Kitabı oku: «For Love of a Bedouin Maid», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XI

Buonaparte was not the man to let the grass grow under his feet; whether the object of his pursuit was a hostile army or a woman. So, the next morning, he started enquiries for news of St. Just amongst the chiefs now under his sway. Failing to gain information in that quarter, he sent his Mameluke, Roustan, with a search party in a boat up the Nile, to learn whether any of the headmen of the villages on its bank had seen or heard anything of the young French Officer, or any of his party of fifty Arabs.

Day followed day with no result, until a month had slipped by since Buonaparte's parting with the Arab girl. The General was seated one afternoon under a tree in the garden of his house at Cairo musing on various matters and, among them, on Halima, when word was brought to him that Roustan was without, desiring to have speech with him.

Buonaparte ordered the messenger to admit him instantly. When the Mameluke entered, he bent his knee deferentially to his master, then stood in a position of attention, waiting to be addressed.

"Well, Roustan, what news?" asked Buonaparte sharply.

"Sir," replied the faithful slave, "I have performed the commission you entrusted to me, and have obtained certain information concerning Captain St. Just."

"In one word," interrupted Buonaparte, "is he alive or dead?"

"He is dead, General; of that I have obtained indisputable proof."

A scarcely audible sigh escaped the General; but this was the only sign of relief he gave. His face remained impassive as usual, nor did he make the slightest movement.

"Proceed with the particulars," he said.

Roustan went on to relate that he had traced St. Just and his party to a certain oasis in the desert, distant about five weeks' journey from Cairo, and that there the trail had broken off. Not to abandon the search, he had remained in the neighborhood for a few days, prosecuting inquiries among the tribe that dwelt about there. He had been on the point of giving up his quest as useless, and returning to Cairo the next day, when he was aroused from sleep by the return of some of the tribe, in company with four strangers. Three of these had formed part of St. Just's escort, and the fourth was a prisoner, a renegade of the tribe of Auim, of the name of Yusuf. Him the three others were desirous of bringing on to Cairo, where, of course, they would have to report themselves to their commander.

Roustan then went on as follows:

"I brought the four men on with me and they are now guarded in the citadel, where they will remain until your pleasure concerning them shall be known."

"You have done well, Roustan," was the General's comment, when the slave ceased speaking; "I shall not forget to reward your services. Bring me that little table."

There was a light writing table near at hand in the garden, and Roustan wheeled it up to his master. Buonaparte seized a sheet of writing paper, wrote a few lines on it rapidly, folded it up and addressed it to the Lady Halima. It was to the effect that he had much to tell her at eleven o'clock that night. He handed the letter to Roustan, charging him to deliver it at once, and, having done so, to proceed to the citadel with orders that the fourth man, Yusuf, was to be kept apart from the others, and that all were to be strictly watched and allowed to have no communication with any one outside.

"Inform the Governor," Buonaparte concluded, "that I shall visit them at nine o'clock this evening, when you are to be ready to accompany me."

Then, once more commending him for his sagacity, Buonaparte waved his hand to signify that the interview was at an end.

*      *      *      *      *

The deep tones of the bell that notified the hours was resounding through the citadel at nine o'clock that evening, echoing along the silent passages in the great courtyard, when Buonaparte, attended by his body servant, passed through the arched entrance way.

Standing within the gate, a few yards from the sentry, was a figure that, like Buonaparte, was closely muffled in a cloak. The figure approached the newcomers and saluted.

"No formalities, General, if you please," said Buonaparte. "I prefer my visit here to be unknown. Lead me to the prisoners."

"Will you follow me, Sir?" said the person thus addressed. Then, taking a lighted lantern from underneath his cloak, he led the way across the courtyard towards a low block of buildings, which he entered. Traversing a short, dark passage, they turned to the right, and were immediately challenged by a soldier, whose "Qui va là?" was answered by their guide who, after giving him the countersign, ordered him to stand aside from a heavy wooden door before which he stood on guard. Then the guide placed the lantern on the ground, while he unlocked the door that gave entrance to a small square chamber. In a corner of this room the Arabs were huddled up together asleep. Round their wrists ran the light steel chains, the ends of which were attached to staples in the wall. Buonaparte took the lantern from their guide and, walking up to the three sleeping figures, regarded them much as a keeper would the wild beasts in his charge. The flashing of the lantern, dim as was its light, awoke the sleepers, who yawned and stretched themselves. Then they rose to a sitting posture and glared with sullen indifference and in silence at their visitors.

