Chapter Thirty Four.
Under the Green Banner
Through a vast, barren wilderness, peopled only by echoes, we journeyed over drifted sand-heaps, upon which every breath of the hot poison-wind left its trace in solid waves. It was a haggard land of drear silence, of solitude, and of fantastic desolation. In the Desert a vivid sense of danger is never absent; indeed, even more so than upon the sea, for the mere lameness of a camel or the bursting of a water-skin is a disaster that must inevitably prove fatal to the traveller.
Our caravan consisted of ten persons only, six trusted and well-armed male slaves, two females, my pretty companion, and myself. Our departure from the great ancient stronghold in which the handsome girl had been held captive had not been accomplished without much exciting incident; but luckily my disguise as a female slave, in ugly white trousers and a haick that hid my features, proved complete, and, the imperious pearl of the Sheikh’s harem having announced her intention of journeying to Assiou to join his two other wives, we were at last allowed to depart without any opposition on the part of her husband’s armed retainers. The whole thing had been most carefully arranged, and the details of the escape were cleverly carried out without a hitch.
On setting out, Lalla Halima – for such she told me was her name – and myself, as her attendant, travelled together in one jakfi placed upon a swift camel, gaily caparisoned with crimson velvet; but as soon as we had got fairly away, I slipped off my white shroud, and, resuming a fez and burnouse, mounted one of the animals whereon our food was loaded. In camping during those blinding days under a dead, milk-white sky, I spent many pleasant, idle hours with Halima, and when travelling – which we usually did at night – we generally rode side by side. Notwithstanding the terrific heat, life in the Desert seemed to suit her far better than the seclusion of her sweet-perfumed harem, for, true child of the plains as she was, she felt her heart dilate and her pulse beat stronger; declaring to me that she experienced a keen enjoyment in “roughing it” in that trackless wilderness. Indeed, the spirits of all of us became exuberant, the air and exercise seemed to stir us to exertion, and, altogether, we constituted a really pleasant party.
Lolling lazily at her ease among the silken cushions in her jakfi, she would chat with charming frankness through the night, as in the moonlight we plodded steadily onward guided by one of the slaves to whom the route was familiar. She told me all about herself, of her childhood, spent in the barren desert of the Ahaggar, of a visit she paid to Algiers one Ramadân, and of the attack by the Kel-Fadê upon the little village of Afara Aouhan, her capture, and her subsequent life in the harem of the Sheikh. From her I gleaned many details regarding her people, of their wanderings, their power in the Desert, and their raids upon neighbouring nomad tribes. Many were the horrible stories she told me of the fierce brutality of Hadj Absalam, who was feared by his people as a wicked, unjust, and tyrannical ruler, and who, despising the French military authorities, delighted in the torture of Christian captives, and endeavoured to entice the Zouaves and Spahis into his mountain fastnesses where he could slaughter them without mercy. The Great Pirate’s impregnable palace, the fame of which had long ago spread from Timbuktu to Cairo, she described in detail, and if what she said proved correct, the place must be of magnificent proportions, and a very remarkable structure. The harem, she said, contained over four hundred inmates, the majority of whom had fallen prisoners in various raids, but so fickle was the pirate Sultan of the Sahara, that assassination was horribly frequent, and poison, the silken cord, or the scimitar, removed, almost weekly, those who failed to find favour in the eyes of their cruel captor.
Yet, regarding Zoraida, I could gather scarcely anything beyond the fact that the subjects of Hadj Absalam knew her by repute as the most beautiful of women, and that few, even of the female inmates of the palace, had ever looked upon her unveiled face. One evening, as we rode beside each other in the brilliant afterglow, I admitted how utterly mystified I was regarding the woman I loved; to which Halima replied softly —
“Who she is no one can tell. Her name is synonymous for all that is pure and good, her benevolence among our poorer families is proverbial, and she possesseth a strange power, the secret of which none hath ever been able to discover.”
“Thou didst tell me that thy people sought my destruction,” I said. “Dost thou know the reason for their secret hatred?”
