Back Aa

Zarah the Cruel

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> <div class="blockquote"> “Under every downhanging head dwells a thousand mischiefs.”—Arabic Proverb. </div> Namlah had been superseded. No suspicion whatever attached to her, but, whether her curses had been too potent or the blow of the water-jar too much for him, the man who had partaken of much good red wine the night of Helen’s attempted escape had died. That, in connexion with certain gossip concerning Namlah’s friendship and enthusiastic praise of the white woman, decided Zarah. She sent her packing, without warning, and in her stead put a villainously ugly, surly negress incapable of speech, much less of a kind thought or deed, who proceeded to follow the prisoner at a distance wherever she went, thereby rendering speech with blind Yussuf impossible. Knowing that Helen must pass the great rock on her way down to the river to bathe, as was her custom just after sunrise, Yussuf sat himself down in its shadow the morning after Namlah’s dismissal, with intent to tell the prisoner the reason for the change in the body-woman and to warn her to be on her guard. He lifted his head at the sound of her footsteps, then frowned, though no one else could possibly have discerned the other almost noiseless tread made by bare feet, one of which pressed the ground more heavily than the other. Judging correctly the distance between the two women, he put his finger to his lips and whispered “A’ti balak” as he salaamed. Be careful! [162] The change in her body-woman, combined with Yussuf’s warning, caused Helen’s anxiety to increase, until her days became a burden of suspense and her nights a nightmare of troubled dreams in which she saw her lover lying dead or wounded in the desert or a prisoner in the hands of some lawless tribe. She would not allow herself to think of her position nor of her future, but she made a vow in the depths of her valiant heart that, no matter what was in store for her, no matter how the Arabian might cajole or threaten, she would not show a sign of the anxiety which consumed her, nor write a word of the letter which she knew would bring her lover, if he lived, hot-foot, to her. Then Zarah, who had not given up hopes of getting the letter from the girl and who waited for the return of Al-Asad from his quest, showed herself suddenly friendly, and Helen gladly responded to her invitations, to visit the kennels and the stables and the rest of the erstwhile monastery. True, she had been forbidden to wander amongst the rocks or to climb to the beginning of the cleft or to ride either horse or camel; true, also, that the surly negress followed her wherever she went, so that, in spite of the extra liberty, she felt herself more closely guarded and more carefully watched than ever. Still, the days passed more quickly and her friends amongst the dogs and their grooms became almost too numerous to be counted. Upon her first visit to the kennels, unaccompanied by Zarah, the head groom, who worshipped the dogs, reluctantly offered her the whip without which his mistress would not enter the door when upon her visits of inspection. “What for?” asked Helen, as she looked over his shoulder to where the famous greyhounds and the dogs of Billi stood watching her. “Out of fear, Excellency; they may be dangerous.” “Fear of what?” [163] The head groom did not reply, but spread his fingers in a gesture against the evil memory of the woman the dogs hated, and rushed to save Helen from them when, barking and leaping, they threw themselves upon her in instant friendliness in response to her call. In the days following she visited the kennels upon every possible occasion, until even Rādi, the bitch, fawned at her feet in love and the grooms ran to greet her at the kennel door. Through the order forbidding her to ride, the grooms of the horse and camel stables became smitten of a grievous jealousy as they listened to the tales of the white woman’s graciousness recounted to them by the head groom of the kennels. “Dogs! Yea! perchance she has knowledge of the dog, but ride! pah! O brother, what knows she of the Nejdee? What would she avail against the vagaries of the desert horse?” “Wilt thou make a bet, O my brother?” Which is a perfectly absurd question to ask an Arab, who will gamble with his last coffee bean if he has nothing of more value in hand. The bet spread, dividing the camp into two factions which were ready to fight over it upon the slightest provocation. The grooms of the stables were backed by their friends; the grooms of the kennels had an equal following; they all showed a catholic