Buonaparte gazed at them for a moment or two; then, turning to Roustan, said, "Go to guard house and call a dozen men. Bring them hither and bid them conduct these men to the house of the Lady Halima. I will interrogate them in her presence."

Roustan salaamed and left the chamber.

"Come, General," Buonaparte went on, "we will go and see the other prisoner."

Then he passed out, with his companion.

After walking a few paces, they came to a door, and this having been unlocked, they found themselves in a smaller cell than that in which the three Arabs were confined. Here, however, there was but one occupant. Yusuf, for he it was, was, unlike the other captives, unbound, and was pacing his cell with restless step.

At the entrance of Buonaparte and his companion, he scowled at them; then broke into a torrent of angry words, that both his hearers found difficult to follow.

When he ceased speaking, Buonaparte addressed him.

"You are of the tribe of Auim?" No reply. "Speak and I will free you, if you tell me what I want to know."

"I accept," came the sullen answer; "you do not look like a man who lies. Say on."

Buonaparte put several questions, which Yusuf answered; then he went on to relate what the reader already knows; how that he had seen St. Just shot at and fall headlong from the rock.

"Ha, ha!" he ended with a fiendish chuckle, "He is dead, sure enough. I knew he would die when they shot at him." Here he stopped.

"How?" asked Buonaparte, who, during the recital, had stood leaning with his back against the door and idly kicking one foot against the lintel.

"Because I have his amulet. That once lost, his fate was certain. See, here it is."

And the exulting ruffian held before Buonaparte's astonished eyes the identical trinket Josephine had given to St. Just in Paris on the night of their meeting at the Palais de Luxembourg.

Buonaparte snatched it from him suddenly.

With a howl of rage, Yusuf dashed forward to regain it—only to meet the point of a sword, which, gleaming at his breast, had been instantaneously drawn by the General's companion.

Buonaparte put the jewel in his pocket and, as if abstracted, and taking no further notice of the captive, walked from the cell. A moment later, his companion, having locked the door, rejoined him.

Presently they reached the outer gate way, and Buonaparte, mounting his horse, which a soldier held, galloped off into the darkness, leaving his companion standing under the archway, lost in thought.

*      *      *      *      *

The Lady Halima was pacing her room in a lever of impatience. She had received Buonaparte's letter, and the hour of his promised visit had arrived. In the courtyard below, surrounded by their guards, stood the three hapless captives. The moon's silver light fell upon them shivering in their scanty clothing of haic and burnous—a great contrast to the French soldiers in their uniforms, and three-cornered hats—the two groups fair samples of the East and of the West.

Presently there was a slight movement among the French soldiers, and their listless attitude was changed for one of expectation; at the same time a faint sound, like that of muffled blows, could be heard in the distance, though it scarce penetrated the thick, high walls. But, low as it was, it reached the Lady Halima's ears, and it made her heart beat high and brought the color to her face. The sound came nearer, and now could plainly be recognized as the sharp trot of a horse. No wonder she was in a fever of excitement, for she knew that Buonaparte was approaching, and all that his visit meant for her. What had the Fates in store for her? Was she to learn that her lover still lived, and, having performed his mission in the desert, would soon return to her; or that he was dead and that she must fulfill her promise and permit Buonaparte to take his place? True, she had not promised to install him as her lover, in so many words; but she had given him to understand that it would be so, and she considered that she was in honor bound to give herself to him, should he demand it; she knew she had meant this all the time, should she receive unimpeachable evidence that St. Just no longer lived. But she would not allow herself to think of the possibility of his death. Ill he might be; seriously ill of fever; even grievously wounded; but dead? No. Fate could not be so cruel.