“I have heard that thou holdest the mysterious power of defeating thine enemies once possessed by the Lalla Zoraida, and that until thy death it cannot return to her,” she answered. “But thou dost not seem so terrible as report describeth thee,” she added, with a coquettish smile.
I laughed. It was nevertheless strange that my would-be assassin Labakan had made a similar allegation. Remembering that I was accompanying my fair companion upon an adventurous journey to an unknown destination, I said —
“Though we have travelled together these six days, thou hast not yet told me whither our camels’ heads are set.”
Puffing thoughtfully at the cigarette between her dainty lips, she replied, “Already have I explained that I am returning to my people. The route we are traversing is known only to the trusty slave who guideth us and to mine own people, for there are no wells, and no adventurous traveller hath ever dared to penetrate into this deserted, silent land of the Samun.”
“Is it not known to thine enemies, the Kel-Fadê?” I asked, recollecting with bitterness that to the marauders of the tribe that had held her in bondage I also owed my captivity in the Court of the Eunuchs.
“The Kel-Fadê have never penetrated hither,” she answered, gazing away to where the purple flush was dying away on the misty horizon. “In three days – if Allah showeth us favour – we shall reach the rocky valley wherein my people are encamped. Ana fíkalák hatta athab ila honâk.” (“I am very anxious to get there.”)
“But for what reason are thy people so many weeks’ journey from their own country?” I asked.
Moving uneasily among her cushions, she contemplated the end of her cigarette. Apparently it was a question which she did not care to answer, for she disregarded it, exclaiming grimly, “I wonder if the occupant of the secret chamber will discover the means of exit?”
“Suppose he faileth? What then?”
“He will share the fate that hath befallen others immured there,” she answered, raising her arched brows slightly.
“Immured there by thee?” I hazarded, smiling.
“No,” she replied, with a musical laugh. “Thou must not judge me with such harshness, even though my life hath become embittered by captivity in the harem of a monster I hated.”
Suddenly I recollected the strange recovery of my mysterious talisman, the Crescent of Glorious Wonders, which was now reposing safely in its case within one of the bags beneath me. Evidently it had been hidden with other booty taken from the caravan with which I had travelled by some one who had regarded it with curiosity.
“Is the existence of that hidden prison known to anyone besides thyself?” I inquired.
“Why askest thou that question? Art thou afraid my lord will escape ere we reach a place of safety?” she exclaimed, with a low, rippling laugh.
“No,” I replied. “I have a serious object in seeking information.”
“What, wert thou troubled by unwelcome visitors?” she asked, smiling mischievously.
“No; on the contrary, the silence was appalling and the companionship of the dead horrible.”
“Ah, forgive me!” she exclaimed apologetically. “It was not my fault that I could not have the place cleared of the bones. There was no time. But in my written message I told thee to fear not.”
“But whoever placed me there knew of the secret entrance,” I urged.
“True,” she answered. “Two of my slaves – he who guideth us towards the encampment of the Ennitra and the man leading yonder camel – carried thee to thine underground tomb, and placed food there for thee.”
Her words gave me instant explanation. From the first the countenance of our guide had seemed familiar, and I now remembered where I had seen it. He was one of those who had held me when the Mysterious Crescent had been wrenched so suddenly from my grasp! No doubt it had come into his possession with other loot, which, in order to secure to himself, he had hidden in that place where none could obtain entrance. As he rode on top of his camel quite close to me, I peered into his dark, aquiline face and found its features unmistakable. It was he who had secured me, who had subjected me to slavery, and who had mounted guard over me until I had been purchased by the agent of the Sultan Hámed. Apparently he had not recognised me, and as I again held my treasure safely in my own keeping, I had no desire to claim acquaintance with this slave, who was himself a slave-raider. They were all brave, sturdy fellows, loyal to their mistress, a quality that I admired, for both she and I had interests in common in putting a respectable distance between ourselves and the irate Sheikh of the Kel-Fadê.
