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Zarah the Cruel

<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> <div class="blockquote"> “The walls have ears.”—Arabic Proverb. </div> Helen Raynor lay like a broken lily, asleep upon a divan piled with cushions, in a great room built between two ledges of rock high up on the mountainside. The place was bare, save for rugs upon the floor and the cushions of every colour of the rainbow, embroidered in gold, patterned in jewels, and quite unfit for an invalid’s repose. It was refreshingly cool in spite of being nearer the scorching sun than any other part of the erstwhile monastery. A great slab of rock, many feet in thickness, jutting from the mountainside, made a natural ceiling; huge brass bowls full of water stood on the rock floor; the desert winds of dawn and sunset blew in at the cross-shaped apertures which took the place of windows in the east and west walls, built of pieces of stone of all shapes and sizes, fitted together in mosaic fashion and two feet thick; the door faced the cleft in the mountain ring, and through it could be seen the limitless desert, a view of infinite peace. An austere place, imbued with quiet strength, an eyrie of peace, conjuring up pictures of abstinence and sacrifice, it stood as it had been built all those centuries ago by the Holy Fathers for their prior, connected with the plateau by a dizzy flight of steps leading straight down to the water which Sir Richard had hoped to discover for the good of mankind and his own satisfaction. Namlah, the native woman, shivered as she sat outside on the edge of the platform upon which the place had been built, but as much from the effect her surroundings were[115] having upon her as from the chill breeze of dawn. She got to her feet, her many anklets jangling as she moved, and walked to the edge of the rock ledge and looked down at the water and shivered again and sighed. Zarah the Cruel had made the biggest mistake of her life when, in a fit of towering rage, she had set Namlah to tend and guard Helen Raynor. She had thought to set a jailer at the girl’s door; she had placed a friend. She had thought to take the body-woman’s thoughts away from her dead son by piling still more work upon the bent shoulders; instead she gave her hours in which to sit, to dream, to plan out some way in which to revenge herself for the loss of her child. Her son had not returned from the disastrous battle. He lay somewhere out there in the desert. Her son was dead. And when, mad with grief, she had flung herself at her mistress’s feet and begged to be allowed to go and find him and bury him, she had been struck across the mouth and ordered up to the dwelling where the prisoner lay, and threatened with still more dire punishment if she told the white girl aught about the secrets of the place. And what could worse punishment mean but the death of the one son left her? The dumb boy she loved even more than she had loved the one who had not returned from battle; the boy who had been nicknamed “Yussuf’s Eyes,” and who spoke by tapping with his slender fingers upon the blind man’s arm, and almost as readily and clearly as if he used his silent tongue. Grief and a great fear filled her heart. What if Zarah the Merciless took this son? She touched an amulet of good luck which hung about her neck and turned to draw an extra covering over the prisoner left in her care. “Beautiful! Beautiful!” she whispered, gently stroking the golden hair she delighted to brush for the hour together, and which covered the girl, like a veil, to her[116] knees. “What will be thy fate in the hands of the one who knows no mercy?” She spat as she spoke and sat down at the foot of the divan. “Thou a slave who art a queen in beauty? Thou to obey where thou hast ruled, to go when ordered, to come when bidden? Nay! Allah protect thee and bring thee safely through that which awaits thee. I love thee, white woman, for thy gentleness in thy distress. Not one harsh word in the days when the fever ran high; not one black look in these days when thy weakness is as that of the new-born lamb. Behold, is this the time to replace about thy neck the amulet which fell from thy strange clothing when I did take them from off thee, thou white flower?” She searched in her voluminous robes and drew out a small golden locket on a broken chain, and sat turning it over and over in her hand, fighting a great temptation. She fingered the brass bracelets and the silver ring she wore and rubbed the gold chain against her pock-marked cheek. “The amulet, yea, that will I not keep, for fear I rob the white woman of her birthright of happiness; but the chain, of what use is it to her? It is thin and broken....” She twined it round her wrist, looking at it with longing eyes, then, with a little sigh, unwound it and slipped it round the girl’s neck and, knotting the broken ends, hid the locket under the silken garment and ran out quickly on to the platform. She sat just outside the door, indifferently watching the starlit sky with twinkling eyes in a wry face. “Behold, I love thee,” she whispered, “and would bring thee back to health. Not alone because of my love for thee, but for that within me which tells me that ‘the time approaches when a camel will crouch down on the place of another camel.’” She rubbed her work-worn hands as she quoted the proverb and pondered upon the happy day when the reigning tyrant should be dethroned and someone with bowels of compassion should be elected[117] in her stead. She turned her sleek head and looked once again at the girl, and fingered her brass bracelets and smiled, as she quoted another proverb, until her perfect teeth flashed in the dusk. “‘He who cannot reach to the bunch of grapes says of it, it is sour.’ Behold, I think the golden chain would not have become my beauty.” She rose as she spoke, laughing, with the childlike happiness of the Eastern who is pleased, and crossed to a small recess, where she made great clatter amongst many brass pots in the process of concocting a strong and savoury broth. She stood for a moment watching Helen, who had wakened at the noise and lay looking out through the cleft in the mountains to the desert. For three weeks, so far as she could judge, she had lain ’twixt fever and stupor in the strange room, tended by a middle-aged native who put her finger to her lips when questioned. Three weeks of agonizing uncertainty as to the fate of those she loved, in which in her delirium she had fought maddened men and beasts or sobbed her heart out in the native’s arms. Twice she had crawled to the platform and tried to descend the steps to reach her grandfather, whom she thought to see standing upon the river bank. Not once had she been aware of Zarah standing behind her as she lay on the bed, with a mocking smile on the beautiful, cruel mouth and a look of uncertainty in the yellow eyes. She had questioned the native woman, imploring her to give her news of the caravan, promising her her heart’s desire if she could but obtain authentic information about the man she loved. She had begged for her clothes, and when they had been refused had tried to rise from her bed, only to fall back, weak and exhausted from the fever which had resulted from the horror and shock of the battle and the terrible ride, during which, at the last, she had mercifully lost consciousness. [118] “Am I in the hands of Zarah, the mysterious woman of the desert?” she had whispered to the native the first day her senses had come back to her. “Has a white man been also taken prisoner? Is there any help for us?” Namlah had looked furtively over her shoulder and had put her finger upon her lips as she had whispered back: “‘The provision of to-morrow belongs to to-morrow’ is a wise saying, Excellency. Rest in peace whilst yet peace is with thee. ’Tis wise for the hare to abide beneath ground when the hawk hovers, and for the lamb to make no sound when the jackal prowls. ’Tis twice wise for the eyes to be wide open and the mouth shut when those who are in power are likewise in wrath.” She had bent over the girl as she had arranged the cushions, and had whispered lower still: “Trust not the news of her mouth, Excellency; it is as a well of poisoned water in which truth dies. There is one here whose words are as pure gold, though his eyes are like burned-out fires. When he brings news I will bring it thee. Thou may’st trust me.” She had slipped the cotton garment from her back as she spoke. “The marks of the whip that lashed my back are as naught compared to the wounds of grief which the greed and tyranny of our mistress have caused to cut deep into my heart.” She had stroked the girl’s hair and patted her hand when she had cried out at the sight of the great scars, and had waited upon her and nursed her, loving her the while. “I waited for thee to waken, Excellency,” she whispered this hour before the dawn. “Al-Asad has but just returned; he speaketh even now with Zarah the Cruel.” And having bathed Helen’s temples and wrists and fed her with much strong broth, Namlah crept noiselessly down the steep steps to the broad terrace where her mistress dwelt, and crouched, a shadow amongst shadows, under the window made by the Holy Fathers centuries ago. [119] She stayed, crouched against the wall, listening to the voices of her mistress and Al-Asad the Nubian. Unable to catch their words, she touched the amulet at her neck and rose, inch by inch, until the top of her head was on a level with the window’s lower edge. “Of a truth wert thou cunning ...” she heard her mistress say, losing the rest of the sentence in the peal of laughter that followed. Complete silence fell, and the night air became the heavier for the scents of musk, myrrh, attar and other such overpowering perfumes beloved of the Oriental, which floated through the window. Namlah sniffed appreciatively, then, too small to see above the window ledge, and with curiosity rampant in her heart, crouched down again until she knelt upon the rock, and felt around with slender, nimble fingers for the wherewithal with which to raise herself the necessary inches that would enable her to see into the room without being seen. She found nothing, but, spurred by the sound of her mistress’s voice, slipped out of her voluminous outer robe, rolled it into a bundle and stood upon it, a wizened, dusky slip of an eavesdropper, in a coarse, unembroidered qamis. “‘A small date-stone props up the water jar,’” she quoted, as with one brown eye she looked furtively into the room from the side of the window. She drew her breath sharply. Simple in her wants, as are all the natives of the serf-like class, she had never been able to get over the astonishment she felt at the sight of the luxury with which her mistress surrounded herself. The rough stone walls built by the Holy Fathers and the uneven stone floor had been covered with marble of the faintest green, cunningly worked along the edges in a great scroll pattern of gold mosaic. The scroll glittered in the light of four lamps hanging in the corners of the immense room, reflecting all the colours of the rainbow[120] in their crystal chains and crystal drops. The drops and chains were reflected in a basin of pink marble in the centre of the room, and in five huge mirrors which the Arabian’s colossal vanity had caused her to place about. Gold and silver fish swam monotonously round and round in the marble basin, happily unconscious of the moment awaiting them when