and reckless taste in stakes, which ranged from marriageable daughters, through money, jewellery and weapons, down to emaciated poultry. News of the bet came to Zarah’s ears the day upon which Al-Asad returned with the report that Ralph Trenchard was safe, had started for the Sanctuary accompanied by one Abdul, and had been sighted near the scene of the battle, which meant that he was but a day’s journey behind. She cursed in her heart that interest in Helen should[164] have been aroused at such an inauspicious moment, then instantly, little knowing that the girl’s horsemanship equalled, even surpassed, her own, conceived a diabolically cunning plan by which she could bring about her death before Ralph Trenchard’s arrival, and without, withal, arousing suspicion amongst the men. Helen wanted to ride, the men wanted her to ride; well, ride she should, and to her death. Lulah, the black mare, had been pronounced untamable. Descendant of the mare who had brought the Sheikh to safety, likewise descendant of the mare who had been the cause of Yussuf’s blindness, she was as black of temper as she was of coat. Three people out of the whole camp had been able to ride her the entire length of the plateau. Zarah, Bowlegs, and the Patriarch. Not one of the others who had taken the risk even of trying to mount her had escaped injury. Each one had been thrown, considering himself lucky if he escaped with slight concussion; there had been broken bones a-plenty and one broken neck. That made the beginning and end of the plan. If Helen succeeded in getting across the saddle she would of necessity be thrown; she must be. She might break her neck, in which case all the trouble would be over; or she might be stunned, in which case she would look like dead, which would serve as well. Brigands do not worry themselves overmuch about such details as heartbeats; scruples do not exist in a jealous woman’s heart. Neither was there time to lose. She sent for the head groom of the stables. “Lulah the Black, mistress?” The man raised a face of consternation as Zarah finished speaking. “Mistress, she is not fit; she is as wild as a bird on the wing; she is possessed of the devil. One of thy slaves even now lies sick of the meeting of her teeth in his shoulder.” [165] Zarah put an end to his protestations by the simple method of smiting him across the mouth. “And I will saddle her with my own hands upon the day of sport to-morrow, O my son, and thou shalt hold her near me until I give the signal. Likewise shalt thou and others make a pretence of mounting her, a pretence only. And see that thou makest no mistake, lest thou beareth the burden of my litter for a space.” The morrow came, bringing a horseman who carried the news of the disappearance of the white man and his servant in the locust storm. In her rage against Fate Zarah decided to countermand the sports; then, fearful of angering her men and aching to find an object upon which to vent her fury and the agony of as big a love as she was capable, once more changed her mind and decided to carry out the programme. <hr class="tb" /> <div class="blockquote"> “Beaten—but to-day beater.”—Arabic Proverb. </div> “The shadow of the great locust storm has fallen upon Zarah the Beautiful!” whispered Bowlegs to Yussuf’s Eyes as they watched the sports with all the enthusiasm and delight of the Arab’s heart, which upon occasion can be so childlike. The dumb youth nodded his head and smiled and tapped a description of Zarah’s face upon his blind friend’s arm, whereupon Yussuf laughed loudly and long and rubbed his slender hands together at the thought of the Arabian girl’s discontent. She reclined in her litter this late afternoon, swung upon the shoulders of four prisoners, her face as black as thunder; she flung herself irritably from side to side, and used her whip smartly upon the backs of the men—who had stood in the sun for an hour or so—when, by shifting the litter, they tried to alleviate the pain of the wounds it made in their shoulders. [166] It was her favourite form of punishment for trivial offences, and she kept Al-Asad, the muscular half-caste, close at hand, so that he should be in readiness to take the place of the first one of the four who should collapse under the combined torture of the heat and the weight of the jewel-encrusted ivory litter. She had no reason to use the whip upon his back. His mighty muscle made nothing of the weight; his negroid blood withstood the heat of the sun; his abnormal love caused him to find joy in the task, blinding him to the smiles, rendering him deaf to the titter which the humiliation of his task