The women of the harem came in quickly, and when they saw that their master was dead, they sat down with Almasta and wept with her, for as he lay dead there was no mark of any violence nor any sign whereby it could be told that he had not died naturally.
When Khaled heard that Abdul Kerim was dead, he was much grieved at heart, for the man had been brave and had been often at his right hand in battle. But the news being brought to him at dawn when he awoke, he immediately sent the Jewish physician of the court to ascertain if possible the cause of the sudden death. The physician made careful examination of the body, and having purified himself returned to Khaled to give an account.
‘I have executed my lord’s orders with scrupulous exactness,’ he said, ‘and I find that without doubt the sheikh of the horsemen died suddenly by an access of humours to the heart, the sun being at that time in the Nadir, for he died about midnight, and being moreover in evil conjunction with the Dragon’s Tail in the Heart of the Lion, and not yet far from the square aspect of Al Marech which caused the death of his majesty the late Sultan, upon whom be peace.’
But Khaled was thoughtful, for he reflected that this was the second time that a man had died suddenly when he was about to be Almasta’s husband, and he remembered, how she had attempted to kill the Sultan of Haïl, and had ultimately brought about his death.
‘Have you examined the dead man as minutely as you have observed the stars?’ he inquired. ‘Is there no mark of violence upon him, nor of poison, nor of strangling?’
‘There is no mark. By Allah! I speak truth. My lord may see for himself, for the man is not yet buried.’
‘Am I a jackal, that I should sniff at dead bodies?’ asked Khaled. ‘Go in peace.’
The physician withdrew, for he saw that Khaled was displeased, and he was himself as much surprised as any one by the death of Abdul Kerim, a man lean and strong, not given to surfeiting and in the prime of health.
‘Min Allah!’ he said as he departed. ‘We are in the hand of the Lord, who knoweth our rising up and our lying down. It is possible that if I had seen this man at the moment of death, or a little before, I might have discovered the nature of his disease, for I could have talked with him and questioned him.’
But Khaled went in and talked with Zehowah. She was greatly astonished when she heard that Almasta’s husband was dead, but she was satisfied with the answer of the Jewish physician, who enjoyed great reputation and was believed to be at that time the wisest man in Arabia.
‘Give her back to me, to be one of my women,’ said she. ‘It is not written that she should marry a man of Nejed, unless you will take her yourself.’
But Khaled bent his brow angrily and his eyes glowed like the coals of a camp fire which is almost extinguished, when the night wind blows suddenly over the ashes.
‘I have spoken,’ he said.
‘And I have heard,’ she answered. ‘Let there be an end. But give me this woman to divert me with her broken speech.’
‘I fear she will do you an injury of which you may not live,’ said Khaled.
‘What injury can she do me?’ asked Zehowah in astonishment, not understanding him.
‘She asked of your father the head of the Sultan of Haïl, whom she hated. And your father gave it to her.’
‘Peace be upon him!’ exclaimed Zehowah piously.
‘Upon him peace. And when he would have married her, he died suddenly at the feasting. And now this Abdul Kerim, who was to have been her husband, is dead also, without sign, in the night, as a man stung by a serpent in his sleep. These are strange doings.’
‘If you think she has done evil, let her be put to death,’ said Zehowah. ‘But the physician found no mark upon Abdul Kerim. By the hand of Allah he was taken.’
‘Doubtless his fate was about his neck. But it is strange.’
Zehowah looked at Khaled in silence, but presently she smiled and laid her hand upon his.
‘This woman loves you with her whole soul,’ she said. ‘You think that she has slain Abdul Kerim by secret arts, in the hope that she may marry you.’
‘And your father also.’
Then they were both silent, and Zehowah covered her face, since she could not prevent tears from falling when she thought of her father, whom she had loved.
‘If this be so,’ she said after a long time, ‘let the woman die immediately.’
‘It is necessary to be just,’ Khaled answered. ‘I will put no one to death without witnesses, not even a captive woman, who is certainly an unbeliever at heart. Has any one seen her do these deeds, or does any one know by what means a man may be slain in his sleep, or at a feast, so that no mark is left upon his body? At Dereyiyah your father was alone with her in the inner part of the tent, and she was singing to him that he might sleep. For I have made inquiry. And when Abdul Kerim died he was also alone with her. I cannot understand these things. But you are a woman and subtle. It may be that you can see what is too dark for me.’
‘It may be. Therefore give her back to me, and I will lay a trap for her, so that she will betray herself if she has really done evil. And when we have convicted her by her own words she shall die.’
‘Are you not afraid, Zehowah?’
‘Can I change my destiny? If my hour is come, I shall die of a fever, or of a cold, whether she be with me or not. But if my years are not full, she cannot hurt me.’
‘This is undoubtedly true,’ answered Khaled, who could find nothing to say. ‘But I will first question the woman myself.’
So he sent slaves with a litter to bring Almasta from the house of mourning to the palace, and when she was come he sent out all the other women and remained alone with her and Zehowah, making her sit down before him so that he could see her face. Her cheeks were pale, for she had not slept, having been occupied in weeping and lamentation during the whole night, and her eyes moved restlessly as those of a person distracted with grief.
Khaled then drew his sword and laid it across his feet as he sat and looked fixedly at Almasta.
‘If you do not speak the truth,’ he said, ‘I will cut off your head with my own hand. Allah is witness.’
