XXII

Saïd’s first impression of the gaol would have been a pleasant one but for the dejected looks of its inmates and the foul stench pervading its atmosphere. His captors left him unshackled in an open quadrangle. An arcade supporting a flat roof made a sort of verandah on two sides of it, affording shelter to the prisoners from the glare of noon. The remainder was shut in by a high wall, in which was the entrance gate, strongly barred and further secured by a small guard of soldiers hardly less wretched in appearance than the criminals themselves. On one hand the rays of the sinking sun were warm upon wall and pavement; on the other, a deep blue shadow stretched out from the arcade before mentioned almost to the middle of the court.

Saïd stood for some time where his escort had left him, just within the gate. His eyes strayed over the various groups lying or squatting in the shade or striding wearily up and down in the red glow that dyed the eastern wall. Most of them were ragged; all were dirty, with the exception of three young men, who sat aloof together, cross-legged, on the edge of the sunlight. The gaiety of this little party, talking and laughing bravely in the face of misfortune, attracted Saïd even before he knew them for his associates in transgression. His approach was hailed with shouts of welcome, and he was made to sit down with them.

They affected to treat their imprisonment as a jest. It was not likely, Saïd agreed, that men would be greatly punished for so slight a misdemeanour. The Wâly was a Muslim, and all believers must surely feel with them. Their arrest was only a sop to the Franks. That dragoman⁠—curse his religion!⁠—had complained to the Muscovite Consul, his master; and the Consul had gone in a rage to Ahmed Pasha, who was ever ready to humour a Frank in small matters. The Consul’s word was law: the ringleaders were put in prison. On the morrow they would be brought before a council of true believers, gently reprimanded and set at liberty.

Thanks to these assurances, and a good supper which a soldier gladly brought in for them from a neighbouring tavern, Saïd slept well enough that night, though on the bare stones. He had no money to procure bedding such as his friends obtained from the gaolers for a trifle of bakshìsh. But having supped well at their expense, and being used to rough couches, he scarcely envied them the luxury. He awoke in gladness to the prospect of a speedy release. But the day wore on, and the little company sat ever in the shadow of the arcade, gazing at the gate until their eyes ached. They murmured and grew despondent; darkness returned and they were still in durance. Saïd slept ill that night; his companions moaned and stirred uneasily in their sleep. They were forgotten, or the Franks had poisoned the Wâly’s mind against them. In either case they had small cause to rejoice.

About sunrise, Saïd was awakened by the clank of an iron chain. A peevish voice bade him arise and that quickly. He scrambled to his feet and looked for his companions. They were standing a little way off, under a strong guard of soldiers. Their limbs were fettered, and they were linked together by a heavy chain. He read blank dismay in their faces.

“What is this? What have we done to deserve such usage?” he asked indignantly, as two men, detached for that purpose, fitted irons to his wrists and ankles. There was no answer; the men seemed morose yet handled him gently. Upon his repeating the question in a louder tone the officer in command, who appeared in a towering rage, turned on him fiercely.

“Thou mayst well ask what is this! I myself know not the meaning of it! Perhaps the Wâly is possessed with a devil⁠—Allah knows! To hear is to obey; but to carry out such an order is a shame for one who is a Muslim. May all the Franks perish utterly!⁠ ⁠… Know that the dragoman of the Muscovite Consul⁠—a Christian and the son of an Arab, may his house be destroyed!⁠—was closeted with his Excellency yesterday afternoon. And a little later I received the order for your punishment; that you are to sweep the streets of the Christian quarter in chains. Allah witness, I count it a sin and dishonour to the Faith. Notwithstanding, to hear is to obey!”

He turned aside with a shrug to give a word of command to one of his men. Four common brooms were brought and distributed one to each of the convicts. Saïd was coupled on to the chain with the others, and thus bound together they were marched out at the gate, while every prisoner that was a Muslim ground his teeth and howled with rage at the indignity. The ragged privates who kept the door murmured together with lowering brows.

“Jurji, the Nazarene, that was a malefactor, was set free without punishment,” Saïd heard one of them growl; “while these believers, who have done nothing to be called a crime, are condemned to dishonour the Faith. In truth, the end of all things is at hand!”