But, should the worst have happened, she would have gone to Buonaparte's arms without the least repugnance or sense of shame. Despite the French strain in her, her upbringing had been an Eastern one; she was a Mahometan and familiar with the usuages of the harem, and to the light esteem in which Eastern women were held; so that she saw nothing degrading, if she could not have the man she loved, in becoming the paramour of some one else. In the case of Buonaparte, another factor helped to influence her decision, and that was Ambition. As already shown, she was superstitious and believed in a mysterious connection between humanity and the stars; and, according to her reading of the heavens, Buonaparte was destined to rise to the highest flights of power; were she with him, she would rise with him.

To sum up, Love was easily first with her; she would sacrifice everything for that. If St. Just lived, nothing should stand between her and him. But, if he was dead, then she would bury Love, and install Ambition in its place. Union with Buonaparte, at any rate, would serve her immediate purpose—to flee from Egypt and take up her abode in France.

She moved to the latticed window and looked out; presently she saw Buonaparte ride into the courtyard, unattended, and dismount. Her agitation grew almost more than she could bear, Love and Ambition being in the balance; the most momentous question of her life was on the eve of settlement.

The room was almost in darkness, for only a small oil lamp, that hung above the divan, gave a feeble light; so that, before she saw Buonaparte, he was upon her. While she was still standing at the window, he entered softly, and unannounced. Stealing up to her, he wound his arm about her waist and kissed her.

She struggled with him, and he let her go. She started back, and then stood facing him with flashing eyes and heightened color, her bosom heaving with indignation.

"How dare you, Sir?" she cried. "So it is thus you think to gain a woman's favor? I have heard much of the deference paid by your countrymen to women; is this a sample of it? Oh, would that my lover were here to avenge for me this insult!"

Buonaparte answered with a laugh, "Your lover? Ah! he is here; but not the one you mean."

And he tapped his breast with his hand.

Halima made a step forward.

"My lover!" she cried eagerly. "What mean you? Do you bring me intelligence of his return? If that is the reason of your coming, I could find it in my heart to pardon you. Speak; Oh! keep me not in suspense, but speak."

She panted in her agitation, while she hung in mingled hope and fear upon his answer.

It came in harsh and strident tones. He was angered at the depth of her feeling for St. Just, and it made him pitiless and heedless of the pain his words would cause.

"Never in this world will you see St. Just again," he said. "He lies buried in the desert, slain by your father's orders."

At this dreadful news, so suddenly and cruelly imparted, his hearer swayed as though she would have fallen; but, with an effort, she so far controlled herself as to stagger to a divan, on which she dropped.

"It is not true, it cannot be true," she cried; "you are deceiving me for your own ends. Why should my father slay him? No, I believe you not."

Buonaparte took no notice of her words. He merely stepped to the open window and called out, "Roustan, bring up the prisoners."

The Arab girl sprang to her feet and advanced to him. "Prisoners?" she asked wonderingly. "Who are they? Why are they here?"

"You say you disbelieve me. They bring you proof of what I have just told you."

Even while he spoke the tramp of men could be heard outside, and, in another moment, Roustan entered with the three Arab soldiers and their guards.

Buonaparte cross-examined them in Halima's presence, and she herself put such questions to them as she chose. They told her of the capture of St. Just by members of her father's tribe and all that had followed, to his final fall from the rock. They were so evidently the witnesses of truth that Halima could not fail to be convinced that St. Just was dead.

She waved her hand to them as a signal that they were to go, and Buonaparte dismissed them.

Then the tears, that her excitement had kept back, poured forth. The girl staggered to the divan and, burying her head in its cushions, wept long and passionately.

As on a similar occasion, Buonaparte sought not to check her tears, but sat near, waiting patiently till her grief should spend itself. Meanwhile he fingered mechanically St. Just's charm, which he had taken from Yusuf, and meant to give to Halima.

At last the force of her weeping died away, and she raised her tear-stained face to his, a look of piteous entreaty on it.

At a loss for words of consolation, Buonaparte handed her the jewel.

"It was St. Just's," he said. "Now you have a right to it."

She reached out her hand and took it. At the same time, Buonaparte seated himself upon the divan and drew her to him. Then he kissed her, while he whispered tenderly in her ear, "I love you, Halima, I love you. My Queen, my heart's desire, tell me you love me too."