invariably drew from his friends, who loved the mighty man and grieved over his insensate passion. She was surrounded by slaves who cast terrified glances at her wrathful countenance as they performed their various tasks. At her head two Abyssinian maidens, nude save for the scarlet sashes which girt them about the middle, stood upon low pedestals like glistening black statues of Venus, fanning her with fans of snow-white ostrich feathers; boys, slim, dark-eyed, with slender hands and feet, offered her cool drinks, sweetmeats and fruits upon trays of beaten silver; girls, slim, dark-eyed, with slender hands and feet, threw perfumed water into the air. Helen sat some way off upon a pile of cushions in the shade of a rock, making a sharp contrast in her dilapidated but well-built Shantung breeches and knee-length coat with the Arabian’s almost barbaric splendour; and many a glance was cast at her from the serried ranks of men, who looked with interest upon the beautiful white prisoner, about whom Namlah had, most unwisely, ecstatically and so unceasingly talked. That morning had come the invitation to witness the sports, to which she had responded with alacrity, to find herself, of a sudden, the object of interest to many hundreds of men, and a prey to uneasiness at the sight of Zarah’s mocking smile and the memory of Yussuf’s whispered warning. [167] Her hair shone like gold against the dark rock background. She laughed at the men’s encounters in the “Jerzed,” and clapped her hands at their marvellous dexterity with spear and rifle and revolver; but she kept her eyes away from the spot where the four bare-headed men underwent torture in the terrific heat of the sun. She had begged Zarah to spare them; she had entreated with clasped hands, and with pitying eyes had lain her handkerchief upon the nearest wounded shoulder, which is a foolish thing for a beautiful girl to do when she is the prisoner of a beautiful woman famed for her cruelty throughout a land which is not exactly noted for the gentleness of its methods. She had retired to the pile of cushions and had sat down with eyes averted from the terrible picture of the beautiful, insolent woman who had imperiously bidden her to mind her own business, and had brought her whip down sharply upon the backs of the two front, undersized, under-nourished Armenians. She sat quite by herself, so that she could not ask the meaning of the mighty shout which went up when Zarah raised her right hand, sparkling with jewels in the sun. The men in the back rows pushed towards the front, and those in front pushed their ambitious brethren back with oaths, so that a pitched battle seemed imminent, in which some part of the grievances, not only of the seats but also of the stables and the kennels, might be settled. Peace fell with a great suddenness when Zarah sat forward and beckoned Al-Asad. She looked at the warring factions for a long moment, during which they sat as though carved out of the mountainside; then she smiled slowly and nodded her head and raised her right hand twice, upon which the men awoke once more, as from a trance, and yelled. Helen rose to her feet and clapped her hands, heedless of the eyes which flashed from her to Lulah, the black, superb Nejdee mare, as she was led forward, seemingly with as much wickedness in her as a lamb. The men[168] nudged each other and took on fresh bets with the neighbouring enemy as they remarked upon the stirrups swinging from the wisp of a native saddle. “Stirrups!” ejaculated a groom of the stables to one of the kennels. “And thou say’st that the white woman rides?” “The Inglizi ride not without stirrups!” “Then they ride not at all!” “With or without stirrups, O brother, thou knowest that that black she-devil Lulah is not to be ridden; yet will I make thee a bet of this, my silver-handled knife, against the silver ring of no value upon thy finger that yon white woman rides the Satan-possessed mare.” The two men placed the stakes at their feet just as, with a short run, one of the stable grooms flung himself into the saddle, and fell off the other side as the mare reared, jerking the head groom, who held the halter, off his feet. Then ran men from all sides, eager, from sheer love of horses and of sport, to try and dominate the beautiful creature that lashed out on every side, squealing with what they thought to be anger, and what Helen knew to be pain. And slowly, inch by inch, the litter tipped to one side as one of the undersized, under-nourished Armenians succumbed to the agony of his hurt, until Zarah, white with rage and cursing volubly, stepped hurriedly out as the other