If they were not his lions here was an end of him and all his troubles; and if they were his lions he could not but recall that it had been some time since they had seen him; and the chance obtruded itself upon his consciousness that even though they proved to be his lions they might not remember him, for he had learned of late that the minds and memories of beasts may not be gauged by human standards.
But even in the instant that these thoughts passed through his mind, and while he struggled beneath the giant bodies above him, he heard the purring of one of the beasts in his ear and then felt the rough tongue upon his cheek.
With a laugh of relief he put his arms about the neck of the lion and drawing the great head close down to his pressed his face against the savage, wrinkled jowl of his first friend.
So great was the joy of the beasts in seeing him again that it was some time before he could gain his feet, as they kept pouncing upon him with the playfulness of kittens; but at last he stood erect, an arm about the neck of each of the huge cats.
For a while he remained there, stroking and caressing them; but his mind was settled upon his immediate future, and so with a final hug for each he left them, trotting on across the hills and out into the desert.
It was dawn when he came to the douar of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji. Already the breakfast fires were burning, and burnoosed Arabs were moving hither and thither about the encampment. Unhesitatingly Azîz approached the tents. At sight of him several of the warriors ran forward, their weapons ready; but as he called to them in their own tongue, asking for Nakhla, they drew about him curiously, for never had they seen so strange a figure as this almost naked white giant.
The commotion brought Ali-Es-Hadji from his tent, and when he learned that this stranger had come in search of his daughter he strode forward to interview him, his face stem and forbidding.
At sight of him he knew that it was the lion-man, and on the instant, recalling Ben Saada’s prophesies, he became suspicious. His keen glance took in the youth from head to foot. He noted the superb physique, the strong cut face, the clear eyes, the dignity of the man’s carriage. Despite himself Ali-Es-Hadji was impressed.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and what brings you to my tent?”
“I am—” the youth hesitated to give the name that Nakhla had called him - “I am the brother of el adrea; and I have come to have speech with Nakhla, the daughter of Sheik Ali-Es-Hadji.”
“What would you of the daughter of Ali-Es-Hadji?” asked the sheik. “I am he — what would you of my daughter?”
“I would learn if she be married to another,” replied Azîz, “for I would have her for myself.”
Ali-Es-Hadji’s face went black with anger.
“You!” he cried. “You, dog of a Nasrâny — naked white beggar — you have the temerity to aspire to the daughter of a great sheik? You — a worthless vagabond without a following — without even a burnoose to your back. Where, pig, would you find the twenty camels with which to pay me for my daughter’s hand, even if she would have such vermin as you?”
Azîz’ level gaze never left the face of the old Arab: If his heart was tom with misery and his breast with indignation and with rage, his face showed naught of the emotions which rioted beneath his smooth bronzed hide. Last night he had learned in what low esteem the men of his own race held him. Now he had discovered that the wild desert Arab looked down upon him as an inferior being. Indeed was he an outcast and a pariah. Did Nakhla also consider him as dirt beneath her feet? Was he to her also but as camel dung?
“Let me speak with Nakhla,” he persisted. “If Nakhla says that I am a pig and a dog I will go away.”
Ali-Es-Hadji was about to refuse the request, and Azîz seeing his decision in the expression of his face sought to forestall it.
“Since Nakhla told me that it was wrong,” he said, “to tamper with her father’s flocks, neither I nor my lions have come down to the douar of Ali-Es- Hadji; but if I go away, leaving my lions here, who will there be to prevent them coming nightly to your corral? Or if you refuse my request why should I not then be your enemy, bringing my two great beasts often among your herds and your people? Even now the lioness is big with cubs, and in a year there may be four or five lions where now there are but three. Would you be happy in the knowledge that five lions were constantly seeking to slay you and your people and your cattle? Would it not be better to be friends with the brother of el adrea? Even though Nakhla tells me that she no longer likes me, I will be no enemy to her people; but if you refuse to let me speak with her I shall know that you are my enemy indeed.”