But she had St. Just's death too freshly in her mind. She shook her head sadly. "No, no," she murmured; "not to-night. Perhaps, to-morrow I will tell you."

Now Buonaparte, always imperious, could and would brook no resistance. For reply, he crushed her to himself. Violent was his embrace and masterful his manner. And, she, in her inmost heart already yielding, made but a faint resistance. And, at that moment, the light above the divan flickered out and darkness fell upon the scene.

CHAPTER XII

To return to St. Just who, when last seen, was lying unconscious in the tent of the Arab Sheik; the fever that had robbed him of his senses soon spent its force, and, with a lowering of his temperature, he returned to consciousness. Accustomed to the hardships of a campaign in the field, and with some experience of wounds, and by no means impatient or given to complaining, he could not but chafe at his slow progress towards recovery. He seemed to gain no strength. No doubt this was due in great measure to his want of European comforts, medical attendance, and the diet suitable to an invalid.

When, at last, he was able to get about again, which, was not till December had ended and a new year had dawned, he found, somewhat to his surprise, that the sheik, if harsh, was just in all his dealings. One night he and the sheik were sitting over the camp fire under the shadow of the very rock which had been the scene of St. Just's narrow escape from death, when the sheik spoke concerning that adventure.

"If I had wished to kill you, I could easily have done so. You must not suppose that my men are, as a rule, the bad marksmen they proved themselves on that occasion. If you had been killed, I had avenged the affront your General had put upon me, and, indirectly, upon the tribe, by trying to bribe me to become his ally. If you survived the shots, you could carry my answer, and, possibly, save the life of one of my own tribe, whom your General might slay for being the bearer of unpalatable news. That you would be hit fatally I expected; and how Mahmoud, who, though but eighteen, is a good marksman, came to miss, I know not, though he only failed by chance.

"Chance, did I say? Nay, my son," and here the old man laid his hand softly upon his listener's shoulder; "It was fate. Allah has willed that you should live for greater things. Therefore give praise to him."

Towards the end of January the whole camp, including St. Just, who was mounted on a camel and closely guarded, made a move, traveling northwards towards Cairo. After journeying for about a month, a halt was made at a group of stone tombs, said to be—in common with so many burial places in Egypt whose records are lost—the tombs of Kings.

During their stay at this oasis of the tombs, St. Just began to pick up health and strength. Here, too, he improved his acquaintance with the old sheik, and the more he learned of him the better he liked him. Strange to say, too, the boy Mahmoud, he who had fired the last shot at him on the rock, began to make friendly advances towards him, and expressed a wish to wait on him. At first St. Just was suspicious of his motives, and watched him carefully. But, in the end, he satisfied himself that the lad had really become attached to him; so, with the Sheik's permission, he accepted his services, and, as the result, found that he could have engaged no truer or more faithful servant.

The monotony of St. Just's life at this time made him dwell with tenderness and regret on the memory of the busy time he had passed at Cairo, and, in particular, of the beautiful half-bred Arab girl with whom he had been so much thrown.

He knew that his love for her was no transient passion, but the abiding affection of a life-time; absence, in his case, so far from inducing forgetfulness, had made the heart grow fonder. With her, his life would be rose-colored, like the desert sand around him when the sun's rays were poured upon it; without her, like the same desert at night before the moonbeams had illumined it, cold and gray and gloomy.

Inwardly chafing at the enforced helplessness that kept him from his love, and wondering whether they were ever again to meet, he was much surprised and no less delighted when the sheik one day told him that, in the middle of March, he was to set out for Cairo with his, the sheik's, reply to Buonaparte's letter; and, further, that he would be furnished with an escort of twenty men for his protection. It now wanted about three weeks to the time.

One day, when it wanted but four to the time when he was to set out, he was aroused from his slumbers, while dawn yet struggled with the darkness, by the sheik himself, who bade him get up quickly and dress quickly.

"Before the camp wakes to life we must be on our way," he told St. Just; but whither they were bound he gave no intimation.

Through the sleeping camp they made their way and, shaping their course north by east, they rode out into the great silent desert, being joined by a small escort, on reaching the outskirts of the camp. For many miles the sheik and St. Just rode on side by side without exchanging a word.

