A Soldier of the Legion Part 22

Oureda answered, slowly and brokenly, that she had not believed Sanda would be permitted to go. Aunt Mabrouka had not stopped to reflect when she had made that threat, or else she had hoped to part them, and to make Oureda believe Sanda had gone. "You see," the girl explained in her halting English, "they--my father and my aunt--shall have too much of the fear to let you go till after all is finished."

"Finished?"

"When the marrying has been over thou canst go. Then it too late. My father shall be sure, thee and me, we know where M---- is, that our plan was for him. I say no, but he not believe. That is for why they keep thee here, so thou not tell M---- things about me. But my father, he shall not be mean and little in his mind like my aunt. He not listen to the words she speak when she say not let us meet together. My father know very well now we shall be finded out, it is the end for us. He not have fear for what we do if some person shall watch to see I not kill myself."

"What has become of poor Embarka?" Sanda asked.

Oureda shook her head, unutterable sadness in her eyes. "I think never shall I know that in this world."

Ill, without feigning, as the girl was, the wedding was to be hurried on. The original idea had been for the week of wedding festivities to begin on the girl's seventeenth birthday; but now Ben Raana said that, in promising his daughter the delay she asked for, he had always intended to begin the week before and give the bride to the bridegroom on the anniversary of her birth.

Oureda no longer pleaded. She had given up hope, and resigned herself with the deadly calmness of resignation which only women of the Mussulman faith can feel. It was clear that her will was not as Allah's will. And women came not on earth for happiness. It was not sure that they even had souls.

"Allah has appointed that I marry my cousin Tahar," she said to Sanda, "and I shall marry him, because I have not another stiletto nor any poison, and I am always watched so that, even if I had the courage, I could not throw myself down from the roof. But afterward--I am not sure yet what I shall do. All I know is that I shall never be a wife to Tahar. Something will happen to one of us. It may be to me, or it may be to him. But something _must_ happen."

The Agha himself had caused to be built at Djazerta a _hammam_ copied in miniature after a fine Moorish bath in Algiers, at which he bathed when he went north to attend the governor's yearly ball. All Arab brides of high rank or low must go through great ceremonies of the bath in the week of the wedding feast, and no exception could be made in Oureda's case. The privacy of the _hammam_ was secured for the Agha's daughter by hiring it for a day, and no one was to be admitted to the women's part of the bath except the few ladies who had enough social importance to expect invitations. That Lella Mabrouka and Sanda would be there was a matter of course; and, besides them, there were the wives and daughters of two or three sheikhs and caids, all of whom Sanda already knew by sight, as they had paid ceremonious visits to the great man's harem since her arrival at Djazerta.

The Agha had a carriage, large, old-fas.h.i.+oned, and musty-smelling, but lined with gold-stamped crimson silk from Tunis. It could be used only between his house and the town, or to reach the oasis just beyond, for there was nowhere else to go; but, drawn by stalwart mules in Spanish harness, for years it had taken the ladies of his household to the baths and back. Lella Mabrouka and Taous (both veiled, though they had pa.s.sed the age of attractiveness when hiding the face is obligatory) chaperoned the bride and her friend, the coachman and his a.s.sistant being fat and elderly eunuchs.

At the doorway of the domed building, the only new one in Djazerta, there was much stately fuss of screening the ladies as they left the seclusion of the carriage. Then came a long, tiled corridor, which opened into a room under the dome of the _hammam_, and there the party was met not only by bowing female attendants, but by the guests, who had arrived early to welcome them. Oureda was received with pretty cries and childlike, excited chattering, not only by her girl friends, but the older women. All were undressed, ready for the bath, or they could not have followed the bride to the hot rooms; and that was the object and pleasure of the visit. Every one shrieked compliments as the clothing of the Agha's daughter was delicately removed by the beaming negresses; and gifts of gold-spangled bonbons, wonderfully iced cakes, crystallized fruit, flowers, gilded bottles of concentrated perfume, mother-o'-pearl and tortoise boxes, gaudy silk handkerchiefs made in Paris for Algerian markets, and little silver fetiches were presented to the bride. She thanked the givers charmingly, though in a manner so subdued and with a face so grave that the visitors would have been astonished had not Lella Mabrouka explained that she had been ill with an attack of fever.

