The Days of Mohammed Part 18

Dressed in his quiet, scholarly raiment, and quite unarmed, he set out in search of Amzi. Arriving at the place, he saw none whom he knew. He was stopped at the door.

"I wish to see the captain who has command here," he said.

"You are a peaceable-looking citizen enough," said a guard, "yet we have orders to search all new-comers, and you will have to submit, stranger."

Yusuf was searched, but as neither arms nor tools were found upon him, he was allowed to have audience with the captain.

"Ah!" said Asru, recognizing him at once. "What seeks Yusuf, a Christian, of a follower of Mohammed the prophet?"

"I seek but the deliverance of two harmless, inoffensive friends," he replied.

"A bold request, truly," said the other. "Yet have I not forgotten my debt of grat.i.tude to you. I have not forgotten that it was Yusuf who nursed me through the foul disease whose marks I yet bear, when all others fled;" and he pa.s.sed his hand over his pock-marked face.

"Of that speak not," returned Yusuf, with a gesture of impatience.

"'Twas but the service which any man with a heart may render to a needy brother. However, if you are grateful, as you say, you can more than repay the debt, you can make me indebted to you, by telling me aught of Amzi, the benevolent Meccan, whose hand would not take the life of a worm were he not forced into it."

"He is here in chains," said Asru haughtily, "as every spy who enters a Moslem camp should be."

"Amzi is no spy!" declared Yusuf emphatically.

"His sole object, then, was to free that half-witted poet?" asked Asru, incredulously.

"It was none other. He loves him as his own son, as do I. Amzi would suffer death willingly, Yusuf would suffer death willingly, would it spare that poor, confiding innocent!"

The priest's eyes were flas.h.i.+ng, and his tones bore witness to his earnestness. He did not notice, nor did Asru, a pair of bright eyes that peered at him from the c.h.i.n.k of the doorway; he did not know that a face full of petty, vindictive spite was partially hidden by the darkness without, or that two keen ears were listening to every word he said.

"Yusuf," returned the captain in a low tone, "you are the only man who has ever seemed to me good. Your words, at least, are ever truth. You wonder, then, that I follow the prophet? Simply because the excitement of war suits me, and"--he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh--"it is the best policy to be on the winning side. Most of these crazed idiots believe in him, and fear that he will work enchantments upon them if they do not; but the doctrine of the sword and of plunder goes farther with a few, of whom Asru is one. Because I believe in you, Yusuf, I shall try to carry out your request. But it would cost me my life were it found out, so it must be seemingly by chance. Rest a.s.sured that, bad as I am, cruel as I am, I shall see that Yusuf's friends have some 'accidental' way of escape."

So spoke Asru, nor knew that a pair of feet were hurrying and shuffling towards the prophet, while a soldier kept guard at the door.

"May heaven bless you for this!" cried the priest. "So long as Amzi and Yusuf breathe you shall not lack an earthly friend."

"Tus.h.!.+" exclaimed the captain. "'Tis but the wish to make old scores even. You serve me; I serve you. We are even."

"Then I shall leave you," said Yusuf, rising with a smile.

Asru opened the door.

"Hold!" cried a guard. "By order of the prophet, Asru is my prisoner!"

"Wherefore?" cried Asru, attempting to seize his dagger.

"Because, though it is politic to be on the winning side, it is not always safe to be a traitor and to countermand Mohammed's orders,"

replied the prophet's musical voice, as the soldiers gave way to permit his advance.

Asru freed himself and dashed forward, wielding his dagger right and left, but it was a rash effort. He was instantly overpowered and bound hand and foot. The priest shared the same fate.

The prophet looked down upon the captain. "Asru," he said, "you whom I deemed a most faithful one, you who have proved false, know that death is the meed of a traitor. Yet that you may know Mohammed can show mercy, I give you your life. For the sake of your past services I grant it you, and trust that, having learned obedience and humility, you may once again grace our battle-fields n.o.bly. Guards, chain him, yet see that he is kept in easy confinement and lacks nothing. Send me Uzza."

The Oman Arab came forward. He was a dark-browed man, under-sized, and with one shoulder higher than the other. His eyes were long and narrow, with a look of extreme cunning about them, and his mouth was cruel, his lips being pressed together so tightly that they looked like a long white line.

"Upon you, Uzza, O faithful, as next in command, I confer the honor of the position left vacant by Asru. Do thou carry out its obligations with honor to thyself and to the prophet of Allah."

Uzza prostrated himself to the ground.

Mohammed turned to Yusuf. "Whom have we here? What said you in your accusation, Abraham? An accomplice of Asru, was it?"

The little peddler, the silent watcher at the door, came forward, hopping along as usual, but with malignant triumph in his face.

"This, O prophet," he said, making obeisance, "is not only an accomplice of Asru, but a sworn enemy of the prophet of Allah and of all who believe in him."

"Why, methinks I have seen him before," said Mohammed, pa.s.sing his hand over his brow. "Is not this the gentle friend of Amzi?"

"He is the friend of Amzi," returned the Jew, "but even Amzi lies in chains as a spy among the Moslems."

"I had forgotten," said the prophet. "Yet what harm hath this gentle Meccan done?"

"He is Yusuf, the Magian priest," said the Jew. "And believe, O prophet of Allah, the Magians are your most bitter enemies."

Uzza started and leaned forward with intense interest. Yusuf felt his burning gaze fixed on his face.

"What proof have you that this is a Magian priest?" asked the prophet, wearily.

"See!" exclaimed the Jew.

He tore back the priest's garment, and there was the red mark of the torch outlined distinctly against the white skin.

"Ha!" cried Uzza, starting forward, the veins of his forehead swelling with excitement. "The very mark! The secret mark of the priests among those who wors.h.i.+p fire and the sun! This, O Mohammed, is not only a priest, but a priest who has fed the temple fires, and as such has been pledged to uphold the Guebre religion at whatever cost."

Yusuf said nothing.

"Can you not speak, Yusuf?" asked Mohammed. "Have you no word to say to all this?"

"It is all true, O Mohammed," replied Yusuf, quietly. "It is true that in my youthful days I was a priest at Guebre altars. Now, I am not Yusuf the Magian priest, but Yusuf the Christian, and a humble follower of our Most High G.o.d and his Son Jesus."

"Dare you thus proclaim yourself a Christian to my very face?" exclaimed Mohammed. "Magian or Christian, ye are all alike enemies. Off with him!

Do with him as you will, Uzza,--yet," relenting, "I commend him to your mercy." He turned abruptly and left the apartment.

Yusuf was immediately taken and thrown into a close, dark room. He was still bound hand and foot.

The little Jew entered, and sat down with his head on one side.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He knows that Yusuf's hands reek with blood," said Uzza.--See page 58.]

"Now, proud Yusuf," he said, "has come Abraham's day. Once it was Yusuf's day; then the poor peddler, the little dervish, was scourged and chained, and well-nigh smothered in that vile Meccan chamber. Now it has come Abraham's day, and Yusuf and Abraham will be even. How does this suit your angelic const.i.tution? Angelic as you are, you cannot slip through chains and bolted doors so easily as the little Jew. Oh, Yusuf, are you not happy? Uzza hates you; I saw it in his face. Did you ever know him before?" The Jew's propensity for news was to the fore as usual.

Yusuf answered nothing.