At last the old man spoke, taking advantage of an opportunity, when those who accompanied them had fallen behind, possibly in obedience to his orders.

"Doubtless, my son," began the sheik, "you have wondered why I, your enemy, have kept you by my side so long, when you were able to return to him from whom you came two months ago. It was for this; I wished to satisfy myself that your character is what it has been represented to me. You know that I am a man of power and that, daily, messengers come from other chiefs to me for my advice and help. From enquiries of these men I have learned much of you from the moment you set foot in Alexandria."

After pausing to note the effect of his harangue, the sheik went on, "Scarce an action or a word of yours—uttered even in your sleep—has escaped me. If from the moment of your ordeal on the rock, until to-day, you have failed to please me, then would your stay in camp have been cut short. But, not only have you pleased me, but I have grown to regard you as a son."

After some hours traveling, they halted on the margin of a broad sheet of water fringed around with grass and low shrubs, with here and there a date palm. In the middle of this pool rose a cone-shaped rock graven with hieroglyphics. Selecting a place that was sheltered from the sun's heat by a pile of rocks, the whole party dismounted, the escort, who numbered a dozen, and were all, save St. Just's own lad Mahmoud, elderly men, casting themselves down upon the grass to rest.

After giving some directions to the leader of the party and asking St. Just to await his return, the Sheik remounted and set out alone, and soon was lost to sight, putting up in his progress thousands of birds that had made this their haunt and lived here undisturbed from the moment they had left the egg. Now they rose in flocks, just in advance of the Sheik, swirling above him and uttering cries of mingled wonder and alarm.

After an interval the old warrior came galloping back, with as firm a seat upon his fiery steed as if he were but a youth of twenty, instead of being fully four score years.

The old man called out something St. Just could not catch, and, instantly, two of the men sprang up and drew their swords. He, too, rose to his feet, but was pulled back by Mahmoud, whose voice said in his ear:

"Fear not, they go but to cut wood."

Meanwhile the old Sheik dismounted, and the rest busied themselves in spreading a meal under the shadow of the rock.

Presently the two woodsmen returned bearing a large bundle of lengths of fibrous wood. These were distributed among the party, each piece being about two feet long, and two inches thick. In addition to the bundle of sticks, one of the two men carried a pole two inches in diameter and about ten feet long.

This he handed to the old Sheik, who, mounting his horse, once more rode away, leaving St. Just and his followers standing under the rocks.

While St. Just was absently gazing across the lake and wondering what was going on, he saw the old Sheik on the bank stop and plant his pole in the water close to the bank, and in a line with the pillar. Then to his amazement, he saw the pillar topple and fall with a terrific splash into the lake, whose waters instantly closed over it, the only signs that it had ever stood there being the bubbles that rose to the surface as the mass of stone sank deeper and deeper towards the bottom.

Then the old Sheik returned and, drawing St. Just apart, took from his garment the miniature of the fair Halima which had but lately hung around St. Just's neck and had received the bullet aimed at him and thus saved his life.

"My son," he said, "I take it that the wish of your heart is to possess the woman whose picture I now hold. On the faith of this, I am about to tell you many things. But, before you hear them, you must swear by that which you rate above all other things that you will obey and be faithful to the commands that I shall give you."

And St. Just, because of his great love for Halima, blindly swore to do that which the Sheik should bid him.

Then the old man went on.

"Twelve hundred and fifty years after the coming of the Messiah to Jerusalem, one of my forefathers ruled in Egypt. Now the visitation of Christ gave rise to the prophecy that when a white man, a soldier, should come to us, Egypt would again be free. Now I, who am the last of the true princes of the land, believe you to be the man foretold, and it is for the furthering of my plans that I have brought you here. On the spot on which we stand, buried far beneath us, lies a city that was formerly one of the chief cities of the gods. Here their worship lingered for many years after the introduction of Christianity; then it vanished. In those troublous days my ancestor buried in the lake, which aforetime stretched even to the Nile, a vast treasure, marking the spot with the stone pillar upon which he had engraved his title—that pillar that was here but now. Now, the times in which he lived were so fraught with danger, that he entrusted the secret to but one person, with injunctions that it should be passed on at the death of one of the two who knew it, and so on for generations. Thus it came to me. The only other person who knew it died lately, so I tell it you. You will wonder at my destroying the pillar that marked the treasure's spot, but it had to be. Else it might have guided some marauder.