Now Ali-Es-Hadji, though a brave man, contemplated with horror the suggestion that five lions might be brought to prey upon him. He had it in his mind that the young man might be easily killed before he could leave the douar, but that would not preserve him from the depredations of the lions. His only hope lay in placating the lion-man, and with this thought in view he determined to see Nakhla first and require her to send her savage mend away in peace, but permanently.
“Wait here,” he said to Azîz. “I will fetch my daughter.”
Then he entered the tent that was reserved for Nakhla in the rear of his own. A moment later he reappeared — an expression of apprehension on his face. He turned to several of the women who stood upon the edge of the curious crowd that was eyeing the lion-man.
“Where is Nakhla?” he asked. “Who has seen my daughter this morning?”
The women looked from one to another, each signifying her ignorance of the whereabouts of the chief’s daughter by a shake of the head. Ali-Es-Hadji commanded several of the younger women to search for her. Presently they returned to say that Nakhla was not within the douar and that El Djebel, her horse, was gone likewise.
At this moment the figure of a horseman could be seen galloping swiftly toward the douar from across the desert. Streaming in the wind behind him waved the graceful folds of his burnoose above the rising and falling back of his white mount. The two seemed alive with tidings — the gait of the horse, the attitude of the man proclaimed that they were bearers of important information, perhaps, they thought, concerning Nakhla. Ali-Es-Hadji and his people stood silently awaiting their coming, as though something told them that the two brought word from the missing Nakhla. Beside Ali-Es-Hadji stood Azîz, the lion-man, awaiting in silence the coming of the messenger.
There was a rush of feet as the Arab galloped at full speed among the tents and in a final cloud of flying sand and dust threw his horse to its haunches at the very feet of the sheik.
It was Brebisch, friend and confederate of Ben Saada. He did not dismount. His attitude was of one who in his own hearts doubts the welcome that awaits him. Beneath his burnoose one hand grasped his long pistol. Brebisch was prepared for any eventuality.
“Ali-Es-Hadji,” he cried, and his tone was almost defiant, “I bring you the greetings of Ben Saada and word that your daughter is well in his keeping. Ben Saada will wed her if you send him assurance of your friendship, and he will return and live beneath your tent; but if you will not promise Ben Saada your protection then he bids me tell you that he will keep your daughter anyway — but that he will not wed her.”
Brebisch was silent, evidently awaiting Ali-Es-Hadji’s reply. The face of the sheik was a study in fear and rage and sorrow well controlled. Only his long, strong fingers opened and closed convulsively as though already they could feel the throat of the seducer of his daughter in their grip. His old eyes blazed with the fire of his unconquered forebears as he replied to the messenger from Ben Saada.
“Tell Ben Saada,” he said slowly, “that Ali-Es-Hadji does not treat with renegades and traitors. I shall come and get him, and if he has harmed my daughter he shall die, staked out upon the desert to fill the bellies of the jackal and the vulture with his putrid meat. That is the only answer that Ali- Es-Hadji has to send to Ben Saada. Begone!”
Brebisch made no reply, but wheeling his horse galloped out into the desert in the direction from which h
e had come. For a long time old Ali-Es- Hadji remained in thought, his eyes bent upon the ground. Then he turned toward Azîz, but Azîz was not there. Instead, far out upon the desert, a savage beast trotted doggedly along the spoor of a flying horseman.
CHAPTER 19
A few days after Otto had been laid to rest and the first untroubled sleep he had enjoyed since his accession, a delegation waited upon King Ferdinand with a draft of the new constitution. He refused to grant them an audience. General Count Sarnya advised him to reconsider.
“I am king,” stated Ferdinand, arrogantly, “and I shall remain king. I shall not resign my power to hoi polloi.”
“Remember your father, your cousin, and your uncle,” Sarnya reminded him; “they seemed to have incurred the displeasure of hoi polloi.”
