XII

“Spoke I not truly, O my master, when I said it was a fine place? The greatest of the city come here each day to hear the news and see what horses are for sale. With thy leave, I will stay with thee. It is not seemly that a man of thy condition should be seen without a servant.”

A lofty and ruinous gateway gave access to a sort of lawn, worn bare of grass in many places. All round, near to the walls of houses, trees threw great blots of shade over a crowd of richly-dressed persons⁠—Turkish officers in high fezes and their best uniforms; grave merchants and notables, robed in finest silk, with close-cropped beards and deep embroidered turbans; one or two men in the official black frock coat and red tarbûsh; and a sprinkling of undoubted Europeans in light suits with queer-shaped hats upon their heads. All these were standing in groups or strolling up and down watching a wild-looking Bedawi and a groom of the town vie with each other in feats of horsemanship.

Selìm drew close to the saddlebow as they entered the enclosure. “Effendi!” he whispered, “it were well for thee to dismount here and let me go forward with the horse. It is easier for the servant to raise the price than for the master. Selìm cannot decide, it is understood, without first consulting thee. Be haughty, O my master, and show thyself hard to please! Selìm will take care to exalt thee in the ears of all who question him concerning the horse. So men shall know that thou art a great one, and shall be ashamed to offer a small sum.”

The advice seeming good to Saïd, he alighted and gave the rope-bridle into the hand of his follower.

“Allah be with thee!” he said. “The saddle and the bridle go into the bargain; I have no more need of them. And forget not to make much of the horse!”

“Have no fear, O my master! Selìm is a subtle man, well skilled in this kind of business. By Allah, though, it is a pity he is not a mare. A stallion may be strong, swift, beautiful, of the best blood of the desert, but he is not productive like a mare. A good mare in foal would fetch a vast price here, effendi. Ah, my beloved, if thou hadst but been a mare!” He laid his cheeks to the horse’s pink nostrils lovingly. Then, with a rousing pat between the eyes, he led him away towards where the Bedawi and his rival were galloping madly to and fro in the blinding sun, pulling up short within a hand’s-breadth of the wall, so that the steeds were hurled back on their haunches, shouting and yelling all the while as though their lives depended on it.

Saïd, for his part, bent his steps to the nearest tree, where was a group of loungers in the shade, walking slowly with care for his dignity. Never before had he mixed in such high company, and he felt awkward. But ere he had achieved many steps there was the sound of hoofs muffled by the rank grass, and Selìm stood again at his elbow.

“Look, effendi!” he said, pointing with his finger. “Seest thou the old man yonder?⁠—he of the snowy turban and the striped cloak, black and white. It is a Durzi, one of the nation of the Drûz⁠—whether from the Hauran or from the Mountain, Allah knows. A strange race, O my master!⁠—thou hast doubtless heard speak of them. I bethought me that, being a stranger from afar, thou mightest like to see a true Durzi; that is why I come back to thee. They are our brothers in that matter of the Nazarenes of which we were speaking, and they are strong in war. They love not the Mowarni, their neighbours on the Mountain, who call themselves subjects of the French, and are very arrogant. Men say that there are threatenings of war between them. Look well at him, effendi. Mark how proud he stands. By the Quran he is the finest old man I ever saw. He is lord of all here by a head.”

Saïd admitted to have heard much talk of that strange race, of whom the very Government stood in awe, and even to have spoken with some of them on his journey. He agreed with Selìm that he had never met so noble-looking an old man as this sheykh in the black and white cloak, who, though his long beard was almost as white as his turban, yet stood alert and upright as if still in the prime of youth. He held a fine stallion, black as charcoal, by the bridle; and some young men of the city, who were examining the horse’s parts, looked oafish beside him for all their fine apparel. As Saïd took his stand on the outskirts of the little crowd of grandees his eyes were still observant of that stately figure. The black charger was every whit as admirable as his master. The old Durzi must be mad, Saïd thought, or very short, indeed, of money to wish to sell a horse like that. He himself would not have parted with such an animal for all the wealth of Istanbûl. The small head, the watchful eye, the listening ears, the distended nostrils, the strong, arched neck, the tail falling like a cascade, not hanging limp between the buttocks; a dainty trick of pawing the ground and prancing from mere pride of life⁠—the charm of these things took Saïd’s breath away.

He was standing just within the shade of a great tree, about whose trunk the loungers clustered most thickly. Along the foot of a sunbaked wall beyond, roses, a little thicket of them, tangled like brambles over a brash of fallen stones and other refuse. The pink of blossoms among their dusty leaves was lustreless, veiled as in haze by the white glare from the wall. Their perfume reached Saïd faintly on that light breeze which springs up about the third hour of the day and breathes its fullest at noon.

The Bedawi had ceased his mad gallop in the sun’s eye and was now busy scraping the foam from his horse’s flanks with a piece of wood. Selìm had taken his place as rival of the town-bred groom, and the pair were careering about like madmen. Saïd shouted to him not to tire the horse⁠—a cry which drew the attention of those who stood near. He caught a whisper: “He is a soldier⁠—not so?” and knew, with a beating heart, that the red braiding of his robe was being canvassed. Then he heard a Turkish officer say, “It is but a mockery of our uniform paletot. That is no soldier’s garment, by Allah!” He knew the speaker for an officer by the clatter of a sword which preceded and followed the words, and for a Turk by the way he pronounced Arabic. But he did not turn his head or let it be known he had overheard. When at length he risked a backward glance it was to find that most of the company had moved away, leaving only a young officer and two Franks. They were talking lightly together, and seemed perfectly heedless of him or his clothes.