From hot room to hotter room the women trooped, resting, when they felt inclined, upon mattings spread on marble, while the bride, the queen of the occasion, was given a divan. They ate sweets and drank pink sherbet or syrup-sweet coffee, and, instead of being bathed by one of the attendants, Oureda was waited upon by a great personage who came to Djazerta only for the weddings of the highest. Originally she was from Tunis, where her profession is a fine art; but having been superseded there she had moved to Algiers, then to Touggourt; and thence the Agha had summoned her for his daughter. She was Zakia, _la hennena_, a skilled beautifier of women; and she had been sent for, some days in advance of the great occasion, in order (being past her youth) to recover from the fatigue of the journey. None of the young girls had ever seen her, and exclaiming with joy they fingered her scented pastes and powders.

This bridal bath ceremony, being more intricate than any ordinary bath, took a long time, and when it was over, and Oureda a perfumed statue of ivory, the cooling-room was entered for the dyeing of the bride's hair.

The girl's face showed how she disliked the process; but it being an unwritten law that the hair of an Arab bride must be coloured with _sabgha_, she submitted. After the first shudder she sat with downcast eyes, looking indifferent, for nothing mattered to her now. Since Manoel would never see it again, and perhaps it would soon lie deep under earth in a coffin, she cared very little after all that the long hair he had thought beautiful must lose its lovely sheen for fas.h.i.+on's sake.

Now and then, as she worked, Zakia stooped over her victim, bringing her old, peering face close to the bowed face of the girl to make sure the dye did not touch it. Sanda, who had been grudgingly granted a thin muslin robe for the bath because of her strange Roumia ideas of baring the face and covering the body, noticed these bendings of _la hennena_, but thought nothing of them until she happened to catch a new expression in Oureda's eyes. Suddenly the gloom of hopelessness had gone out of them: and it could not be that this was the effect of the compliments rained upon her in chorus by the guests, for until that instant the most fantastic praise of hair, features, and figure had not extorted a smile.

What could the woman have said to give back in an instant the girl's lost bloom and sparkle? Sanda wondered. It was like a miracle. But it lasted only for a moment. Then it seemed that by an effort Oureda masked herself once more with tragedy. She turned one of her slow, sad glances toward her aunt; and Sanda was sure she looked relieved on seeing Lella Mabrouka absorbed in talk with the plump wife of a caid.

According to custom in great houses of the south, _la hennena_ was escorted, after the women's fete at the _hammam_, to the home of the bride, where she was to spend the remainder of the festive week in heightening the girl's beauty. She was given the guest-room of the harem, second in importance to that occupied by Colonel DeLisle's daughter. This, as it happened, was nearer to Oureda's room than Sanda's or even Lella Mabrouka's; and as, during the two days that followed, Zakia was almost constantly occupied in blanching the bride's ivory skin with almond paste, staining her fingers red as coral with a decoction of henna and cochineal, and saturating her hair and body with a famous permanent perfume, sometimes Lella Mabrouka and Taous ventured to leave the two girls chaperoned only by _la hennena_. That was because neither had seen the sudden light in Oureda's eyes after the face of Zakia had approached hers at the _hammam_.

For the first day there was no solution of the mystery for Sanda, who had waited to hear she knew not what. But at last, in a room littered with pastes and perfume bottles, and lighted by the traditional long candles wound with coloured ribbon, Oureda spoke, in Arabic, that the _hennena_ might not be hurt.

"Zakia says I may tell thee our secret," she said. "At first she was afraid, but now she sees that she may trust thee as I do. Didst thou guess there was a secret?"

"Yes," answered Sanda.

"I thought so! Well, it is this: At the _hammam_ is employed a cousin of Embarka's. I feared never to hear of Embarka again; but my father is more enlightened than I thought. He might have ordered her death, and the eunuchs would have obeyed, and no one would ever have known. Yet he did no more than send her away, giving her no time even to pack that which was hers. He did not care what became of her, being sure that she could never again enter our house. But he did not know of the cousin in the _hammam_. And perhaps he did not stop to think that I might have given Embarka jewels for helping me. She would have helped without payment, because she loved me. But I wished to reward her. She hid the things in her clothing; and when she was turned out she still thought of me, not of herself. She knew I would go to the _hammam_ before my marriage, and that Zakia had been sent for to bathe me and make me beautiful. So she gave her cousin there a present, and all the rest of the jewels she gave to Zakia, for a promise Zakia made. Nothing has Embarka kept of all my gifts. It was like her! The rest is easy now. I shall never again know happiness, but neither shall I know the shame of giving myself to a man I hate when heart and soul belong to one I love."