“If thy people seek my death, am I not unwise in accompanying thee into their midst?” I queried, after a pause.
“By thine aid I, one of their daughters, have escaped from the bonds of their enemies, therefore fear not, for though the Ennitra rule the Desert harshly with rifle and bastinado, they harm not those who lend them assistance.”
I told her of my first experience of Hadj Absalam, and how I had been tortured with the snake, concealing the fact that Zoraida had set me at liberty.
“Tabakoh câsi. (His disposition is cruel.) He is hated even by our own people,” she exclaimed, when I had concluded. “His brutality is fiendish to us and to strangers alike; but when Infidels are brought into his presence, his rage is absolutely ungovernable. Thy torture was not so horrible as some I myself have witnessed. Once, near Téhe-n-Aïeren, at the foot of Mount El Aghil, a young Zouave soldier strayed into our camp, and, being captured, was brought before him. Because the Infidel’s eyes had rested upon one of his women, he ordered them both to be gouged out and sent to the French commandant at Ideles. Then the man’s ears followed, then his nose, then his hands, and after keeping him alive in fearful torture for nearly three weeks, the body of the wretched prisoner was covered with date juice and placed upon an ant-hill, where he was literally devoured by the insects.”
“Horrible!” I said, shuddering. “Are such tortures common among thy tribe?”
“Alas!” she answered, rearranging her pillow; “cruelties such as these are frequently practised, even upon us. Neither men, women, nor children are safe. Those who give our mighty lord offence always pay the penalty with their lives, but never before they have been tortured.”
“Yet thou art anxious to return among them?”
“Yes,” she replied, with an earnest look. As she lay curled up in her cage-like litter, she had the air of a little savage with the grace of a child. “I do not wish to be loved as I have been, like a slave,” she added in a confidential tone.
“But thou hast ruled the harem of the Sheikh, and hast been chief of his great household,” I observed.
“True,” she answered. “But there are circumstances in our lives we cannot forget; there are people who dwell always in the house of our memory.”
I nodded. The truth was easily guessed.
“Two days before being torn from my people,” she continued bitterly, “I met, by mere chance, a man of mine own people whom I have never ceased to remember. It was a chance meeting, and by no fault of mine own was my veil drawn aside. Neither of us spoke, but I knew we loved each other. My father told me he was one of the most daring of the men-at-arms Hadj Absalam sends against the homards, a notorious thief and cut-throat, to secure whose capture the Roumis away at Algiers have offered two bags of gold.” She sighed, then added simply, “Though he may be a murderer, I shall love him, even until Allah bringeth me to Certainty.” (The hour of death.)
She spoke with the passionate ardour of her race. The love of the Arab woman knows neither the shame nor the duplicity of vice. Proud of her submission as a slave, she can love even a murderer without losing any of her self-respect. In her eyes, her tenderness is legitimate; her glory is to conquer the heart. The man she loves is her master, she abandons herself to him without failing in any duty. A daughter of Al-Islâm, she fulfils her destiny according to the moral traditions and beliefs of her country, and she remains faithful to them by loving the man she chooses; her religion has no other rule, her virtue no other law.
“And you have escaped in order to seek this man?” I observed, smoking calmly.
“Yes. I seek him because I love him. His eyes gave me a sign of affection, the remembrance of which time hath not effaced. I shall find him, even though I am compelled to journey from Ghat to Mequinez, or from the Tsâd to Algiers.” The eventuality did not occur to her that, being a warrior of an outlaw band, his bones might long ago have been bleaching in the Desert like those of so many of his fellow marauders. Such a thought, I reflected, would cause her acute anxiety, therefore I did not suggest it. She was hopeful, confident, content; tender and passionate in her love, fierce and relentless in her revenge. Night had fallen, and as under the myriad stars we travelled over rising ground towards the camp of the Desert pirates, she formed a delightful study. Her ingenuous ignorance and intuition of coquetry, the Eastern fascination striving with modest reserve, charmed and amused me, and although the wind commenced to blow up choking clouds of fine sand, compelling her to adjust her veil, yet she would not draw the curtains of her jakfi, but continued chatting until we halted an hour after dawn.