Their road lay past the gateway of the great mosque. The sight of the white minaret with its crescent glittering upon the blue brought scalding tears to men’s eyes for the honour of Islâm which was dead. The cooing of the doves had a new and mournful note in it. The prisoners walked listless with downcast faces; the soldiers closed in to screen them, as far as might be, from the stare of the populace. But the guard themselves were sullen and dejected; the work in hand being a heavy burden on their minds. Suddenly a piercing cry broke upon the hush in which they moved.

“O Lord!⁠ ⁠… I behold my son⁠—my only son⁠—the staff of my age⁠—whom the children of sin took from me! The slaves of iniquity have loaded him with chains⁠—Allah, cut short their lives!⁠ ⁠… By the Quran, he is no evildoer, but a pious man and a faithful⁠—who did but curse some Nazarenes and spit in their faces. It is for that they have fettered and bound him!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠… Shall these things be done under the sun and in the sight of all men? Merciful Allah!”

The soldiers quickened step, but the voice went along with them, as it were a knife stabbing their hearts, which were sore enough already. Why did not the sun veil his face and spread a darkness over all the city that the shame of Islâm might be hid? Oh, that Allah would cause the earth to yawn and swallow up the infidels, as he did for Neby Mûsa of old; that all the world might know that God was still watching over his faithful as in the time of Nûh and Ibrahìm and Ismaìl, as in the days of Daûd and of Isa, and of Muhammed (peace to him!), his apostle. O day of woe! O cursed day of infamy!

That was a proud morning for the Christians. They swarmed in the streets of their quarter with exultant faces. The day of their deliverance was come at last. The conquerers were become the slaves of the conquered, to sweep their streets for them. They gloated on the sight with the coward’s triumph, who, seeing his foe laid low by a stronger than himself, spits valiantly in his face and cries, “Mine is the victory!” Secure of protection, they took pleasure in taunting the prisoners, cursing them for sons of dogs and mocking them with proffers of water when they seemed weary. The pent-up venom of centuries was on their tongues. The poor earthworm hissed like a snake.

A number of the faithful had flocked into the quarter, drawn chiefly by the frantic outcry of the old beggar. They failed at first to grasp the position. The valorous attitude of the Christians only shocked and bewildered them. But no sooner did they learn what work was doing than their eyes grew fierce with the old pride of Islâm⁠—the battle-pride of their forbears, who had carried the white crescent on the green flag victorious from India to the Atlantic. There were scuffles, and Christians were hurled to the ground. The press grew menacing about the sweepers and their guard. The soldiers looked anxious. The prisoners were ordered to cease work, and the officer, foreseeing a riot, was minded to take them back to prison on his own responsibility. The courage of the Nazarenes began to waver. The older and wiser of them slipped quietly into the nearest houses. But the younger and more turbulent, loth to forego one tittle of the unwonted pleasure of retaliation, remained in the street, hurling insults at the religion of Muhammed, and all professing it. Even thus they outnumbered the believers, who, however, were constantly on the increase as the rumour of a tumult spread through the city. In vain did the captain attempt to draw off his men, for they were locked in the heart of a seething, yelling crowd. It was all they could do to hold their ground. All at once the voice of the old beggar was raised in triumph⁠—

“To the rescue!⁠—Dìn! Dìn! Dìn Muhammed!”

There was a rush of turbaned men, a sharp struggle; the soldiers were torn away like trees by a winter torrent, and a hundred hands were eager to free the prisoners from their fetters. Files, knives, iron bars⁠—every kind of tool and weapon was thrust forward to serve in the work of release. Rescuers and rescued were rocked to and fro in the battle raging around them. For once the Christians fought like wild beasts. Here a turbaned head was seen to fall, there a fez. Death shrieks mingled with the howls and shouts of the fighters. The uproar was frightful. For a while the issue of the fray seemed doubtful; but soon the Christians began to give way. The war-cry of Islâm gathered volume, until it seemed to roll along the sky in waves of sound.

“To the house of Yuhanna!” cried the old beggar, dragging Saïd’s arm. “Dìn Muhammed! to the house of ’hanna, the pig who protects Jurji, the evildoer!⁠ ⁠… Y’Allah!⁠ ⁠… Death to the heathen!”

Saïd, freed of his chains, forced his way earnestly through the crowd. Mustafa dogged him, screaming, laughing, and yelling like one possessed, keeping tight hold of his raiment so as not to lose him. A number of the faithful, fired by the hated name of Jurji, followed frantic as they.