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Zarah the Cruel

<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> <div class="blockquote"> “Tyrannical, cheating, of ill omen.”—Arabic Proverb. </div> The overpowering heat of the day had given place to the lesser heat of early evening as the sun sank behind the western edge of the mountain ring. The interior of the ring looked like the inside of some rough-edged, painted flower-pot, with grey, purple, blue-black foundation and sides of green and richest reds and browns, melting to saffron, topaz, amethyst and rose, crowned by great peaks which seemed to flicker in the terrific heat radiated by the sun-scorched rock. Little golden, pink and crimson clouds, faintly stirred by the blessed evening breeze, sailed serenely across a sky of deepest blue which stretched, a gorgeous canopy, above the heads of the men seated on the ground or up the gentle incline rising from the plateau. Those opposite the steps down which Zarah would have to pass sat with knees to chin, placidly chewing kaat or smoking red or black sebel and longer pipes with big, open bowl. Those to the north and south of the steps sat sidewise, also contentedly chewing or smoking, with eyes fixed upon the steep path. There was no laughing, no gambling, no betting upon the outcome of the different sporting items in the tournament for which they had foregathered. They were strangely quiet, with a certain expectancy in their eyes and a vast amount of meaning in their expressive gestures as they commented upon and argued about the tales the Nubian had spread anent their mistress’s strange behaviour of the night before. “Bism ’allah! upon the very edge, with one eye upon the running water into which the Lion thought she desired to[262] throw herself, and one eye upon the white man, who, by the wool! is a man of strong heart, even if he be an infidel.” Bowlegs laughed as he stretched his circular limbs and pressed himself against his neighbour so as to make room for Yussuf as he came towards them, led by “His Eyes,” down the path made for him through the serried ranks. “Welcome, brother, thou true believer in the shaven crown,” cried the handsome youth who had been swung like a club, and who had not followed the precepts of the Prophet to the extent of shaving his head. “Hast heard that the white woman, who holdeth the heart of the man who loveth her and who is loved of the beautiful Zarah, and may Allah guide their footsteps in the crookedness of their paths——” As he spoke he pushed his way between Bowlegs and Yussuf, and as he looked up into the mutilated face, touched the blind man gently. “Hast heard that the tiger-cat, in her rage, has caused the head of the white woman to be shaven so that, if she were lost in the Robaa-el-Khali, the ostrich might even wish to brood upon it as her egg?” The men shouted in ribald mirth as they bandied jokes, mostly unprintable in their Oriental flavour. “Yea, and shaven after the setting of the sun,” said the Patriarch bitterly, whilst every man in earshot touched his favourite lucky amulet or made the finger gesture against ill-luck. “Behold, will Zarah’s mocking of Fate surely bring catastrophe upon the camp, for what but misfortune can follow the shaving of a crown after the setting of the sun?” The fine sons of one of the most superstition-ridden races in the world performed divers tricks to placate the fury of the false god of ill-luck they had raised up in their minds, then continued in their merriment. “Who has seen the shaven head?” “No eyes have seen the head, O brother, but mine own eyes have seen Namlah the Busy, seated like a bee in the heart of a golden flower, weaving a kerchief from the infidel’s wondrous hair.” [263] Bowlegs shouted with laughter. “Yea! verily! a kerchief to replace the gentle Zarah’s garments, torn asunder ’twixt her teeth and fingers in her wrath at the white man’s coldness.” “Or to wipe the tiger-cat’s face, which, wet with tears and hot with anger, was like an over-ripe fruit of the doom tree, fallen upon the sand!” “Or to remove the dust from her chamber, wrecked like unto a house swept by the hurricane, with feathers of many fowl, liberated from the burst cushions, clinging to the silken curtains and her hair.” Prodded by Fate, the handsome youth turned and laid his hand on Yussuf’s arm whilst the men crowded closer yet to listen to their conversation. “O brother,” he said laughingly, “thou who hast suffered, thou who even now dost pass sleepless