“We are not afraid,” replied Ferdinand, pompously.
“You are a fool, Ferdinand,” said Sarnya. “I should like to help you, but I can tell you now that your only hope is to make peace with the revolutionary party. It is headed by a man named Andresy. He is earnest and a real patriot. His followers will do anything that he tells them to. I think they are all fools, but to us they are as a thousand to one. I have tried to combat them for years, but they only grow in strength. Your father antagonized them. If you are conciliatory, you may remain king for years. You will not rule, but you will live.”
The next day, General Count Sarnya received an order relieving him of his duties as Chief of Staff and appointing him to command of the frontier forces. The same day, Count Maximilian Lomsk returned from exile, bringing the little blonde from Germany with him.
* * * * *
“Your Majesty,” said Captain Carlyn, “Count Lomsk is boasting that he is to be Chief of Staff. I had hoped that your Majesty would honor me with that appointment.”
Ferdinand fidgeted. He was very much afraid of the sinister Carlyn. “We have not reached a decision in that matter,” he said; and the next day Captain Carlyn was transferred to a regiment on the frontier. That was his answer.
* * * * *
Hilda de Groot clung to Ferdinand. “I thought you would never come,” she whispered. “I thought that now that you were king, I should never see you again.”
“You are going to see more of me than ever,” he said. “I am going to build a palace just for you and me. In the meantime you are coming to the royal palace as lady-in-waiting to Maria.”
Hilda shuddered. “I couldn’t do that,” she cried. “What would Maria think?”
“It makes no difference what she thinks. I am king.”
* * * * *
“It has been a long time since I have seen you, my friend,” said Andresy.
“You know how careful I have had to be,” replied Carlyn.
“And now?” asked Andresy.
“The fool has transferred me to the frontier, and is going to appoint Count Max Lomsk Chief of Staff and head of the secret police.”
“What is to be done about it? Of course, the idiot is digging his own grave. The question is, how best to get him into it quickly. Since he refused to see the delegation that waited on him with the new constitution, I have feared the worst. We shall have to do something. Have you any suggestions?”
“Yes. There is a young lieutenant in the 10th Cavalry whom you should know. He is all right. I have been working on him for a long time.”
“Who is he?”
“Hans de Groot, the brother of Hilda de Groot.” Andresy whistled. “Oh,” he said, “I think I see. He does not like Ferdinand.” “He does not,” replied Carlyn.
“Arrange a meeting,” directed Andresy
* * * * *
Ferdinand paced up and down the room. Maria was in tears. “Do you think,” she demanded, “that I will remain for one minute under the same roof with that woman?”
“Do as you please,” said Ferdinand. “Whether you like it or not she is coming.”
“I shall go home,” announced Maria.
“That will only make a scandal,” said Ferdinand; “and if you do go home, I shall divorce you for desertion.”
“I shall see to it that you never get a divorce; and, furthermore, I shall tell my father to call your loans.”
* * * * *
Hilda had two new motors and many magnificent jewels. She also had her choice of the crown jewels, but she was not happy in the palace. She was amazed at the variety and number of ways people could invent to snub her subtly. Unfortunately, perhaps, for her, she was neither ambitious nor vengeful; had she been, she could have made things most uncomfortable for those who snubbed her. Hilda’s first mistake had lain in loving a crown prince. It was greatly magnified now that he was king. Gardener’s daughters should not do such things.
Maria had gone back to papa; and while nobody at Ferdinand’s court had liked her while she was there, they all appeared desolated now that she had left. Overnight, she seemed to have acquired more fine and lovable characteristics than even a doting mother might discern in an angel child.
No, Hilda was not happy; neither was Ferdinand. He had received a reminder through the ambassador from the court of his father-in-law that the first interest payment on the nuptial loan was overdue, and that if it were not paid promptly the loan might be called. This did not dovetail at all neatly with Ferdinand’s plans to build himself and Hilda a new palace, acquire a luxurious private train, and purchase a yacht. Nevertheless, he went ahead with his plans; but to do so, he had to resort to methods that added nothing to his popularity, or perhaps it would be better to say, added considerably to his unpopularity.