Presently, however, a laugh affronted his ears. It was a Frank’s laugh or an idiot’s, being very loud and quite devoid of understanding. Saïd felt uneasy but did not change his position, nor turn his head the fraction of an inch. Only he strained his ears to listen. Both the Franks were laughing now, and the sound of their mirth was like the braying of twin asses. They were trying to explain something to the Turk in a strange tongue. At last the officer seemed to understand, for he laughed too⁠—not the meaningless laughter of the other two, but a subtle guffaw full of appreciation. Then he stepped forward and touched Saïd’s shoulder.

“By thy leave, uncle”⁠—the familiarity of this style of address was gall and wormwood to the fisherman⁠—“I would ask thee a question. The Khawajât, my friends, marvel much at this garment of thine. It is the work of their country, they aver, and one which no Frank wears outside his own house; it being proper only to the harìm and the sleeping-room. They are curious to know for what reason, whether from ignorance or of any set purpose, thou wearest it before all men in a public place.”

Then Saïd, with hot shame and confusion at his heart, lifted up his voice and laughed⁠—a laugh even louder and more empty than that of the Franks.

“It was a famous trick,” he cried. “Oh, that rascal! He is a very devil for cunning! Listen, O Khawajât, and thou also, O my lord the Bek! I am a man of consequence in my own city, but it is far from here. I set out to come hither in order to get the inheritance of my brother, who is dead. In the way I passed by the door of a Frank⁠—a priest he was, dressed all in black. He called to me to enter and rest awhile, and, as it was the heat of the day, I got down off my horse and sat with him. While we awaited the coffee, he brought this garment to show me, swearing by all his prophets, whom he counts as gods, that it was a robe of price such as kings wear in his country. He wished to sell it, and as he had taken a fancy to me⁠—ah, the devil!⁠—he would let me have it for five hundred piastres. It was equal to giving it, he said, but he loved me like a brother and so would let me have it for that money. So I, desiring the robe greatly (for I believed his words, that it was a fine rarity), and having much money with me, paid the price at once, and put on the garment, which in truth is pleasant to wear. Ah, the joker! he befooled me perfectly.”

The Turk laughed long and merrily. He was at pains to translate the story for the benefit of his Frankish friends. One of these, whose face had somewhat the colour of a pomegranate flower, insisted on grasping Saïd’s hand and shaking it, which is a manner of friendly greeting with the Franks. He laughed heartily with his mouth wide open, staring into Saïd’s face with stupid blue eyes. His companion, who kept his face⁠—pink and white, like a painted woman’s⁠—carefully shaded by a very broad-brimmed hat, held a little aloof, but laughed heartily too. The moustache of this latter was yellow like straw.

Saïd submitted to the indignity of having his hand squeezed to a jelly and his arm all but wrenched from its socket with as good a grace as might be, consoling himself with the thought that the Franks are all possessed with devils. He was quite in the dark as to the meaning of it all till the officer spoke to enlighten him.

“It is because thou art a merry fellow, O my uncle. My friend here loves thee because thou smilest in misfortune and art not angry that a trick has been played with thee.”

At that Saïd grinned broadly and pressed the Frank’s hand with all his might, working it up and down until he cried laughingly, “Enough! enough!” that being one of the few words of Arabic which he knew.

“Why art thou here, O my uncle?” asked the Turk. “Hast come to buy a horse? Yonder is a fine one, which the old Durzi is holding.”

“No, my lord the Bek, I am come to sell a horse,” returned Saïd, with dignity. “My servant leads him yonder in the shade of the tree. It is a good horse, not so much for fantasy as for travelling. There is not his equal for a long journey. I myself have ridden him lately for five days; that is why he looks a little thin. It grieves me to have to sell him.”

The Turk imparted the substance of what was said to his friends. There followed a short conversation between the three, of which Saïd understood nothing. Then the officer said⁠—

“My friend the khawaja has need of a stout horse to carry him on a journey he is about to make into the desert. With thy leave he would like to examine this beast of thine.”

It was a wonderful stroke of luck for Saïd, and he saw a special providence in it. He ceased not from praising Allah until the day was far spent and shadows covered all the streets. In a word, the scarlet-faced idiot bought the horse and paid for it, there in the open field, out of a purse that he carried, no less than fourteen English pounds. The bystanders sneered openly at the deed of folly. The Turk strove to reason with his friend, but the Frank was bent on paying the price first asked, which he seemed to think a low one, though Saïd, if beaten down to it, would have taken the half. The old Druze, who had just refused ten pounds Turk for the splendid animal he held, spoke loudly in envy of Saïd’s good fortune. Selìm went mad with delight. To crown all, the Frank, having paid the treasure into Saïd’s hand, must grasp that hand again, and shake it almost to the time-limit of the fisherman’s patience, for the bystanders were laughing in their beards.

Then, with a light heart, Saïd bade Selìm lead the way to some coffeehouse of good repute.