XXVII

Saïd shuddered, not so much for the knowledge of his own uncleanness, nor for the fear of death, as for the loneness of this end by the roadside and for horror of the wild cry he had heard. Since last the sun rose he had been present at the killing of many men and women. But they all had perished in the open street in the sunlight, amid the shouting of a great multitude, with prayers and curses on their lips; whereas Mustafa had met death in the dark, in a lonely place with none to witness.

He thought of the treasure, that it was now all his own; and sorrow, like a spring of sweet water, welled up in his heart for the loss of his more than father. But the next minute he wished Mustafa no good for dying ere he had made him privy to the hiding-place. By Allah, a loose stone in the pavement was not so easy to find in the darkness, without lamp or direction, and with a corpse for company.

The clash of bells grew very near indeed. The chant ceased, and the singer shouted to a comrade at some distance. Then the bells lost their rhythmic chime and jangled confusedly. The train of camels had halted.

Soon an unwieldy, groaning bulk was led in to drink at the fountain. Saïd stood very still against the wall of his recess, watching the black shapes fearfully, quaking for his treasure, lest the drivers should strike a light or any movement of his should rouse suspicion. There were sounds of sucking, gurgling and groaning, the swinging tramp of great beasts, and a hairy smell. He heard the voices of the men debating whether to enter the city in its present disturbed state or to sleep at a khan they named without the gate. He grew fretful, burning to begin his search for the treasure. It must be taken away at once, lest the discovery of Mustafa’s body should lead to a thorough search of the place.

At length the last camel was watered and he could hear the men swear as they marshalled the train. The rhythmic clangour broke out afresh. With an oath of relief he began to crawl upon his hands and knees, feeling the pavement stone by stone as he went. He felt everywhere to within a hair’s-breadth of the corpse; but not a slab was loose, though he fancied one or two rang hollow as he rapped them. The camel-bells were but a tinkle in the distance. He was alone and fear breathed hot upon him.

In a kind of fury he gripped the dead man’s arm and dragged him into a corner. With a shiver of that contact upon him he knelt down to examine the place where the body had lain. There was a stone cast up⁠—a wide hole. Oh, for a little light!

He let his forearm down into it; and his hand felt gold, both coinage and jewellery, which seemed to be contained in a strong coffer of iron or brass, of which the lid was open. Lying flat on his belly, with both arms in the hole, he long strove to lift that chest⁠—by the lid, by the side⁠—but it would not budge. Then he thought if he could only get his fingers under it he would have better purchase. He needed something thin yet strong to thrust beneath it as a prise.

“May Allah cut short his life!” he panted. “Who but a madman would have left our wealth thus exposed? By the Prophet, it is lucky that I alone was at hand to hear his last cry.⁠ ⁠… May his house be destroyed.”

“Peace to him,” he added as an afterthought, setting to work once more. He took a knife from his girdle, and managed so to force its stout blade under the treasure-box that his fingers could take hold. He tugged and strained, tendons cracking, sweat streaming from every pore. At last, after many failures, he raised it clear out of the hole and set it on the pavement. Praise to Allah!

Sitting back on his heels to recover breath he mopped his face with the lap of his robe. Mustafa was indeed a marvel of strength to have carried that burden with anything like secrecy from the house of Yuhanna hither. He turned the miracle over in his mind, seeking its human side. Of a sudden he recalled how the old man had spoken of the fountain as a place where he was used to hide trifles of price. The riddle was solved; there was no great wonder after all. The strong chest was the beggar’s own. He had brought the wealth of Yuhanna hither in a sack, or some vessel unlikely to raise suspicion. He had then uncovered the hole, opened the chest, and poured the treasure pell-mell upon its contents. This evening he had naturally wished to gaze upon his riches. And even as his eyes were glutted the angel of death had passed over him.

Saïd’s heart grew faint with rapture as he thought that here was more than all the treasure of the Christian. Allah alone knew what hoards Mustafa might have amassed during long years of begging and pilfering.

“Thanks be to Allah!” he murmured. “May Allah increase thy goods, O abu Mansûr!”

But the question was urgent⁠—How to dispose of all this wealth for the time being? He dared not replace it, lest, when men came to remove the body of Mustafa, they should chance upon the loose slab and haply discover it. To bury it somewhere in the darkness and return with a sack in the early morning seemed a bright thought; but he could not regard it with perfect favour, knowing what mischievous devils lurk at night in lonesome places. A jinni might see him bury the chest and play some vile prank such as turning the gold to dross, or ashes, or salt, or freezing the ground above it to solid rock.

