necessary run which might have allowed the strongest to leap to the top. they baulked each other; they fought each other; they rushed the dais in a wedge and fell back and fought each other where they fell, until the place seemed a mass of maddened dogs.
the scent of the woman they hated was strong in their fine noses; she was there just above their heads, just out of reach of their mighty, snapping jaws. they rushed the steps when the bitch fell back, exhausted, and fought the man who held them at the top. he knelt upon the top step and caught them by the neck and threw them headlong back and down amongst those who rushed behind; whilst those far back in the middle of the hall flung themselves upon those in front, which turned and fought them, then turned again and strove to reach the steps.
helen knelt beside her lover ready to help, and the men stood far back against the wall making bets upon the outcome of it all, watching the stupendous picture, full of admiration for the white people, who had tackled the situation without hesitation, whilst the grooms flung themselves into the seething mass of dogs and fought to dominate them.
and the dogs far back in the hall, who fought to get forward, flung themselves on the men against the wall and on the grooms, then, losing the woman’s scent in the male garments, sat back and howled and barked and fought each other, until the place was like a corner of hell let loose.
rādi the bitch, in one last effort of revenge, made a sudden rush and making a spring-board of the nubian’s body, with a wonderful leap, which brought shouts of approval from the men, landed on the top of the dais at helen’s side.
with the arabian’s scent strong in her pointed nose, she rushed to where she crouched and turned and ripped[244] helen’s coat as the girl flung herself sideways and caught her by the neck, calling to her, hanging on to her with both hands. the bitch recognized the voice she had learned to obey in love, and turned suddenly and thrust her muzzle into helen’s neck and hands, just as the head groom shouted from the body of the hall.
“whistle, excellency,” he shouted. “the madness is past. they obey. whistle to them, then with thy hand upon the bitch’s neck, i beseech thee to lead the way to the kennels.”
“yea! excellency!” yelled the different men from the kennels and the stables, as they stood holding on to a struggling dog with each hand. “they will follow thy whistle, loving thee.”
helen laughed as she led rādi to the top step, looking like “diana of the uplands” in a strange setting as the splendid greyhound strained to get down to her companions.
she gave a long, low whistle, upon which every dog fought as frenziedly to get to her in love as they had fought to get to the arabian in hate.
“hold them!” she cried. “i will whistle them back to the kennels.”
which words were heard and taken up by a child standing outside in the shadows, and passed on to the women, who, with a hate in their hearts even greater than that of the dogs for the arabian, had crept from their quarters and half-way up the steps to the hall of judgment.
the hate of these docile creatures for the white girl, planted and fostered by the men who had been so led astray by al-asad, was most truly to be feared a hundred times more than the instinctive hate of the dogs for the arabian. they had done their best to please this foreigner, cooking for her, mending her clothes, fetching and carrying for her and waiting upon her; when their men had come back raving of her beauty and her horsemanship, the meek, downtrodden souls, who had lost their looks and their figures through hard work and overmuch[245] child-bearing, had said no word, but when they had heard the tales of the beautiful white girl’s mimicry of their efforts to please her, then they had vowed to themselves to be revenged upon her and at the first opportunity.
the news of the dogs’ escape had reached them. the opportunity had arrived, and perhaps a double opportunity for revenge, for why should the dogs not pull both the women down so that they should be quit of their dreaded mistress and the foreigner.
when the child passed on helen’s words they crept swiftly down the steps and up to the kennels, and hid themselves amongst the rocks to wait just a little longer.
“no! don’t come with me, beloved,” helen said, as she stood on the top of the dais steps pressed close to her lover’s side, with the dogs leaping and barking at her feet. “a love such as ours must come right in the end, and i don’t believe she meant what she said.”
in which she was mistaken, as she was to learn.
“then, until we meet again, dear heart! i don’t like you doing this, somehow.”
“she wouldn’t let us be together, ra! it’s wiser not to make her really angry!”
he held her close, and kissed her, and watched her run down the steps into the middle of the dogs, which nearly knocked her down in their exuberance; and watched her laughing, calling, whistling, as she ran down the hall, followed by them all, whilst the men, who were but children in their wrath and very good-tempered children when left alone, shouted their admiration.
she turned at the door, beautiful, radiant, and held out her arms.
“ra!” she called. “ra! beloved!” and disappeared into the night, the rocks echoing the barking of the dogs.
the men rushed to the door and out on to the broad ledge to watch the wonderful picture.
down the steps and over the plateau and up the other side to the kennels she fled like diana, preceded by the[246] dogs and followed by the kennel grooms, who called the blessings of allah upon her as they ran.
her voice calling to the dogs came faintly on the soft night breeze; they heard her whistle; there fell a silence. then were heard the shrill cries of many hate-filled women.
the clamour grew louder and louder and ended in prolonged, insufferable peals of laughter.
silence.
sick with horror, ralph trenchard took a step down and stopped.
al-asad sat on the bottom step, looking up.
his handsome face was drawn in pain, his lips pulled back from his splendid teeth. he sat crouched, still, looking up out of eyes filled with hate.
ralph trenchard swung round to the woman. she stood against the wall, a slender, silent figure, love and hate shining from her half-closed eyes.
he did not hesitate, he leapt clear of the dais to save the girl he loved from what the insufferable peals of laughter, which echoed in his ears, portended.
he had got half-way down the hall, when, upon a sign from the arabian woman, hands caught him and held him, whilst a golden sound of laughter came from zarah as she stood, a thing of love and hate, against the glittering byzantine wall.
“fear not, my children,” whispered yussuf to “his eyes” and namlah the busy some time later as they talked over the failure of their plans within the last few hours. “even as the pounding of many grains of wheat goes to the making of bread, so is life learnt in many lessons. dawn breaketh. to revenge the loss of thy son, my daughter, thy speech, my son, and mine eyes, we will bring about the downfall of the accursed woman. the proverb says ‘three persons if they unite against a town will ruin it.’”