nights of pain, wilt thou not in thy goodness, to quieten the agony of the tiger-cat’s gentle heart, give unto her a few drops of the sweet water prescribed thee by yon old herbalist for sleep?” Yussuf smiled as best he could for the distortion of his mouth, as he searched in his cummerbund and pulled out a flask, filled with the strong narcotic he took to still the throbbing of his torn nerves when the wind blew from the north. “’Tis overpowerful, little brother. A drop too little and she wakes from her sleep like a tigress bereft of her cubs; a drop too much and she wakes not at all.” “Twenty drops and what....” The voice from behind was stilled suddenly as the men rose quickly and stood staring up to the platform outside Zarah’s dwelling. Zarah stood looking down. She stood almost upon the spot from where some years ago she had hurled her spear at the fighting dogs, and, killing the one intended for a gift to her father’s guest, had followed the decree of Fate, who had tangled her life’s thread with those of her white prisoners. [264] “Zarah is a very queen of loveliness!” “Yea! with hair like the setting sun!” The hawk-eyed men with the superb sight of those who live in the clear atmosphere of great spaces criticized in detail the Arabian’s garments, which at such a distance would have shown as a white blur to the eyes of the westerner, accustomed as he is to an horizon bounded by walls and a sky ever limited by chimney-pots or partially obliterated by smoke or fog. “The white man tarries! Would that the Lion were here to tell once again of the calmness of his face in the storm of yester-night.” “Perchance does his heart fail at the thought of the maiden’s shaven crown.” “Likewise does she tarry, fearful perchance of beholding her lover’s eyes empty of love light.” “‘She gave her the vinegar to drink on the wings of flies.’” Yussuf touched his sad face as he quoted the proverb. “Verily were the words of wisdom written to describe the refinement of the tortures our thrice gentle mistress meteth out to her prisoners.” There was not a movement, not a whisper from the men when Zarah turned and lifted her hand, but there came a great cry from hundreds of throats as Helen appeared in the doorway, followed by the two gigantic Abyssinian women. “Hast seen the shaven crown, brother?” The handsome youth turned to Yussuf, who stood with his sightless face raised to the skies. “Nay, blind one,” he replied quietly, all the merriment gone from his face. “I have seen the white woman. She stands behind the dread Zarah, her golden hair, even the length of thy longest finger, twining about her head like a crown of flowers upon a young acacia tree. She is like an orchard of choice fruit in her beauty. Yea! like an orchard of pomegranates and peaches, and as the gentle incline of the rocks where the evening sun kisseth the oranges and apricots and luscious fig. If it were not that[265] she is of a race of infidels, likewise cursed with a spirit of mockery and a lack of gratitude, I would e’en woo her in the shadows of the night and make of her my woman.” He moved forward, drawn by Helen’s radiant beauty, as she descended the steps fanning Zarah with a circular, painted fan of dried palm leaves. The men stood as though spellbound at the sight of the two beautiful girls. They forgot the tournament, their wrath, their merriment; they stood speechless, staring, then moved forward in a body as Zarah reached the bottom step and made a way for her up to where an ebony chair, inlaid with gold, stood upon a carpet of many colours. The expression of Zarah’s sullen face was almost as black as the shadows spreading half-way up the mountains; her heavy brows were bent above her strange eyes; her crimson mouth set in a line which boded no good to those who might thwart her. A chance word, an indiscreet gesture, would be spark enough to start the conflagration, and Fate, close to Helen Raynor, stood ready to fire the Arabian’s raging jealousy as Ralph Trenchard, followed by the Nubian, walked slowly from the men’s quarters towards them. There was not a sound and scarcely a movement in the vast throng of men as they stood looking from one to the other of the three who, even in the desert, made the seemingly inevitable love triangle. And so enthralled were they, and so oblivious were the three who composed the triangle to their surroundings, that no notice was taken of the downtrodden, docile women who, headed by Namlah, and imbued with the spirit of insubordination