The slave guiding us predicted a sandstorm, therefore, before encamping, we turned our faces towards the Holy City, and, as pious travellers, recited the Hizb al-Bahr, the prayer which is supposed to make all safe on either land or sea. Halima with her slaves prostrated themselves upon the sand, and in impressive tones repeated aloud the prayer that commences —
“O Allah, O Exalted, O Almighty, O All-pitiful, O All-powerful, Thou art my God, and sufficeth to me the knowledge of it!” and which has the following strange conclusion: – “Thou didst subject the Moon and Al-Burak to Mohammed, upon whom be Allah’s mercy and His blessing! And subject unto us all the Seas in Earth and Heaven, in Thy visible and in Thine invisible Worlds, the Sea of this Life, and the Sea of Futurity. O Thou who reignest over everything, and unto whom all Things return. Khyas! Khyas! Khyas!” (Mystic words that cannot be translated.)
Halima told me afterwards that in this great waterless region of shifting sand, so fraught with perils, a storm was always brewing and the dreaded poison-wind always blowing, therefore men raised their hands to pray as they crossed it.
At sunrise three days later my pretty companion was lying unveiled in her jakfi, smoking and chatting to me, her two women riding a little distance behind, when our guide suddenly raised a loud shout of warning which in a moment alarmed the whole caravan. Halima instinctively twisted her veil across her face as she inquired the cause.
The slave drew up his camel near her, replying, while he glanced to make certain that his gun was loaded, “Know, O beauteous Lalla, that we are discovered! Six mysterious, armed horsemen are spurring towards us!” and with his finger he indicated the direction in which his keen, hawk-like eyes had detected them. We all gazed away into the dusky grey where he pointed, and there I saw several mounted Bedouins tearing headlong across the desert in our direction, their long guns held high above their heads, and their white draperies flowing in the wind.
Each of us grasped our rifles, prepared to fight for the protection of our fair charge, while Halima herself, pale and determined, drew a long and serviceable-looking poignard from her girdle and felt its edge. It was evident that the strangers had from afar espied Halima’s jakfi, and were resolved to possess themselves of its occupant. In this country of lawless slave-raiders those who show fight are treated with scant mercy, therefore we could expect no quarter, and dismounted ready for the combat. On came the horsemen, fleet as the wind, until they got within a short distance of us, when suddenly, without slackening, and still holding their weapons high above them, they poured out a sharp, decisive volley upon us. It was a warning that they intended attack, and that we might surrender if we were so disposed. The bullets sang over our heads unpleasantly, but no one was hit, and without hesitation our seven rifles rang out almost simultaneously. Again and again we fired, but without result, for the six fierce Sons of the Desert galloped onward, shouting a weird war-cry, and dashed in upon us, calling upon us to lay down our arms. One of them, evidently the leader, swinging himself from his grey stallion, seized Halima by the wrist before we could prevent him, but in a second, with a sudden movement, the harem beauty had slashed him with her dagger, inflicting an ugly wound across his hairy arm.
Raising his rifle, he would have shot her dead, had not one of her slaves flung himself between them, crying —
“Pause, O strangers! Tell us of what tribe thou art. If thou leviest tax upon us in this thy country, our Lalla is prepared to accede to thy just demands. If a hand is raised against her, the wrath of the Kel-Fadê will assuredly fall upon thee!”
“Naught care we for the Kel-Fadê, who are accursed by Allah, for they pray not, neither go they upon pilgrimages!” the man answered, with a harsh laugh. “From the waters of the Tsâd, even unto the green slopes of the Atlas, we hold power supreme, and none dare withstand us, for we are feared alike by the Roumis of Algeria and the True Believers of the Desert.” Then, brandishing his jambiyah (a very keen crooked dagger) above his head, he added, “We are of the Ennitra, and our lord is the mighty Hadj Absalam, Sultan of the Sahara!”
