4 African Mysteries: Zoraida, The Great White Queen, The Eye of Istar & The Veiled Man (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
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one of the men with my rifle, I picked him off, but as he fell, I saw that at a little distance from the others a tall thin Arab had opened my pack and was rifling it.
Meanwhile by the death of Mákita my companions had become demoralised. They saw that to attempt to drive off their assailants was an utterly forlorn hope, for though they never relaxed their fire for a moment, yet half of their number were lying dead or wounded, and most of the women and children were in the hands of their deadly enemy. A fight between these Sons of the Desert is always a stubbornly-contested butchery, and this was no exception. My friends made a gallant stand against an enemy treble their strength, but at last the brave fellows felt themselves overpowered, and suddenly acknowledged their enemy’s superiority, although they fought on hand-to-hand to the very last. In the awful mêlée I found myself close to where the camels’ packs were piled.
The tall thin-faced Arab who had been turning over my saddle-bag drew forth the old leather case, tore it open, and took out the Crescent. Holding it in his hands, he regarded it with evident curiosity, but in an instant I sprang upon him. The knowledge of its value as the means of securing to Zoraida and myself peace and happiness gave me courage and a strength almost demoniacal. Indeed, I was surprised at my own actions, for, falling upon him, I snatched the mysterious object from his grasp, and ere he could raise his flashing blade, I had drawn the knife from my sash and buried it in his breast.
The moment was one of desperation. I had struck the blow unerringly, and with a loud cry he fell backward a corpse.
Ere I could recover from the shock my deed caused me, I felt myself seized by three stalwart Arabs, whose fierce, determined faces told me I need expect no mercy, and though I struggled violently, cords were quickly slipped upon my wrists, and in a moment I found myself helpless as a babe.
Though I clung to the Crescent of Glorious Wonders with all the strength I possessed, it was wrenched from my grasp from behind, and that so quickly in the confusion and horrible bloodshed that I failed to discover into whose possession it had passed!
My heart sank within me and I became filled with dark, gloomy forebodings. The treasure that had been confided to my safe custody by Zoraida I had lost, and with it had vanished in an instant all hope of winning her! Had not she plainly told me that the successful accomplishment of my mission would save her life? — yet I had now lost the strangely-shaped steel, the mystic properties of which were known to only two persons in the world!
Was this dire catastrophe prophetic of the end?
In those few seconds the hope that for so many weeks had buoyed me and incited me to push determinedly onward to my goal; the anticipations that some day I should return to civilisation and claim as my wife the most lovely woman I had ever gazed upon, were shattered by this double disaster that had so suddenly befallen me.
While the Crescent remained in my possession, and I was free to journey southward, there was still, I felt, a possibility of some day reaching Agadez. With my treasure filched from me the object of my journey had, however, gone. Though I had travelled so many weary miles towards the City of the Sorcerers, my efforts on Zoraida’s behalf were thus rendered entirely futile, and reflection only filled me with such black dismay and despair, that, had not my knife been wrested from me, I verily believe I should have dealt myself a fatal blow.
My zealously-guarded treasure had in a second passed from my keeping into unknown hands that would most probably toss it away as worthless, yet how could I recover it now that I had been captured by these fierce, brutal slave-raiders, who were reputed to be among the most merciless of the wild freebooters of the Desert?
The disaster overwhelmed me. Bound hand and foot, I stood powerless in the hands of my enemies. The morrow’s sun to me might never rise!
Chapter Twenty Three
The Treasure of Askiá
Brief were the moments allowed me for lamentation over my irreparable loss. Amid the wild scenes of carnage the thief had disappeared, and though I just caught a glimpse of his profile, his features had been partially hidden by the haick surrounding his face, and in the dark shadow it was impossible to distinguish his countenance sufficiently to again recognise him. Had my treasure consisted of gold or gems there would have been some ground for hoping for its eventual recovery, but a mere piece of rusted metal, apparently valueless, would doubtless be quickly cast aside. Even now — even while I stood helpless in the hands of my captors — it might have been already tossed away into the rank vegetation of the oasis; it might be lying hidden and unheeded within a few yards of me! Yet so tightly was I bound hand and foot, that the cords cut into my flesh each time I attempted to move. While three tall fierce men of the Fadê, armed to the teeth and as sinister-looking a trio as ever it had been my lot to meet, mounted guard over me, others were with scant mercy securing those of my companions who had survived the sudden ferocious attack, while the remainder of the band gleefully investigated the contents of our camels’ packs, replacing them upon the animals ready for transportation to their own region.
Those of the captured caravan who struggled to get free were shown no quarter. One of my whilom friends, a fine, stalwart fellow, held fast by several of the hostile band quite close to me, fought desperately to rescue a woman of his tribe who was being brutally cuffed by two hulking fellows. For a few seconds he struck right and left, felling one of the men who held him, but ere he could rush forward to protect the defenceless female, a quick knife-thrust caused him to stagger and fall.
“Cowards!” he gasped in his death-agony. “May Allah curse thee and thy sons’ sons! Thou canst not fight fairly! Thou canst only strike by stealth, and make war on women. May thy bodies moulder and drop limb from limb; may the flames of the Land of Torments devour thee; may thine accursed dust be scattered afar by the sirocco, and may thy souls descend into Hâwiyat.”
“Silence! Wouldst thou, son of a dog! speak thus insolently unto thy masters?” cried the dark-faced brute who had dealt the cowardly blow. “Go thou to join the Companions of the Left Hand, and may torments ever rack thee in the fire unquenchable! Take that — and that!” and, bending, he raised his hand swiftly, burying his long dagger twice in the prostrate man’s breast.
One agonised groan and the unfortunate Arab rolled over a corpse. The murderer’s companions laughed heartily.
Scenes of relentless butchery such as these were occurring on every hand. Our fierce captors were merciless; their hatred deadly. A word was quickly followed by a cruel, unerring blow that either maimed or proved fatal. A wounded slave is only an encumbrance, therefore, in almost every instance, when an enemy’s knife struck, it entered a vital part. The horrors of that night were sickening, the bloodshed truly awful. Men, women, even children were slaughtered out of the mere fiendish delight felt by the victors in causing agony to their vanquished foe, and passive and appalled I stood in the grip of my enemies, wondering vaguely how soon I too should share the same fate as those whose horrible death I was being compelled to witness.
The sun had already risen an hour when my captors lifted me upon a horse, securing my feet so that I could not dismount, and soon afterwards we moved away, an armed man riding on either side of each prisoner. From the first it occurred to me that only by affecting the religion of Islâm could I escape death, therefore from that moment I spoke only Arabic, declaring myself a native of Mequinez and a True Believer. My accent in speaking Arabic and the whiteness of my skin my captors attributed to my Moorish parentage, and, judging from the manner in which the sinister-faced Sheikh of the slave-raiders inspected me, I was considered a valuable prize.
Leaving the palms, we struck due south through a great clump of batum trees into the barren, inhospitable region of the Admar, the desert that has never been explored by Europeans, and which is still a blank upon the maps. On setting out we travelled quickly, perhaps owing to the great dreariness of the country and the impulse of the camel-drivers and their beasts to get to their homes. Gradually,