which was sweeping the camp, also with a fierce desire to see the white woman’s shaven head, crept in ones and twos from behind the rock buttress which hid their quarters from the greater part of the plateau. They stole along the river edge, behind their men, who were too engrossed in the picture before them even to bet, let alone to notice the doings of their womenkind. [266] They crept up behind the gigantic Abyssinian women who stood behind Zarah’s chair, and turned and looked at them as a couple of Yemen buffaloes might turn to inspect an ant heap. The radiance of the blazing sky seemed to fill the mountain ring for a moment as Ralph Trenchard passed down the path made for him by the men, and stood suddenly clear of them, and exactly opposite Helen as she fanned the Arabian. The mountains echoed Helen’s name as he called to her, holding out his arms, and her cry of joy as she flung the circular fan with pointed edges sideways, so that by mischance it caught in the Arabian’s hair, and ran to her lover. The rocks echoed Zarah’s screams of wrath and pain and her sharp order to the Abyssinians, and the downtrodden women’s screams of hate, as they swept round the chair headed by Namlah, and cut Helen off. Zarah shrieked in agony as the fan pulled her head down to one side, scratching her face and her shoulder, and beat the arms of the chair and the Abyssinians’ glistening bodies as they tried their best to relieve her whilst she fought like a wild cat, with her eyes fixed on the fight which was taking place in front of her. The women were trying to prevent Helen from reaching her lover, and the men were endeavouring, and none too gently, to push the women on one side, so that the white man they had come to admire and like might meet the woman of his heart. They did it for the sport of the thing, and to assert their authority over their women; also, in their heart of hearts was there a certain amount of admiration for Helen’s beauty and courage. The women who had come to titter and jeer at Helen’s bald head were consumed with wrath at their disappointment and fought their men tooth and nail, taking advantage of the scrum to pay off many an old score and avenge many a lash of the whip or tongue. The men, amused at first, then astounded, then really angry at this sudden exhibition of women’s rights, slapped their[267] own particular womenfolk with the flat of their hand, then smote them smartly with the mihjan, and finally shook them violently until their sleek heads seemed like to leave their shoulders and their beautiful teeth to break in their chattering. Ralph Trenchard stood at the back of the men who slapped and shook and cursed; Helen stood, looking towards him, towering above the dusky little women like a young acacia tree in the bush. In spite of the peril in which they knew themselves to stand, they smiled across and called messages to each other, which were lost in the universal torrents of abuse and vociferous yelling, interspersed with screams and sounds of slapping and tearing. Namlah, wedged on the outer circle of the maelstrom, fought like a fury to get at Helen, screaming abuse, hurling her fighting sisters from her path in the excess of her seeming rage, whilst Yussuf, led by “His Eyes,” rattled his staff on the shins of the gentler sex as he strove to reach Namlah. Bowlegs brought about their meeting. Aided by the mighty muscle of his legs, he leapt free of the shrieking sisterhood high into the air and, in a manner somewhat reminiscent of a hawk and a field mouse, pounced upon his second and obese wife, whom he had spied fighting with the best in much torn raiment. The tremendous impact from above flung her backwards against Namlah, who in her turn was flung backwards against Yussuf. Proceeded a pretty passage of arms and tongues between these two, during which the blind man slipped a silver bottle down the front of Namlah’s torn qamis whilst she belaboured him, and “Yussuf’s Eyes” rained blows upon his mother’s back. “Aï! aï! aï!” she wailed, as she rolled the flask in the top part of her torn petticoat. “Would’st tear the very tannurah from my limbs, thou wifeless, childless, breaker of the Prophet’s law? Push me forward—ha! thou[268] would’st push me forward, thou rascal son of mine, even unto the first line of my fighting sisters. Well, push, push hard, so that I leave the mark of my nails upon the white girl’s face!” Helen turned at the sound of the woman’s voice and raised herself on tiptoe the better to