Hilda had much more common sense than Ferdinand; but I don’t know that that is particularly surprising, as I think that if the average gardener’s daughter were stacked up against a run-of-mine king she would win out on that score nine times out of ten. She tried to advise Ferdinand.
“I do not think that you need a new palace, a train, or a yacht,” she told him. “You already have this palace; I should be much happier back in my apartment; you have a comfortable private car that costs very little to maintain; and you can always charter a yacht when you want one, which is much cheaper than owning it. People are already commenting on your extravagances, which they blame on me. I am afraid something very terrible may happen, Ferdinand, if we are not more careful.”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” he grumbled. “Nobody wants me to do anything that I want to do. Nobody seems to realize that I am the king and that I own this country and can do what I please with it. I’ll show them.”
* * * * *
The cobbler’s pretty daughter had been arrested after the assassination of Otto; and while they were questioning her she had learned all the details of that unhappy occurrence that the investigation had revealed, and suspected others that were ignored by the investigators. They did not hold her, as it was obvious that she had had no knowledge of the plot. To most of them she seemed only a dumb little girl of the lower classes, but to Captain Carlyn she seemed something more. She was a widow, and she was extremely pretty. Perhaps she would need a protector now that William had been taken from her. What neither Captain Carlyn nor the others realized was that the cobbler’s pretty daughter was not as dumb as they thought her. During and after the investigation she did a great deal of thinking. She put two and two together, and was not at all surprised that they made neither three nor six; they made four, which bore out a theory she had been entertaining that William had been deliberately lured to his death for the purpose of diverting suspicion from the actual murderer of the King.
When she went home, she made inquiries among the friends and acquaintances of William; and visited places where she knew the radicals congregated to air their grievances against constituted authority. Among them, she was outspoken in her hatred of the King, whom she did not hate at all. She was playing a part, and she played it well. She made many strange friendships; and, because she was so pretty and seemed so dumb, men talked freely in front of her, thinking that she would not understan
d what they were talking about. She discovered that others believed as she did that William had been the victim of a plot to shield a higher-up; and what she learned from these men, added to what she had learned at the investigation, pointed indubitably to one man as the murderer of William; that he had also murdered the King was of no interest to the cobbler’s pretty daughter. That was his business and the King’s; but when a man kills a woman’s mate, even such a poor specimen of a mate as William, that is something else.
After the investigation, Captain Carlyn sent for her several times. He spoke to her with sympathy and understanding, offering her financial assistance and any other help he could give her. She was very appreciative and very sweet, and further captivated him by her manner. So much so, in fact, that on a couple of occasions he almost forgot his role of fatherly concern and succumbed to a growing infatuation; but Captain Carlyn, being a soldier, was experienced in reducing fortresses, and knew that oftentimes to storm them prematurely is to suffer defeat.
After he was ordered to the frontier, he wrote to her, and she replied. Successive letters became more ardent, and the cobbler’s daughter played up to him. Finally he sent for her, enclosing money for clothes and transportation.
CHAPTER 20
To the south rode the galloping horseman until well out of sight of the douar. Then he turned abruptly to the west; and ever to his trail clung the tireless runner, lithe, agile, and swift.
Pig! Dog! Nameless vagabond! Nasrâny! All these appellations of reproach and shame surged through the memory of Azîz as he followed along the well-marked spoor.
Was it thus that he appeared in the eyes of Nakhla? Surely it must be, for all others looked down upon him. Indeed he must be the lowest of Allah’s creatures. Well, what he was, he was. He could not help nor alter it. But if Nakhla looked down upon him why should he exert himself to rescue her from her abductors? He asked himself the question, realizing even as he put it that there was no need for it. His great love for the daughter of Ali-Es-Hadji was answer sufficient.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 495