three dumped the litter just as their companion fell. She did not wait, so great was her rage, to upbraid them; instead, longing to hurt, to kill, in her wrath, she walked straight up to Helen, who stood watching the mare pawing the ground. “You say you can r-r-ride anyzing, Helena, my dear-r-r school fr-rien’,” she said sweetly, standing slender and straight, at the English girl’s side, whilst the men broke ranks and rushed across the plateau so as to overhear the conversation. “So I can, Zarah. But you know there’s something wrong with that mare. It’s not all nerves.” [169] “She has never-r-r been r-r-ridden befor-r-e, Miss Veter-r-inar-r-y, that’s all zat is ze matter wiz her-r-r. Why do you not have a tr-r-y?” “Why not indeed? I had a bucking waler at home once, which was miles worse than that mare. Tell the men to stand clear, and tell the one holding her to turn her head from me. I don’t want her broadside on.” Final and terrific betting took place as the men heard their mistress issue the last orders and rushed back to their places; then complete silence fell as Helen walked towards the mare, then bent to adjust a strap on her riding-boot. She looked back suddenly at Zarah and caught the expression of her face, and bent and adjusted yet again the strap upon her boot. She could not interpret the Arabian’s mocking smile, but she understood, in a lightning flash of intuition, that she was to uphold her country’s reputation for riding in the eyes of the finest horsemen in the world, and, great horsewoman that she was, became suddenly lost to everything outside a fierce determination to do her country credit. “My last goat to thy new shoes,” a groom of the kennels whispered feverishly to his neighbour at the sight of Helen’s laughing face as she backed a yard or so; he nearly broke the neighbour’s arm in the terrific grip he gave it when Helen ran, caught the mane, vaulted into the saddle, and throwing her left leg over the beautiful black head, slipped to the ground on the off-side just before the beast reared with a scream. “Wah! wah!” yelled the men. “Wah! wah!” and rose to their feet and fought each other in their great excitement. “Allah gives us the victory!” yelled a groom of the stables. “If she cannot even sit a horse, how can she ride? Hasten, O my brother, with a cushion upon which this white woman may rest safely upon the earth!” “‘Advice given in the midst of a crowd is loathsome,’”[170] quoted brother, his hand upon his knife, which he forgot to draw as he watched Helen. She stood talking to the mare; she beckoned a child with a tray of dates, and took a handful and held them out. The mare stretched her beautiful head and sniffed at them, then nibbled them, showing the red depths of her nostrils; then, when Helen gave a pull at the saddle, lashed out and flung herself sideways. “I thought so,” said Helen. For quite ten minutes she stood talking to the mare, until the men began to fidget and grumble and Zarah to laugh; then she spoke sharply to the groom who held the rope halter. “Hold on tight, I am going to take the saddle off.” Zarah made a quick step forward as Helen patted the satiny flank, working her hands towards the heavy buckle. There came a yell from everyone as she seized it and hung on to it until it was undone, just as the groom hung on to the rope halter, despite the slashing hoofs and the mare’s violent efforts to be rid of these people who so tormented her. Helen whipped the light saddle off the mare’s blood-stained back and held it up, turning it first to Zarah, who laughed, and then to the men, who literally howled execrations. “You brutes!” she cried. “You cowardly brutes! Look! The point of a nail, which pricked the mare each time the saddle was touched. Come here.” The head groom ran forward, salaaming, protesting that he knew nothing about it all, speaking the truth, for a wonder. “You say you did not saddle the mare. Then why don’t you look after the men under you? Take it!” She flung the wisp of a saddle full in the man’s face, so that the buckle cut his cheek, upon which the place resounded with shouts of joy and peals of laughter, which stopped when she raised her hand. “I ride her bare-back,” she cried, and smiled at the[171] men when, with the Arab’s proverbial inconstancy, they yelled encouragement. She stood patting the mare, stroking the quivering back, lightly touching the superficial wound until the animal became accustomed to pressure on the spot; then she took the halter and trotted the beautiful beast down the full length of the plateau, whilst the men sighed with joy at the sight. “A babe can lead a horse,” scoffed