see, and caught the look in the dusky little woman’s twinkling eye, which in no wise responded to the wrath of her voice and gestures. “Yea! white woman,” she shrieked, “come nearer to me, or let me come nearer unto thee, if thou art not afraid. I will show thee what manner of woman it is thou did’st mimic and mock.” “Afraid,” cried Helen, forcing a way through the men. “Afraid! Come to me and——” She reeled back as Namlah flung herself upon her, pushed by her son, who pulled the blind man after him, whilst the men who were not actually engaged in taming their shrews surged round them, shouting in delight. Namlah landed right on Helen’s chest, to which she clung as a woodpecker to a tree trunk. “Take this! Ten drops this night before she sleeps—then wait in the shadows,” she whispered; then shrieked: “Ha! thou infidel. I would tear out thine eyes, I——” “Yussuf’s Eyes” suddenly and forcibly pinched the underpart of his mother’s arm, upon which she yelled, let go her hold on Helen and leapt at him, then slid meekly to earth and tried to cover her face with her torn veil, which she spread out to arm’s length as Helen hid the silver flask in her belt. The sun had set, leaving the sky in a tumult of violent colouring, through which, in a small patch of deepest blue, shone one great star. Helen looked up to the banners of gold and red and orange, the curtains of saffron, the trails of rose and wispy bands of grey, then looked across at Zarah, who walked slowly towards her, blood trickling down her scratched cheek. Her eyes flamed in her white face, which showed over the top of the dead black satin cloak she had wrapped round her like a skin;[269] and Ralph Trenchard, who saw the menace in her sombre eyes and the cruel twist to her mouth, seized the men nearest him and threw them on one side as he raced to get to Helen before the Arabian could reach her. He was a second too late. Even as he touched her one of the gigantic Abyssinian women reached her and, lifting her like a straw, carried her to where Zarah stood insolently, contemptuously watching the scene, whilst Yussuf stepped in front of him and pushed him back as “His Eyes” got tangled up in his feet. “For God’s sake get out of my way, you fool!” Trenchard shouted, and lifted the dumb youth by the neck of his jubbah and dropped him as Yussuf rushed blindly at him, guided by his voice. “To-night, when the dog barks thrice,” he whispered, then shouted: “Harm not ‘Mine Eyes’ lest I stray from the right path so that——” He stopped and turned as Helen’s voice came clearly through the night air. “Don’t worry about me, Ra! I’m all right; no one can harm me,” she cried; then stepped back quickly as Zarah turned on her and, seizing her by the wrist, pulled her forward. Held by Yussuf, who whispered without ceasing, Trenchard stood in the centre of a semicircle of men and women with the Patriarch at the end nearest Zarah and Helen, and Namlah, in a most indecorous and dishevelled state, at the other. The two beautiful girls stood exactly opposite the man they loved, with the gigantic negresses close behind. “Move not—have patience until the dog barks thrice to-night—make no effort to help—all is well—Allah watches over thee and thine in thy need—nay! make no sign—nothing can be done to her until the morrow.” Yussuf whispered without ceasing, whilst, sick to the heart at the menace in the air, Ralph Trenchard stood waiting, with what patience he could command. [270] Zarah raised her hand and, fully aware of the backing she would get from the women, began to speak. “I am speaking for my children,” she cried, “the children this white woman has mocked and derided, and for whom she has not had one word of thanks, not one little feeling of gratitude.” “Na’am, na’am!” wailed Namlah in full acquiescence. “For myself I do not mind that she strikes me until the blood runs, but my children I will protect!” “Akhkh!” wailed Namlah, crouching on the ground and beating her breast with much vigour. “And I will punish those who hurt my children. Yea! I will make of them a sport, a mock. The white man—nay, Al-Asad, come thou to me—the white man I bear no ill will, for he has worked well among my sons.” She put her hand upon the Nubian’s arm when he ran across to her, and smiled up into his handsome face as she shook her head. “I am mistress here; thou shalt not touch the white man. For the white woman....” She looked at Helen, who looked at her, then across to Ralph Trenchard, who stood with Yussuf’s hand upon his