"Owing to some cause I am unable to explain and, it follows, unable to remove, the lake is falling foot by foot, and, in a few weeks, it will have dried up and become a portion of the desert, and the rocking pillar will soon be buried fathoms deep in sand. But enough of this for the present."

By this time the sun was getting low in the heavens, and the hour for the afternoon meal had come. When this was over, the old Sheik gave orders for the men to resume the staves, that had been distributed as torches, and to follow him.

Then, accompanied by St. Just, they plunged in single file into the jungle of foliage that grew around the rock, and was so tangled and interlaced that progress was very difficult, and no one who did not know of the path they followed could have found it. In about an hour, at the cost of numerous tears and scratches, they emerged on a small clearing, in which was a mound of sand, with a slab of stone before it. Two of the strongest men were ordered to roll away this stone; and, this done, an opening about two feet square was seen.

Then, at a few words from the Sheik, each man went down upon his hands and knees, and, one by one, they crawled through the hole and in utter darkness began to traverse a passage that led from it.

They had proceeded but a few yards, when, all at once, the man immediately in front of St. Just called out in Arabic "Take care." In a moment, the young Frenchman felt himself gliding down a slope. He clutched at the bare earth with his hands, one of which held his unlighted torch, and managed, with an occasional slip and scratch and scramble and bump, so far to check his progress that, when he presently dropped two or three feet on to level ground, he was not much hurt.

When he looked about him, he saw that those of the party who were in advance of him were occupied in lighting their torches. He lighted his from one of theirs. One after another the remainder of the party scrambled down; when all the torches had been lighted, St. Just found that they were in a square hall, hewn out of the solid rock, the sides of which were sculptured in the Assyrian and Egyptian style.

It was but a passing glance that he could give, for, so soon as the whole party was assembled and the torches had been lighted, the word was given to move forward. They traversed the rocky road for upwards of two miles, now leaping over fallen boulders, now climbing great blocks of masonry, till, at last, they halted before a wondrous sight.

For the last quarter of a mile—so far as St. Just could judge, they had been going down an easy incline, and their course had been free from obstacles. Another thing he noticed and could not account for was that, as they neared their present halting place, the way in front of them became gradually lighter until finally their torches were no longer needed. By the time they had come to a stand-still, the source of this light was no longer a mystery. Opposite to them at a distance that was difficult to calculate in their present environment, but quite near enough for them to feel its heat, was a vast crater, that was belching out flames and steam and streams of boiling lava. The whole of the space between this volcano and St. Just and his companions was occupied by a city in ruins, that lay in a basin about three hundred feet below the watchers, who were standing on a platform to which the passage they had just traversed led. The light from the crater and the molten lava that was being spouted from it and was streaming down upon the subterranean city, enabled them to distinguish what remained of the buildings; but was not sufficiently diffused to show the sides or roof of the enormous cavern in which they were, so that it was impossible to estimate its size.

Transfixed with astonishment, St. Just watched the stream of melted lava vomited forth from the glowing chasm and rush along in a fiery channel, crackling and hissing and bubbling into a sort of caldron, whence it spread out into a sheet and poured down upon the deserted city, sending up a noisome vapor that no living creature could breathe for long. The whole scene was enough to strike terror into the boldest heart, and St. Just, courageous as he was, felt his own quake and his legs beneath him tremble.

Presently the old Sheik touched him and called his attention to an obelisk that was reared on the platform on which they stood.

It was covered with inscriptions, almost undecipherable through age. But the old Sheik interpreted them to St. Just as follows:

"In the sixth year of the founding of this city (this would mean about 2600 B.C.) was this built for the river and for the traders thereon; wherein is it possible to shelter our ships. And in this same year was the road from the City to the Ancient tomb by the Nile Bank finished in a manner worthy of those who built this city. This monument has been erected as a memorial of the same."