At last he resolved to take his fortune along with him in the pendant sack of his voluminous trousers. A weight down there would attract no notice, for it is the custom of all men to carry their marketings thus⁠—their implements or whatever is cumbrous in the hand. He stood and pulled up his overrobe. Holding up the placket of his pantaloons, he took money and jewels by handfuls and dropped them in. Passing his hand along the bottom of the coffer to be sure it was quite empty, he found a small coin which he left for an alms or gleaning. He took a step to and fro to see how it felt. The treasure swung as a solid whole, bumping his ankles, his shins, and the calves of his legs. There was no clink or jingle to betray its nature. It was clumsy, very uncomfortable, but (praise to Allah!) quite safe.

He squatted to replace the chest and close the hole. The posture was restful, for while it lasted the pavement bore his burden. Then he rose, and, with a faint glance towards the carcase of Mustafa, moved gingerly away. But no sooner had he turned his back upon the dead than a panic got hold of him. He stumbled through the archway out into the whispering night as fast as the weight of his treasure would allow.

Weary and bruised all over, he sank within the threshold of Nûr’s dwelling, bumping against a small donkey, saddled and hung about with gaudy tassels, which stood there patiently with swishing tail. A lamp was burning on the floor of the inner room, and Saïd could see the vast bulk of Abu Khalìl seated beside the mistress in a languorous attitude. Nûr rose full of reproach on beholding the fisherman.

“Thou art returned, O my soul? What is this? Did I not counsel thee not to come nigh her for a while? Moreover, it is not safe for thee to be here. Search may perhaps be made; all wise men concerned in the riot sleep beyond the walls tonight. Our friend, Abu Khalìl, is come seeking news of his son, Camr-ud-dìn.⁠ ⁠…”

Peering into his face she broke off and cried⁠—

“How is Mustafa? Where is he? Speak!”

“O Nûr, Mustafa is dead!” murmured Saïd with a woeful shake of the head. And in truth his heart was near to breaking, for the treasure had barked the shins of both his legs, not to speak of ankles and the great weight to carry.

She screamed⁠—

“Just Allah! Hearest thou that, O Abu Khalìl?⁠ ⁠… O day of disaster! O evil day!⁠ ⁠… Where is he? Lead me to him! None but Nûr shall lay him out for burial!⁠ ⁠… Hearken, O Saïd⁠—O son of his soul and heir of all his wealth! I will hire a goodly company of women to bewail him with beating of breasts and tearing of hair. Thou wilt not grudge the money, for thou art a rich man through his death.⁠ ⁠… Where is he? Lead me to him!”

Very mournfully Saïd told her that the body lay a long way off, in the chamber of a certain fountain among the gardens. He recounted the cry he had heard, the sudden silence, and his finding Mustafa dead in the black recess.

“Allah is just!” he said. “It were well if some men set out at once to fetch him hither, for I heard the voice of a jackal near to that place, and I would not have my father’s corpse a prey to unclean beasts. For myself, I am weary and broken with grief, I may not return thither. I am now a rich man, as thou sayest, the wealth of Mustafa being greater than any man supposed. Let the burial be according to thy desire.”

During the narrative Abu Khalìl had risen slowly from the couch and dragged his vast bulk to the door to listen. Hearing talk of the wealth of Mustafa, he appeared dazed, and exclaimed, “Mashallah!” under his breath. He strove to treat Saïd as the heir, with a deference which old habits of patronage made to sit awkwardly upon him. Nûr was suddenly inspired. She laid her hands wheedlingly on the shoulders of the fat taverner and, darting love into his eyes⁠—

“O my beloved,” she pleaded, “thou wilt go to the fountain of which Saïd speaks. Thou canst find a neighbour or two to go with thee: and thou wilt bring hither the body of Mustafa! Saïd, as thou seest, is broken with fatigue, else he would bear thee company. I shall be very grateful to thee, O my soul, and I shall await thee here.⁠ ⁠… Say not ‘Nay’!” she cried impetuously, discounting his scandalised stare by a pout and a girlish gesture. “I beseech thee, cross me not in this matter. He was a rich man, remember; and thou wilt not only oblige me, that am a woman and of no account, but also confer a favour upon Saïd Effendi, heir to all his wealth, who will henceforth rank with the great ones of Es-Shâm.⁠ ⁠… What sayest thou?”

Abu Khalìl, greatly perturbed, pushed his turban awry the better to scratch his head. He glanced furtively from Nûr to Saïd, and from Saïd back again to Nûr.