arm and “His Eyes” at his feet. “For the white woman who has derided my children I do now place her amongst them as their servant, and to humiliate her even as she has humiliated them, do order the Abyssinian Aswad to shave her head this instant, before us all, so that she appears not before mankind without——” Her words were drowned in the scream which burst uncontrollably from Helen, and the shout from her lover as he flung himself towards her, only to be tripped by the dumb youth at his feet. “Ra! Ra!” cried Helen, clutching her lovely curls in both hands. “For God’s sake save me, Ra; don’t let them do it, don’t, don’t——” She turned and struck the negress across the face as the Abyssinian caught her by the arm, and struck again and again as Ralph Trenchard tore at the arms of the youth who clung to him like a leech. Helen made no other sound as she wrenched herself[271] free from the woman who held her, nor when, filled with the desire to kill, she flung herself upon Zarah. The Arabian stepped back quickly and laughed, laughed until the place rang with the sound, then flung off her mantle and drove her dagger down on to Helen’s heart just as the Patriarch sprang and caught her hand. Helen turned and ran towards her lover, and struck at Namlah, who suddenly caught her by the knees and held her, screaming abuse. The men and women stood silent, looking from one to the other of the three principals in the love drama, then turned their attention to the Patriarch, who by that time was speaking. He made a magnificent picture as he imposed his will upon the furious woman for the welfare of his brethren. “In the days of thy father the Sheikh, my daughter,” he said, “no blood was spilled, no punishment proclaimed, after the setting of the sun. If thou desirest the death of this woman, then must thou wait until sunrise. Neither shalt thou bring misfortune upon this camp by shaving a head after the setting of the sun; that also must thou order to be done after its rising.” “Wah! wah!” yelled the men, and smote the women who dared to differ. “And for fear of the wrath of these women, who should have the whip laid across them for their unseemly behaviour, keep thou the white woman in thy chamber to-night.” “Yea!” cried Yussuf, walking forward, led by “His Eyes,” until he stood exactly opposite the Arabian, who withdrew a pace before his terrible appearance. “And in the name of thy father, O Zarah, and for fear of the Nubian’s wrath being vented upon him before the rising of the sun, I claim the watching of the white man this night. Fear not that he sleeps over-sweetly in my care.” He turned and spat in Ralph Trenchard’s direction, then, led by “His Eyes,” strode towards him and seized him by[272] the arm. “Thou infidel,” he cried savagely, “thou and thy white woman!” Zarah raised her hand. “The women to the cooking, the men to the eating, the morrow for the punishment.” She turned and looked at Ralph Trenchard, her eyes filled with a terrible jealousy. “Look upon thy white woman for the last time, for, behold! the morrow thou shalt be taken back across the desert by the road by which thou didst come unto her. She shall work here amongst my people, with her shaven head for a space, then will I send her to the slave market, where her white skin will fetch a great price. Get thou up, Helen R-r-aynor-r!” She pointed up the steps. Helen turned and held out her arms. “Ra! Beloved! I love you!” The Arabian struck down her arms as Yussuf pulled Ralph Trenchard back. “Come thou with me, thou infidel!” he cried. “Get thou up, Helen R-r-aynor-r,” commanded the Arabian. The stars blazed in the sky as the women scuttled back to their quarters and the men talked together. “Behold, has my acacia tree no luck!” said the handsome youth. “As saith the proverb of those whose luck changeth not,” replied Bowlegs, as he shook his fist after his retreating, obese and second wife. “‘The misfortune either falls upon the camel or upon the camel driver or upon the owner of the camel.’ Ha! wouldst show me what thou hast learned from the white man?” He caught the Arab who had sprung at him in a friendly desire to show his pugilistic skill, tossed him on one side like a bundle of clothes, and shouted defiance to the whole camp. So that the tournament, if somewhat impromptu and lacking a referee, took place after all and lasted well into the night. <hr class="chap" /> [273] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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