the equivalent of a British stable-lad; “let us wait until she essays to scramble to the back, even as a monkey scrambles up a pole.” But Helen had no intention of emulating the monkey; she intended riding that mare if she died in the attempt. She took the beautiful creature round the full circle, caused by the men sitting in a ring, at a trot, then at a gentle canter, then caught the mane and vaulted across the bare back. “Now, God,” cried Helen, “help me now!” Which was her somewhat unusual prayer in time of stress. The spectators held their breath as the mare bucked madly in an effort to dislodge the girl; then they yelled again and again as she reared and bucked and flung her heels up until Helen leant against the satiny back. It was a magnificent exhibition of horsemanship, but the men scattered like chaff before the wind when Lulah the Black suddenly made a dash through them straight for the river edge; and they shouted bets one to the other upon the white woman’s chance of life and death as she almost shot over the mare’s head when she stopped suddenly on the very brink, with slender forelegs wide spread; then wheeled and raced back to the arena, where she bucked to the far end, then wheeled and broke into a furious gallop, which strenuous exercise lasted for some considerable time, until it changed to a canter, then subsided to a trot, when the men, carried out of themselves with enthusiasm, rushed and surrounded the pair. [172] Zarah, with a face like a night of storm, had just beckoned Al-Asad to order him to quell the humiliating tumult, when the sentry from the cleft in the rocks came running down the narrow path. “It is a solitary rider, O mistress,” he panted as he fell at Zarah’s feet, “upon a far-spent camel. He hangs over upon his own knees, he guided not the beast, which even now flounders deep in the sands of death. But the space of three of thy servant’s hands to the west, O Great One, and the camel stood safely upon the hidden path. I cannot see the face of the rider, but his raiment is that of the white race, and I ran to tell thee, O mistress, as thou didst command me.” Zarah gave an order to Al-Asad and beckoned the head groom of the stables, who stood at a distance nursing his wounded cheek. “The stallion, Abyad, on the instant,” she said sharply. The man ran at uttermost speed to the stables, whilst Zarah, taking no notice of Helen, walked swiftly to the beginning of the narrow path leading up to the cleft, as Al-Asad strode through the men, hurling them roughly to each side, until he reached the mare. “Behold, O white woman,” he said curtly, “thou art to return to thy nest near the skies and to remain within until thy mistress sends for thee. The black woman with the gait of a lame hen will keep guard over thee, and if thou dost attempt to walk out, even upon the narrow way outside the door, then——” The men whispered amongst themselves as Helen slipped from the mare’s back and walked slowly to the steep steps, being far too wise either to notice the peremptoriness of the Nubian’s manner or to attempt to disobey Zarah’s orders. She climbed up and up to her nest near the sky, where the surly negress awaited her, whilst the men followed the Nubian as he ran to overtake his mistress, who drove[173] her stallion as fast as he could scramble up the steep mountain path. It was a wonderful sight to witness, and one that, in spite of her brutality and cruelty, endeared her to her men. She rode her favorite Nejdee, a white stallion of purest breed, standing fifteen hands, which is a height never exceeded in this perfect horse. She rode him without saddle or stirrup, and barely lifted the halter-rope which, with the Nejdee, always takes the place of bit, guiding him by knees and voice, urging him on, as she rode to save the man she loved. The stallion slithered and scrambled like a goat down the other side of the spot where the spear, thrown at the Arabian girl’s father, stuck fast in a cleft between two rocks, whilst the men fought each other for the best point of vantage from which they could watch either the sinking of the camel and its rider, who looked as one dead, or his rescue by the indomitable woman who ruled them. And all were too intent upon the sport of the moment to notice a faint movement amongst the rocks to the east, where the shadows were heaviest. “It is a white man, and the camel’s belly sinketh in the sand,” whispered Namlah to Yussuf. “She, our mistress, and may the hyenas pick her bones, rides out to save him.” “May he be saved,” whispered back the blind man, “and may she make her bed to-night in the depths of the sands in his