“Now, by Allah, this is no light thing you require of me. Nevertheless, since it is the case of an old friend⁠ ⁠… and to serve Saïd Effendi whom, I call Allah to witness, I have ever regarded as a favourite son⁠ ⁠… I say not that I will not go. For all that, it is a hard thing for an old man, the father of a family, to go out by night into the gardens where, as all men know, gipsies and other children of sin do abound; not to speak of those who are more than men⁠—jin, I mean, and afaereet; and the uncleanness I shall incur, and the tedious purification to follow.⁠ ⁠…”

Saïd broke in coaxingly⁠—

“Be assured, O Abu Khalìl, O lord of kindness, thou shalt have a large reward; may Allah increase thy property!”

“Good. I go!”

Abu Khalìl shuffled to the place where the ass stood swishing its tail, and bestrode it so earnestly that he nearly fell over on the other side. Then, remembering that his steed was tethered, he leaned over its head to untie the rope. Nûr led the staggering beast up the steps and out into the alley, which the beams of a rising moon were beginning to silver.

“I will seek out Zeid the carpenter and Abbâs the Nubian who sells sweet stuff!” said the taverner, bowing his head to avoid contact with the lintel as he rode out. “Both are young men, strong and fearless. Both have donkeys belonging to them, so that we shall seem a goodly company riding together. Moreover, Abbâs has a rare whip he showed me yesterday, being a strip of the hide of a crocodile or other monster common in Masr where he bought it. By Allah, it is a fine thong! Two strokes of it would flay a dog.⁠ ⁠… In your grace!”

“With my peace. Allah guard thee in safety!” cried Saïd and Nûr in one breath as the doughty taverner ambled away in moonlight and shadow, thwacking his steed bravely on the hindmost part. The clip-clap of the donkey’s hoofs and its thousand mocking echoes soon died away.

Nûr stood in the doorway looking after him. She stepped forth into the street and listened towards the Christian quarter.

“The tumult still continues,” she said, returning. “It is thin now and feeble⁠—the shadow of that I heard during the day. With the dawn it will revive; and so it will be for many days till every Nazarene is either slain or escaped far away. There is a redness of fire on the sky yonder, where all day long there was a cloud of smoke. They have slain Allah knows how many hundred Christians; and Mustafa is dead.

“My heart is very sad, O Saïd, light of my eyes! Hadst thou seen him as he was when first I knew him, thou wouldst grieve for the days of a man which are as steps hewn in the rock leading downward to a sepulchre. He was a fine man, I tell thee⁠—straight as a Bedawi’s lance, strong and healthy even as thou art. As the breath of winter tears leaves from a mulberry-tree, so does the length of years strip the beauty and the majesty from a man. At last the tree falls and only the bitter wind remains.⁠ ⁠… Allah is greatest!”

Saïd groaned aloud⁠—

“Allah is merciful! But, by my beard, it was a cruel word thou spakest, that I must go sleep without the city. Only let me abide here and I swear I will not go near the girl to trouble her.”

“It cannot be,” said Nûr, firmly. “My house is thy house, and thou art ever welcome to that which is mine. But Abu Khalìl has heard a rumour that search is made secretly for the leaders in rebellion. It is true, what I told thee, that no wise man sleeps within the city this night. Tomorrow, in the daytime, thou mayst show thyself without fear; the slaves of power will then be fast within doors for terror of their lives. I will care for the girl and order all things seemly for the burial of Mustafa. Go quickly, with my peace!”

Saïd, who, for all his freedom of address, stood greatly in awe of the old woman, rose grumbling from the floor, and, holding up the pouch of his trousers like a sack, stumbled up the steps into the moonshine. His nether limbs were very sore and stiff with bruises. In walking he was careful to keep his feet wide apart. He cut such a queer figure, seen from behind, that Nûr called after him to know what ailed him.

“I am happy⁠—in the extremity of good health!” he cried back with affected cheerfulness. “I did but trip over a stone as I ran hither. My knees are somewhat bruised from the fall.”

“Stay, O my eyes, and let me rub them with a salve!” she cried again with seduction; for, contrasting his gait with the tones of his voice, she knew that he lied.

“May thy wealth increase!⁠—there is no need,” he answered, striving to quicken his step.

From a rhythmic bellying of the skirt of his long robe, as well as from the manner of his going, Nûr made a shrewd guess at the nature of his embarrassment.

“He walks like a she-goat whose udders are overfull,” she thought, laughing to herself; “there is something heavy and cumbersome in the sack of his trousers.”

That he was loth to linger or speak of the matter afforded her more light.

“By the Quran, it is the treasure of Mustafa he carries thus for safety, lest one should rob him of it! He would not trust me so much as to let me know, and he bears his punishment along with him. Allah is just!”

And in the midst of her grief for the old beggar she chuckled most heartily out there in the moonlight, pointing the finger of scorn after him with keen and friendly relish of his avarice.