"Can _la hennena_ help you to escape?" Sanda wanted to know.

"From Tahar, yes. Here is the way," Oureda answered. And she held out for Sanda to see a tiny pearl-studded gold box, one of many quaint ornaments on a chain the girl always wore round her neck. She had explained the meaning or contents of each fetich long ago, and Sanda knew all about the sacred eye from Egypt, the white coral horn to ward off evil, the silver and emerald case with a text from the Koran blessed by a great saint or marabout, and the pearl-crusted gold box containing a lock of hair certified to be that of Fatma Zora, the Prophet's favourite daughter.

"I have put the hair with the text," said Oureda. "Look, in its place this tiny bottle of white powder. Canst thou guess what it is for?"

The blood rushed to Sanda's face, then back to her heart. But she did not answer. She only looked at Oureda: a wide-eyed, fascinated look.

"Thou hast guessed," the Agha's daughter said in a very little voice like a child's. "But I shall not use it if, when I have told him how I hate him, he consents to let me alone. If he is a fool, why, he brings his fate on himself. This is for his lips, if they try to touch mine."

"But," Sanda gasped; "you would be a----"

"I know the word in thy mind. It is 'murderess.' Yet my conscience would be clear. It would be for the sake of my love--to keep true to my promise at any cost. And the cost might be my life. They would find out; they would know how he died. This is no coward's act like smiling at a man and giving him each day powdered gla.s.s or chopped hair of a leopard in his food, which many of our women do, to kill and leave no trace. If I break, I pay."

As she spoke the door opened and Lella Mabrouka came swiftly into the room, fierce-eyed as a tigress whose cub is threatened. She was tight-lipped and silent, but her eyes spoke, and all three knew that she had listened. Such words as she had missed her quick wit had caught and patched together. Oureda's wish to propitiate Zakia by not seeming to talk secrets before her had undone them both. But it was too late for regrets, and even for lies.

Lella Mabrouka clapped her hands, and Taous came, to be told in a tense voice that the Agha must be summoned. Then Mabrouka turned to the Roumia.

"Go, thou! This has nothing to do with thee," was all she said.

Sanda glanced at her friend, and an answering glance bade her obey. She rose and went out, along the balcony to the door of her own room. This she left open, thinking with a fast-beating heart that if there were any cry she would run back, no matter what they might do to her. But there was no cry, no sound of any kind, only the cooing of doves which had flown down into the fountain court, hoping Oureda might throw them corn.

The custom of the house was for the three ladies to take their meals together in a room where occasionally, as a great honour, the Agha dined with them. That evening a tray of food was brought to Sanda with polite regrets from Lella Mabrouka because she and her niece were too indisposed by the hot weather to forsake the shelter of their rooms.

Politeness, always politeness, with these Arabs of high birth and manners! thought the Irish-French girl in a pa.s.sionate revolt against the curtain of silk velvet softly let down between her and the secrets of Ben Raana's harem. This time it might be, she said to herself, that politeness covered tragedy. But the same night she received another message from Mabrouka. It was merely to say that, the air of Djazerta not being healthful at this time of year, the Agha had decided, for his daughter's sake, to finish the week of the wedding feast out in the desert, at the _douar_.

CHAPTER XXI

THE ELEVENTH HOUR

When Max, at the head of his small caravan, came in sight of the Agha's _douar_, it was almost noon, and the desert, s.h.i.+mmering with heat, was motionless, as if under enchantment. They had travelled through the night, after learning that Ben Raana and his family had gone from Djazerta, with intervals of rest no longer than those allowed to the Legion on march. What they saw was a giant tent as large as a circus tent in a village of America or Europe surrounded at a distance by an army of little tents, black and dirty brown, so flat and low that they were like huge bats with outstretched wings resting on the sand. The great tent of the chief with its high roof, its vast spread of white, red, and amber striped cloth of close-woven camel's hair, rose n.o.bly above all the others, as a mosque rises above a crowd of prostrate wors.h.i.+ppers at prayer. For background, there was a clump of trees; for here, in the far southern desert, just outside a waving welter of dunes, lay a region of _dayas_, where a wilderness of sand and tumbled stones was brightened by green hollows half full of gurgling water.