“Then hear me, O brothers!” Halima exclaimed in a loud, firm voice. “I am thy sister!”
“Our sister? But thou art of the Kel-Fadê, our enemies!” the horsemen cried with one accord.
“True. Hear thou mine explanation. Dost thou not remember that the Kel-Fadê – whom may Allah confound! – attacked and burned our village of Afara Aouhan?”
“The sons of dogs killed my father in the massacre,” declared one of the men, a brawny giant, who stood leaning on his gun.
“Mine shared the same fate. He was the oukil,” cried the beautiful girl, whose veil had in the struggle been torn away.
“His name – quick!” exclaimed the leader of the marauders in surprise.
“Hámed ben Abderrahman.”
“Then thou art – ”
“His daughter Halima.”
The black-bearded scoundrel immediately released her, and, bowing, expressed sorrow at having caused her undue alarm, after which, in a few quick sentences, she told him of her captivity and her escape, afterwards presenting me as one by whose aid she was enabled to return to her own people. She did not, however, declare me to be a Christian, therefore they thanked me and gave me peace. They told us that we were distant three hours from the encampment, which they, as scouts, were guarding, but advised us to rest till sundown, as the poison-wind was unusually virulent. Acting upon their suggestion, our tents were pitched, and the six outlaws ate with us, afterwards wrapping themselves in their burnouses and sleeping through the long, blazing day. From them I could gather but little regarding the movements of their people, and though I mentioned that I had heard many reports of the wondrous powers possessed by their Daughter of the Sun, they nevertheless preserved a studied silence. They did not even descant upon her beauty, as I expected they would do. They only grunted approbation. Towards four o’clock, Halima, wrapped in her haick, came from her tent, and very shortly afterwards we were on our way to the camp, guided by the six cut-throats of Hadj Absalam, who rode along with careless ease, carrying their weapons across their saddles, smoking cigarettes, and talking gaily. Strange indeed was this latest freak of Fate. Long had I regarded these people as the most deadly of my enemies, yet I was now entering their camp as their friend!
Our way wound among bare rocks and hills of granite and over broken ground, weird in its desolation, flanked by high blocks and boulders. Several parties of horsemen, evidently scouts, appeared, but, on recognising our escort, allowed us to pass unmolested, until at length, about the hour of el maghrib, we came to a vast cleft in the hideous face of earth, and, passing through, found ourselves in a valley in the midst of a great encampment. The ravine seemed covered with tents; indeed, it appeared as if a whole army had encamped there, and I was not surprised when one of the outlaws told me that the fighting force numbered over three thousand.
On descending the rocky defile, I saw in an open space in the centre of the camping-ground three tents close together and more handsome than the rest, while against the clear, rose-tinted evening sky there waved over the centre pavilion the dreaded green silken banner of Hadj Absalam.
“Then thy lord is present with thee?” I exclaimed in surprise, addressing the marauder who rode beside me.
“Yes. When he leadeth us we fear no evil, for he is the Great Sultan of the Sahara, who cannot be overthrown.”
Wending our way slowly onward among the tents, our arrival caused a good deal of excitement and speculation among the robbers, who doubtless believed us to be captives. One incident impressed me as especially remarkable. Just as we had entered the camp, three women, enshrouded in silken haicks and wearing their ugly, out-door trousers, were strolling together slowly, as if enjoying the cool zephyr after the breathless day.
No word escaped either of them, but one reeled and clutched her companion’s arm, excited and trembling, as if her eyes had met an apparition. I smiled at her intense agitation, wondering whether she had recognised in Halima a hated rival; but until we had turned to wend our way among the tents, she stood motionless, staring at us fixedly through the small aperture of her veil, apparently much to the consternation of her two companions.
The tragic little scene, though unusual, was apparently not noticed by my companions.
Was it Halima’s presence that caused the closely-veiled woman such sudden and profound consternation – or was it mine?