V

When Saïd again became conscious of his surroundings he was in the house of Muhammed abu Hassan, lying on a couch. Hasneh and another woman were bending over him. The latter drew her veil hastily across her face as his eyes blinked at her in bewilderment. Hasneh uttered a cry of delight.

Saïd looked about him wondering. Sullen, scowling faces filled the doorway, blotting out the sunlight. A sound of muttered oaths was in the room. Of a sudden he remembered all that had befallen him and staggered to his feet.

“I am ruined!” he cried. “They have taken my donkey⁠—all that I have. May Allah cut short their lives.”

Responsive curses came from the group in the doorway, and Muhammed replied⁠—

“We are sad for thee, effendi. The journey to Es-Shâm is long and wearisome for one that goes on foot. Yet art thou more happy than we. Thou wilt have the inheritance of thy brother who is dead. Thou wilt have wealth wherewith to buy horses and asses, as many as thou needest. But they have taken all that was ours. Curse their father! Of all our beasts there remain but a camel, and a mule which is on the point of dying.”

Saïd’s hand was pressed to his forehead. His face had the inward look of one reviewing things past. At length he asked eagerly, “What is the hour?”

“It is near the third hour since noon,” replied Muhammed after a brief glance at the shadow of his dwelling.

The fisherman turned to his woman. “Ready, O Hasneh?” he asked.

“Ready” was the meek rejoinder.

“But thou art yet weak from the blow which the soldier⁠—burn his house!⁠—gave thee,” Muhammed, as host, was bound to protest. “My house is thy house. Rest here till evening. The first hours of night are pleasant for travelling.”

But Saïd, remembering the words of Abdullah, was resolute. Pursuers might come upon him at any time. With profusion of thanks to Muhammed for his kindness he took up his staff and set out once more. Hasneh followed, her bundle poised upon her head.

They passed out from the village down a steep slope, where big red anemones shone amid ragged grass, across a stony wady with a trickle of water among the pebbles, and entered a grove of olive-trees. Here Saïd lay down in the shade. He was still dizzy from the stunning blow he had received, and the strength seemed to run out of his legs. He complained bitterly of thirst; whereupon Hasneh produced those oranges which had been thrown at them in the morning from the bosom of her robe. Having devoured two of them, Saïd wiped his dripping mouth upon his sleeve and felt refreshed. He was preparing to resume his way when the sound of a man’s voice close at hand stayed him.

“Praise be to Allah, who has placed such fools in the world! I asked for bread, and he gave me meat as well. And when I had finished eating he gave me money for my journey. A madman⁠—may Allah reward him!”

The sun through the leafage cast a chequer-work of golden light and blue shadow upon the ground. The speaker came towards them, walking slowly between the gnarled trunks, with eyes upturned. It was a hale old man of sixty years or more, tall and upright. His body was clad in a loose robe, whose colour had once been blue, reaching to a little below the knee. His bare feet and shins were grey with dust. Upon his head was a battered and tasselless fez, with a dirty rag wound round it by way of turban. Happening to let his eyes fall a minute from their heavenly contemplation, he became aware of the presence of fellow-creatures and his whole demeanour changed in a second. His form seemed to shrivel and grow less. His head sank down upon his breast, his eyes writhed upward so that only the whites of them were visible, and his whole body was distorted to a semblance of the last agony.

Stretching forth a trembling hand he besought the pity of his hearers for a poor old wretch who found himself alone and without money in a strange land.

“Allah will give to you!” he whined. “For the love of Allah, help me or I die!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠… Allah will give to you!⁠ ⁠… By the Quran, I am at the gate of death!⁠ ⁠… Allah will give to you!⁠ ⁠… My sons were killed by the Bedawin; my daughters were ravished before my eyes!⁠ ⁠… Allah is bountiful!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠… I myself have a hand that is withered!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠… My house was destroyed by an earthquake; a thief came in the night and stole my mare from me!⁠ ⁠… Allah will give to you!⁠ ⁠… My children were slain before my eyes!⁠ ⁠… O Lord!⁠ ⁠…”

It is likely that he would have gone on whining in this strain for an hour or more had not Saïd broken in⁠—

“Allah will give to thee! I am poor even as thou art. I, too, have been robbed and my house brought to ruin. I, too, was once a rich man, having flocks and herds, houses and vineyards, ay, and the half of a city belonging to me. And now there is no difference between me and thee. Allah will give to thee; I have nothing.”

In a twinkling the old beggar resumed his natural shape. His head rose, his body straightened, the pupils of his eyes came again into sight.

“Is it true?” he said in a friendly tone, squatting down in the shade beside the fisherman. “Then I tell thee thou art happy. All to gain; nothing to lose. There is no trade like ours. All the day long we cringe, we flatter, we weep, and none can resist us. And afterwards, when the evening is come, we laugh and are merry, with eating and drinking, with music and women. Behold, I love thee, for thy likeness to my son, Mansûr, who forsook me. I feel as a father toward thee. Is it a long time that ruin is upon thee?”

“But a few hours, O my uncle,” replied Saïd, bitterly.

The old rascal threw up his hands and cast his sly eyes skyward.

“Ah, it is sad at the first, and thou art downhearted⁠—it is natural. But after a few days⁠—a week⁠—a month, thou wilt not envy the greatest in the land.”

Saïd was not pleased to have his misfortunes thus lightly treated as part of the common lot of mankind. He made haste to explain.

“With another man it would have been a small thing. He would have lost a camel, or perhaps a house. But as for me, I was a great man⁠—the greatest in all the city. Men ran to kiss my robe as I walked abroad. I had camels and horses, asses and mules, more than a man can count in an hour. It is no common loss that makes me sad.”