Never before had Max seen a _douar_ of importance, the desert dwelling of a desert chief. But Manoel had been here before; and the camel-drivers, if they had not visited this _douar_, were familiar with others. Max alone wondered at the great tent, whose many different compartments sheltered the Agha, his whole family, and servants brought from Djazerta. As the caravan wound nearer to watching eyes, another tent, not so big, but new and brilliant of colour, separated itself from the vast bulk of the _tente sultane_.

"What is that?" Max asked Manoel, who rode beside him as interpreter, his dark-stained face almost covered by the white folds of his woollen hood, the fire of his young eyes dimmed and aged by a pair of cheap, silver-rimmed spectacles such as elderly Arabs wear.

"The Agha must have ordered that new tent to be set up for Tahar,"

Manoel answered gruffly; and Max guessed from the sharpening of his tone and the brevity of his explanation that this was the desert dwelling appointed for the bridegroom when he should take his bride.

In the boldness of their plan lay its hope of success; for though Ben Raana's suspicions were on the alert he would not expect the banished lover to ride brazenly up to his tent, side by side with a soldier messenger from Colonel DeLisle. There was an instant of suspense after the corporal on leave and his Arab interpreter were received by the Agha in a reception-room whose walls were red woollen draperies; but it was scarcely longer than a heartbeat. Ben Raana had just come out from another room beyond, where, the curtains falling apart, several guests in the high turbans of desert dignitaries could be seen seated on cus.h.i.+ons and waited upon by Soudanese men who were serving a meal.

The Agha scarcely glanced at Max's companion, the dark, spectacled Arab, but announcing in French that no interpreter would be needed, he clapped his hands to summon a servant. One of the black men lifted the red curtains higher and came in, received instructions as to the interpreter's entertainment, and led him away. Max could hardly keep back a sigh of relief, for that had been a bad moment. Now it was over, and with it his personal responsibility in his friend's adventure. It had been agreed between them that Colonel DeLisle's messenger to Ben Raana should have no further hand in the plot against the Agha. The rest was for Manoel alone, unless at the end help should be necessary (and possible) for Oureda's rescue.

Max delivered a letter from DeLisle, and the Agha read it slowly through. Then he raised his eyes and fixed them upon the Legionnaire as if wondering how far he might be in his colonel's confidence.

"My friend has sent thee to escort his daughter to Sidi-bel-Abbes," Ben Raana said thoughtfully. "Although he cannot be there himself, he believes the northern climate will be better for her health at this time of year. Perhaps he is right; though my daughter, whom she has visited, would have been delighted as a married woman to keep Mademoiselle DeLisle with her. However, my friend's will is as Allah's will. It must be done. The day after to-morrow my daughter's wedding feast will be over and she will go to her husband's tent. Remain here quietly till then as my guest. Thy interpreter and the persons of thy caravan shall be well cared for, I promise thee, by my household. When my daughter leaves me the daughter of my friend shall go in peace at the same hour, in thy charge."

As he spoke his eyes remained on the messenger's face, watching for any change of expression, and noting the flush that mounted through the soldier-tan.

"I am very sorry," said Max, "but Colonel DeLisle has given me only short leave. There was just enough time to get me to Djazerta, from Touggourt, and to do the journey comfortably to Sidi-bel-Abbes. He is a prompt man, as you know. He thinks and acts quickly. It didn't occur to him that there need be any great delay. Already there has been a day lost returning from Djazerta, where I heard that you were at your _douar_. A day and a half here, much as I should like to be your guest, would mean overstaying my leave. That, you will see, is impossible."

"If it is impossible, I fear that thou must go from here with thy mission unfulfilled and without Mademoiselle," replied the Agha, irritatingly calm. "For on my side it is impossible to let her go before my daughter is--_safely_ married."

He smiled as he spoke, but the pause and the emphasis on a certain word were deliberate. Max was meant to understand it, in case DeLisle had confided in him. If not, it did not matter; he would realize that he had had his ultimatum. Max did realize this, and, after a stunned second, accepted the inevitable.

"I'll write to Sidi-bel-Abbes and explain. It's all I can do," was the thought which ran through his head as he politely informed the Agha that he would, at any cost, wait for Mademoiselle DeLisle.