stead. Linger thou, O Namlah, until we know the will of Allah, the one and only God, concerning this white man; then must thou flee, lest thy absence from amongst the women be noticed.” As Namlah said, the camel lay upon the quicksands, screaming with fear, struggling and fighting, biting at the sands which were slowly sucking it down, whilst Ralph Trenchard sat with his head on his knees, which, holding the peak of the saddle in a deadly cramp, had[174] prevented him from falling in the last stretch of the waterless journey through hours of burning sun. The stallion stood near the spear, shivering in the fear of the death he knew to surround him. He had crossed the path more times than his mistress could remember, and he knew that he would have to cross in the end, driven by the agony of the golden spurs in his sides, just as he always crossed in the end, no matter how strenuously he resisted. But he stood and shivered and rolled his gentle eyes until a sharp jab brought him to his hind feet, then another, which sent him dancing, curvetting down the path. His long silvery mane and tail blew out in the evening breeze like silken streamers, his dainty, polished hoofs flashed in the red light of the setting sun, and he pricked his small ears at the screams of the camel, as he went down the path and turned, spurred by the beautiful, relentless woman until they faced the rocks. Zarah’s eyes were wonderful to behold as she leant far over and touched Ralph Trenchard on the shoulder. They were tender and sweet and fearless, until into them shot an agonizing look of terror as she clutched the stallion’s silvery mane and leant farther over still and caught the man’s hair in her fingers and pulled back his head and looked down into the terrible face with the closed eyes. Then she grasped his collar with her right hand and pulled on the rope-halter with her left, as she dug the spurs into the stallion’s sides so that he reared and backed until, for fear of falling over onto the camel, she had perforce to let go her hold on the man who sat stiffly, with his head on his knees, as the camel sank inch by inch to its death. She sat back, with an agony of horror stamped on her face, which was beautiful under the power of her love, and sent a ringing cry over to the men gathered to watch the fight. “Bil-’ajal, Asad,” she called. “Bil-’ajal! bil-’ajal!” Al-Asad leapt from the rock to the hidden path and[175] raced to his mistress’s bidding, swiftly, surely, heedless of the death which awaited him on the first false step, eager to help the woman he loved, even in the task of rescuing the man to whom she had given her heart. “Give me space, O mistress!” he cried, as he stood with one foot upon the path and the other upon the back of the camel’s saddle and gripped Ralph Trenchard round the waist. “Nearer, O mistress, and place the stallion’s silver hair within my hand.” The shouts of the men rang out over the desert as they watched the desperate fight, as the Nubian put out all his mighty strength and pulled just as Zarah drove in the golden spurs until the stallion reared. “Thy dagger, O mistress,” he cried, as he let go his hold upon the mane and sprang back upon the path. “The white man’s knees break under the strain.” He seized the razor-edged, jewelled dagger and stood once more with his foot on the back of the camel’s saddle and bent and felt in the sands, which pulled at his hands and arms as he sawed at the girth. He sawed through the girth on both sides and cut the ropes, and holding the jewelled dagger between his teeth, bent and took hold of the saddle as the sands rose to the level where the animal’s mangy tail began. He had a few minutes in which to perform the mighty deed, and Namlah gripped Yussuf’s hand and the men made the wildest, maddest bets upon the outcome of the struggle. He placed both hands under the back of the saddle and tipped it forward; it was free; then gripped the back pommel and the front pommel and looked up at the woman he loved. “Back, O mistress! Back, lest I break the stallion’s legs!” The muscles of his back and chest and arms rippled, then tautened, then stood out in great knots. He lifted the saddle a few inches and let it fall back and shifted his slender hands; lifted it higher and higher until it rested for a second upon his bent knees; then, to[176] the sound of the men’s mighty shouting, made one superhuman effort and, just as the sands touched his feet, with a great swing of the shoulders flung the saddle and the senseless rider to safety upon the narrow path. <hr class="chap" /> [177] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.