The Collected Works of P. C. Wren: Complete Beau Geste Series, Novels & Short Stories. P. C. Wren
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el Wazir--and I saw him no more in this life, and do not expect to see him in the next.
I heard that he fell ill and died shortly after. People are apt to do so if they obstruct the ways of desert Emirs.
I lay awake till dawn, probably the most anxious, distracted, troubled man in Africa. . . .
Mary Vanbrugh. . . . France. . . . My Service. . . . My uncle. . . . My Duty. . . . An outraged, unforgivably insulted despot, a fierce, untrammelled tyrant whose "honour" was his life--and in whose hands lay the fate of the two women for whose safety I was responsible.
§ 3
Things came to a head the next night.
The Emir el Hamel el Kebir and the Sheikh el Habibka el Wazir entered my tent, and, as though nothing had happened to disturb the friendliest relationship, were cordially pleasant.
Much too friendly methought, and, knowing Arabs as I do, I could not suppress the feeling that their visit boded me no good. I grew certain of it--and I was right.
After formal courtesies and the refusal of such hospitalities as I could offer, the Emir said:
"Your Excellency has the successful accomplishment of this mission much at heart?"
"It would be a fine thing for your people and pleasing to mine," I replied. "Yes, I have it much at heart."
"Your Excellency has the welfare and happiness of the Sitt Miriyam much at heart?" went on the sonorous voice.
Was there a mocking note in it?
"So much so that I value it more than the Treaty," I replied.
"And the other night Your Excellency called me dog and swine, and filthy black devil, I think," was the Emir's next utterance.
"Yes," he went on, as I was silent. "Yes. And Your Excellency has these matters much at heart. He admires this fair woman greatly. Perhaps he loves her? Possibly he would even die for her? . . ."
The Vizier watched the Emir, stroked his beard, and smiled.
"Your Excellency would achieve a great deed for France? . . . But perhaps he loves France not so much that he would die for her? Perhaps this woman is as his Faith, since he is an Infidel? . . . Yes, perchance she is his Faith? . . ."
The two men now stared at me with enigmatic eyes, cruel, hard and unfathomable, the unreadable alien eyes of the Oriental. . . .
There was a brief silence, a contest of wills, a dramatic struggle of personalities.
"Are you prepared to die for your Faith?" asked the Emir--and I started as though stung. Where had I heard those words before? Who had said them?
I had. I had used those identical words to Becque himself at St. Denis, years ago. . . . Well, perhaps I could make a better showing than Becque had then done--as much better as my cause was nobler.
"I am," I replied in the words of the dead man.
"You shall," said the Emir, as I had said to Becque--and I swear that as he said it, the Vizier's face fell, and he smote his thigh in anger. . . . Was he my friend?
"Listen," said the Emir. "These two women shall go free, in honour and safety, on the day after Death has wiped out the insults you have put upon me. After those words 'dog,' 'son of a dog,' 'swine,' 'black-faced devil,' I think that we may not both live. . . . Nor would I slay with mine own hand the man who comes in peace and eats my salt. . . . Speak Roumi. . . ."
"What proof and assurance have I that you would keep your word, Emir?" I asked.
"None whatever--save that I have given it," was the reply. "It is known to all men who know me, that I have never broken faith; never failed in promise or in threat. . . . If you die by your own hand to-night, your white women are as free as air. I, the Emir el Hamel el Kebir, swear upon the Holy Q'ran and by the Beard of the Prophet and the Sacred Names of God that I will deliver the two Sitts, in perfect safety, wheresoever they would be."
"And if I decline your kind suggestion that I should commit suicide?" I sneered in my fear, misery and rage.
"Then you can slink away in safety; the signed Treaty goes with you; the Sitt Miriyam enters the hareem of the Sheikh el Habibka el Wazir; and the Sitt Moadi enters mine. . . ."
"You Son of Satan! You devilish dog----" I began.
"Choose--do not chatter," said the Emir.
Now my revolver was in its holster and my sword leant against the tent-pole. . . .
Let me think. . . . Kind God, let me think. . . . If I could shoot both these dogs and the sentry who would rush in--could I get the girls out of their beds and on to camels and away--I, single-handed, against the body-guard of Soudanese, whose lines were not a hundred yards away, and against the whole mob that would come running? Such things were done in the kind of books that Maudie read, no doubt.
No. I was utterly and hopelessly in the power of these men. And what of the Treaty, if it were possible for us to escape?
"Since you give your word that the Treaty shall be signed and loyally kept, or, on the other hand, that the two Sitts shall be escorted to safety--why not do these wise and noble actions without sullying them with murder?" I asked.
"Do you not punish those who mortally insult you?" asked the Emir.
"I fight them," I replied, and my heart gave a little bound of hope as an idea occurred to me. "I fight them--I do not murder them. Fight me to-morrow, Emir--and if I die, let the Sitts go, taking the Treaty with them."
"And if I die?" asked the Emir.
"It will be the Hand of Allah," I replied. "It will be a sign that you have done wrong. The Vizier must have orders to see that we all go in safety, bearing the Treaty with us."
The Emir smiled and shook his head.
"A brave man would fight me with the condition that the Sitts go in any case and take the Treaty with them--and that I go if I win," said I.
"I do not fight those who come to me in peace and receive my hospitality," answered the Emir with his mocking smile.
He was but playing with me, as the cat plays with the mouse it is about to kill.
"No? You only murder them?" I asked.
"Never," replied the Emir. "But I cannot prevent their taking their own lives if they are bent upon it. . . . If you die to-night, the Sitts leave here to-morrow. You know I speak the truth. . . ."
I did. I rose, and my hand went slowly and reluctantly to my holster. Life was very sweet--with Mary so near and dear.
I grasped the butt of the weapon--and almost drew and fired it, with one motion, into the smiling face of the Emir. But that could lead to nothing but the worst. There was no shadow of possibility of any appeal to force doing anything but harm.
I drew my revolver, and the hands of the two Arabs moved beneath their robes.
"Your pistol is unloaded," said the Sheikh, "but ours are not."
I opened the breech of the weapon, and saw that the cartridges had been extracted. . . .
* * *
"Get on with the murder, noble Emir--true pattern of chivalry and model of hospitality," I said, and added: "But remember, if evil befalls the Sitts, never again shall you fall asleep without my cold hand clutching you by the throat--you disgrace to the name of man, Mussulman and Arab. . . . You defiler of the Koran and enemy of God."
"If you mean that you wish to die that the Sitts may go free, and my honour may be cleansed of insult . . ." replied the Emir, and he softly clapped his hands, as the Vizier angrily growled an oath in his beard. . . . Was he my friend? . . .
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