the woman would catch them in her dainty, henna-stained fingers and throw them on to the floor, for the mere pleasure of watching them die. The water for the marble basin was changed every few hours by prisoners, who toiled up and down the steep steps under the blazing sun and the lash of the overseer’s whip, all of which doubtlessly added to the enjoyment Zarah felt when she caught the fish in her merciless hands. Persian carpets and countless cushions were spread upon the marble floor; stools and tables inlaid with ivory, gold and jewels stood upon them, also bowls of sweetmeats, trays of fruit and great vases of perfumed water, in all the profusion so dear to the heart of the wealthy Eastern. Two black and white monkeys chased each other all over the place, in and out of doors leading to other smaller rooms, which served as dressing-room and wardrobes, and up and down a slender steel staircase which reached to a platform built right across the north end of the room. The platform was two yards broad, the back made by the marble of the wall, the front protected by a fine broad-meshed gold netting which opened in the middle and swung back like a door. Covered with silken perfumed sheets, piled with cushions and hung with orange-coloured satin curtains, it was but a somewhat exaggerated replica of many Oriental beds, which are raised from the ground for the sake of coolness and also protection from that which crawls by night. Inside the golden cage, with the slender steps safely drawn up from the floor, Zarah would lie o’ nights, either watching the dim shape of her lion cub as it prowled[121] this way and that, or sleeping with the untroubled conscience of the heartless, or dreaming waking dreams of the man she had learned to love in the space of a few moments. The lion cub, with neither teeth nor claws drawn, and which was a good deal nearer adolescence than a European would have considered healthy in a pet of that category, padded awkwardly backwards and forwards behind a divan upon which his mistress lay this night whilst listening to Al-Asad the half-caste, who, just returned from seeking information concerning the white man, sat cross-legged on the floor beside her. “Tell me once again, O Asad, all that thou didst learn concerning the white man when, as one fleeing for his life, thou didst crave shelter in the Bedouin camp.” Al-Asad frowned as he looked at the woman whom he served in love and who had had no word of praise for the arduous undertaking he had so successfully accomplished. He loathed himself for the love which so weakened him, causing him to tremble at her frown and almost to prostrate himself at her small feet when she gave him a smile. Longing to drive a knife through her heart to end it all, he held tight clasped instead the golden tassel of the cushion upon which she lay. “Words repeated are but waste of time, but, as I have told thee, O woman, the old white man lies buried deep in the sands, safe from the birds and beasts of prey, who have left but the bones and tattered raiment of man and beast to mark where the ill-fated battle was fought. The young white man, even the one about whom thou art besotted in love, lives, being taken prisoner, with one Abdul, by the accursed Bedouins who fell upon us. He is likewise recovered from a great fever which befell him from the blow dealt him, O Zarah, in the midst of the fight, and the blow of a hoof upon the forehead which struck him as he lay upon the ground. He has been nigh dead of this fever, fighting in his delirium, calling ever[122] loudly upon the woman’s name I cannot remember, shouting aloud his love for her.” “Thou dullard,” broke in Zarah furiously. “Art as of little learning as the Bedouins who give him shelter for their own ends? Make yet another effort, even if thy tongue be too big for thy mouth, which is not over small.” Al-Asad shook his head, taking no notice of the gibe at the expense of his negroid blood. “I cannot, O woman. Yet should I know it again if I but heard it. To pronounce it, must the mouth be opened and the word dropped out without movement of the lips.” Zarah twisted herself round upon her elbows until her face was on a level with the man’s. “Helen!” she said quietly, and sat upright, clasping her hands about her knees, when the Nubian laughed and nodded his head. “So,” she said slowly, “he loves her! Yet has she said no word of him, neither wears she his likeness upon her breast, which, O Asad, is a sickly habit of those who love in northern climes. I have sat with her, watched over her in her fever, yet has she said no word of him, neither found I aught in her garments when I searched them, and the ring that is upon her finger is but a trifle from the bazaar.” That Helen’s engagement ring happened to be a scarab inscribed with words of power, and worth a great price, she was not to know. “Namlah, the body-woman who tends her, has she found naught?” Zarah laughed as she turned and looked at the stars through the window, outside which stood a dusky slip of an eavesdropper. “Oh, she, the fool, she thinks of naught but the wounds upon her back and the failure of her son to return from the battle. In her stupidity is she the safest of all to wait upon the white girl? Yet how can I make use of this Helen, who has vexed my spirit since first we[123] met? How can I pay back the laughs and torments of her companions at that thrice accursed school if she does not love this man?” “He loves her, O Zarah!” guilelessly remarked the Nubian, who was finding rare balm for his own wound in the hurt of his mistress. Zarah flung herself round and struck at the handsome, stolid face with the loaded whip she kept handy in case of an emergency with her four-footed pet. “Thou fool!” she