“I suffer with thee,” said the beggar, with a reminiscent shake of his head. “I also was lord of great wealth. In those days men knew me by the name of Mustafa Bek. Now I am only Mustafa, the old beggar. Allah is greatest!”

But Saïd was not to be outdone.

“But yesterday men kissed the ground between my feet,” he said, with a shake of the head the counterpart of the other’s. “I was called the Emìr Saïd, and none dared come near me save with forehead to the earth. Allah is greatest!”

“I had twenty men whose only pleasure was to do my bidding,” said the beggar in his turn, “and the beauty of my three wives made the fair ones of Paradise jealous.”

“All the men of the city were as slaves before me,” said Saïd; “and if I had a desire towards any girl, I had but to command her father and she was given to me.”

“And how wast thou deprived of all this?” asked his rival, curiously. “Such things do not fade away like stars at the sun’s rising. By Allah, they do not go out like a lamp for a puff of wind.”

“My city was by the seashore,” faltered Saïd, after a moment’s hesitation. “Last evening, at the hour of sunset, the waters rose and swallowed up all that was mine. I and this woman alone remain alive of all that were in the city.”

The beggar rose to his feet with a laugh.

“Thou hast yet much to learn, O Emìr,” he said scornfully, yet with a certain indulgence. “The sea rises not once in a hundred years, and then all the world knows of it. Yesterday, at the hour of sunset, I stood by the shore and beheld the sea calm and undisturbed as usual. Thou hast much to learn, my son.”

“May thy house be destroyed!” muttered Saïd, grinding his teeth with mortification. “How far is it to the next village, old man?”

“Perhaps an hour⁠—maybe an hour and a half⁠—Allah knows!⁠—perhaps two hours.”

“Who was that of whom thou wast speaking at the first?” asked Saïd with some eagerness. “He gave thee meat, thou wast saying, and money for thy journey. Doubtless it is some great one whose house is open to poor wayfarers?”

“I spoke but of a Frank who passed me in the way,” said the old man, with a chuckle at the recollection. “He was dressed all in black, and rode upon a fine horse. I knew him for one of those who preach to the Christians and would have all men believe in three gods. I saw him a long way off and, when he drew near, I flung myself down in the way, swearing horribly, and crying out that Allah had forsaken me. Thereat he got down from his horse and tried to comfort me with soft speaking and hard words from the book of his religion. But I cursed the louder and let him know that I was very hungry; whereupon he drew out a paper from his saddlebags, wherein was bread and meat, which he gave to me.

“When I had made an end of eating I began to weep and told him a grievous tale of how my house had been burned and all my children killed by Turkish soldiers. This I said knowing that a Frank loves always to hear evil of the Turks. He wept with me as he listened. He gave me money⁠—as much as a man could earn by the labour of a week. Then he mounted and rode away, his face sad from the tale which I had told him. May Allah reward the unbelieving fool!”

“Y’Allah! Let us depart at once,” cried Saïd, eagerly. “Perhaps we may overtake him before the night.”

“Did I not tell thee that he rides upon a horse, and that a fine one?” said the beggar. “Thou canst never hope to overtake him. He told me that he was going two days journey on the way to Es-Shâm, to the place where he dwells. Whither goest thou?”

“To Es-Shâm,” cried Saïd, gleefully. “I will visit him and tell the tale of my great loss. Allah be with thee!”

Saïd set forward through the olive grove at a great pace, Hasneh shuffled after him with her usual docility⁠—the good beast of burden, ready to stand or go on at her master’s word. As for the beggar, he stood looking after them until they were lost to sight among the tree trunks. He chuckled often as he went his way, repeating the word “Emìr” with scornful emphasis.

Sunset fires were blazing high in the west when Saïd and Hasneh drew near to the village of which the beggar had told them. It was a small place, built of stone, crowning the utmost slope of the mountain seaward. To reach it they had to climb a pebbly road, which wound upwards serpent-wise among terraces of fig and olive-trees. At the entering in of the village grew a giant sycamore, about whose trunk the elders of the place were squatting in solemn conclave, smoking. Saïd saluted them politely as they drew near.

“What news?” asked a reverend sheykh, who seemed the head man of the place.

“There is war,” replied Saïd, with a low obeisance. “Soldiers scour the country for horses and mules. I know it well, alas! for they have taken my mare⁠—curse their fathers!⁠—a thoroughbred worth fifty Turkish pounds, by Allah!⁠—and I am forced to pursue my journey on foot.”

“Allah restore her to thee,” rejoined the sheykh, fervently. “We guessed that all was not well in the land, for this afternoon, as my son was ploughing on the hillside yonder, he beheld a company of soldiers ride across the plain, and many beasts of burden with them. Thanks be to Allah, we are warned in time. Ere the rising of the sun all our cattle shall be in a safe place among the hills, save a few that are sick, which they can take if it please them.”

Saïd, seeking tidings of the missionary, was told that he had ridden through the place about the third hour after noon, and must be sleeping at Beyt Ammeh, a mountain village four hours distant.

“Is there a guest-chamber in this village where I and my woman may pass the night?” asked Saïd, in some anxiety.

“Thy news is timely and thou art welcome,” replied the sheykh. “My house is thy house. Deign to follow me.”

With that he rose and led the way to a house which was larger by a room than other houses of the village. This room was built on the roof and had the appearance of a tower when seen from a distance. Within, it was a small chamber, softly carpeted, with a cushioned divan running round the walls, destined for the lodging of guests of distinction. Saïd would never have been admitted to its precincts but for that fabulous mare of his worth fifty Turkish pounds.

Here, having partaken of a feast such as he had seldom enjoyed, he spent the night, a pale sky flaked with stars watching his slumbers through open door and lattice.