stormed. “Keep thy mouth closed upon such words. What knowest thou of the ways of white men and women? They travel together with as much freedom as though they were brother and sister; they dance in each other’s arms; they go to the festival together, returning alone at the rising of the sun; they ride and drive and work together, yet are they but friends, there being naught of love between them. Thinkest thou that the man would look twice upon yon woman, who is the colour of a garment which has hung overlong in the sun, if I were at his side, dost thou?” In her wrath she looked like one of the restless birds of vivid plumage which sang or moved incessantly in the golden cages standing against the walls; but Al-Asad wisely refrained from answering the question, as he glanced at them and thought of the joy some men find in the homely sparrow. “Let the white woman, with a name like a drop of water which droppeth from a spout, write unto the white man and bid him hasten to her to deliver her from danger. If he loves her he will speed upon the wings of love, as I would speed if danger should threaten thee, woman of a thousand beauties.” “Oh, thou!” contemptuously replied Zarah, as she pulled the ears of the lion cub which sprawled at her feet. “Nay, thy words are as empty of wisdom as the pod of the bean that is in the pot. Thou knowest not the white race. It weeps over a hurt done to a beast; it[124] bares its breast to receive the spear thrown at another; it will suffer torture, yea, even death, to shield a brother from harm.” She sat for a long moment, then looked sideways into the man’s eyes and smiled until he waxed faint with love. “A light shines, O Asad of the lion heart. I will go, when she waketh from her sleep, and make friends with her and work upon her feelings of friendliness for one who sojourned with her in the thrice accursed school. She will then bid the white man hither to join in the circle of friendliness, and then——” She laughed softly as she opened her hand and closed the fingers slowly. “And then, Zarah, thou merciless one, what then?” “Then will I replace her in the heart of the man I love and give her to thee, as wife or what thou wilt, so that in thy sons the blackness of thy blood may be equalled by the whiteness of hers, and her days be passed in one long torment through the different colouring of her offspring.” But Al-Asad was in no wise inclined to her way of thinking, and said so in blunt, crude words. He made no movement as he told her of the love which consumed him; he did not raise his musical voice one tone as he described the heaven of his days when near her and the hell when separated from her, even for a few hours; he repeated the story of his love stubbornly, quietly, over and over again, and made no sign of his hurt when she laughed aloud in merriment. “Behold, O Asad!” she cried as she laughed. “Behold, art thou as perverse as the mule and as blind to thine own advancement as is Yussuf—that thrice accursed thorn in my side—to the sun in his path. A beauteous maid, white as ivory, gentle as the breeze of dawn, awaits thee but a few steps higher upon the mountainside, and yet dost thou sit, like a graven image of despair, within the shadow of one whose love is given elsewhere.” [125] “Love!” repeated the half-caste slowly. “Thou and love! ’Twere enough to make the mountains split with laughter to hear thee! Let us cease this foolish talk. I love thee, Zarah, and will have none other woman but thee; but I love thee so well that, rather than see thee suffer the torment I suffer, I would bring thee thy heart’s desire and find in thy happiness my happiness and death!” “How sayest thou, little cat?” Zarah turned lazily on her side as she spoke to the lion cub. “Wouldst bring a mate to thy love because she would have none of thee, or wouldst break her will or her neck so as to prove thyself her master?” Namlah gasped and Asad leant quickly forward when, with a low growl of pleasure, the great cat sprang upon the divan and stood across its mistress, kneading the silken cover into strips. “Learn thy lesson from the four-footed beast,” cried Zarah sharply, as she struck the animal across the eyes with the whip until it leapt from the divan and slunk across the room, where it crouched in a corner with lashing tail and blazing eyes. “The lesson which teaches the slave that there is a line beyond which his foot may not go.” But Al-Asad was taking no notice of the lesson he was being taught. From under half-closed lids he was watching something round outside the window which, to the best of his knowledge, had not been there when he had sat down upon the floor, something which he mistook for Yussuf’s head, knowing the hatred which existed between him and his mistress. “Let us cease this foolish talk,” he repeated as he rose slowly to his feet, his heart hot with anger at the thought of the spy. “Let us instead”—he lowered his voice to the merest whisper as he spoke—“let us visit the woman who is to be the bait in the trap into which the white man will place his feet.” He was at the door with one mighty bound, and out to[126] the wall which showed bare in the starlight. He stood listening for the faintest sound. None came. Namlah lay flat on her face upon the steps, her dusky slip of a body and saffron-coloured qamis one with the shadows. But she was making noise enough with her beloved brass pots to disturb the invalid or to waken the dead as her dreaded mistress, followed by the gigantic half-caste, entered the room in which the prisoner lay, looking out towards the desert where she had lost those she loved so dearly. <hr class="chap" /> [127] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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