When Almasta saw the drawn sword, her face grew whiter than before, and for some moments she seemed not able to breathe. But suddenly she began to beat her breast, and broke out into loud wailings, rocking herself to and fro as she sat on the carpet.
‘My husband is dead!’ she cried. ‘He was young; he was beautiful! He is dead! Wah! Wah! my husband is dead! Kill me too!’
Khaled looked at Zehowah, but she said nothing, though she watched Almasta attentively. Then Khaled spoke to the woman again.
‘Make an end of lamenting for the present,’ he said. ‘It has pleased Allah to take your husband to the fellowship of the faithful. Peace be upon him. Tell us in what manner he died, and what words he spoke when he felt his end approaching, for he was my good friend and I wish to know all.’
Almasta either did not understand or made a pretence of not understanding, but when she heard Khaled’s words she ceased from wailing and sobbed silently, beating her breast from time to time.
‘How did he die?’ Khaled asked in a stern voice.
‘He was asleep. He died,’ replied Almasta in broken tones.
‘You will get no other answer,’ said Zehowah. ‘She cannot speak our tongue.’
‘Is there no woman among them all who can talk this woman’s language?’ asked Khaled with impatience, for he saw how useless it was to question her.
‘There is no one. I have inquired. Leave her with me, and if there is anything to be known, I will try to find it out.’
So Khaled went away and Zehowah endeavoured to soothe Almasta and make her talk in her broken words. But the woman made as though she would not be comforted, and went and sat apart upon the stone floor where there was no carpet, rocking to and fro, and wailing in a low voice. Zehowah understood that whatever the truth might be Almasta was determined to express her sorrow in the customary way, and tha
t it would be better to leave her alone.
For seven days she sat thus apart, covering her head and mourning, and refusing to speak with any one, so that all the women supposed her to be indeed distracted with grief at the death of Abdul Kerim. And each day Khaled inquired of his wife whether she had yet learned anything, and received the same answer. But in the meantime he was occupied with his own thoughts, as well as with the affairs of the kingdom, though the latter were as nothing in his mind compared with the workings of his heart when he thought of Zehowah.
It chanced one evening that Khaled was riding among the gardens without the city, attended only by a few horsemen, for he was simple in all his ways and liked little to have a great throng of attendants about him. So he rode alone, while the horsemen followed at a distance.
‘Was ever a man, or an angel, so placed in the world as I am placed?’ he thought. ‘How much better would it have been had I never seen Zehowah, and if I had never slain the Indian prince. For I should still have been with my fellows, the genii, from whom I am now cut off, and at least I should have lived until the day of the resurrection. But now my horse may stumble and fall, and my neck may be broken, and there is no hereafter. Or I may die in my sleep, or be killed in my sleep, and there will be no resurrection for me, nor any more life, anywhere in earth or heaven. For Zehowah will never love me. Was ever a man so placed? And I am ashamed to complain to her any more, for she is a good wife, obedient and careful of my wants, and beautiful as the moon at the full, rising amidst palm trees, besides being very wise and subtle. How can I complain? Has she not given me herself, whom I desired, and a great kingdom which, indeed, I did not desire, but which no man can despise as a gift? Yet I am burned up within, and my heart is melting as a piece of frankincense laid upon coals in an empty chamber, when no man cares for its sweet savour. Surely, I am the most wretched of mankind. Oh, that the angel who made garments for me of a ghada bush, and a bay mare of a locust, would come down and lay his hand upon Zehowah’s breast and make a living heart of the stone which Allah has set in its place!’
So he rode slowly on, reasoning as he had often reasoned before, and reaching the same conclusion in all his argument, which availed him nothing. But suddenly, as the sun went down, a new thought entered his mind and gave him a little hope.
‘The sun is gone down,’ he said to himself. ‘But Allah has not destroyed the sun. It will rise in the east to-morrow when the white cock crows in the first heaven. Many things have being, which the sight of man cannot see. It may be that although I see no signs of love in the heaven of Zehowah’s eyes, yet love is already there and will before long rise as the sun and illuminate my darkness. For I am not subtle as the evil genii are, but I must see very clearly before I am able to distinguish.’
He rode back into the city, planning how he might surprise Zehowah and obtain from her unawares some proof that she indeed loved him. To this end he entered the palace by a secret gate, covering his garments with his aba, and his head with the kefiyeh he wore, in order to disguise himself from the slaves and the soldiers whom he met on his way to the harem. He passed on towards Zehowah’s apartment by an unlighted passage not generally used, and hid himself in a niche of the wall close to the open door, from which he could see all that happened, and hear what was said.
Zehowah was seated in her accustomed place and Almasta was beside her. Khaled could watch their faces by the light of the hanging lamps, as the two women talked together.
‘You must put aside all mourning now,’ Zehowah was saying. ‘For I will find another husband for you.’
‘Another husband?’ Almasta smiled and shook her head.
‘Yes, there are other goodly men in Riad, though Abdul Kerim was of the goodliest, as all say who knew him. He was the Sultan’s friend, but he was more soldier than courtier. He deserved a better death.’
‘Abdul Kerim died in peace. He was asleep.’ Almasta smiled still, but more sadly, and her eyes were cast down.
‘He died in peace,’ Zehowah repeated, watching her narrowly. ‘But it is better to die in battle by the enemy’s hand. Such a man, falling in the front of the fight for the true faith, enters immediately into paradise, to dwell for ever under the perpetual shade of the tree Sedrat, and neither blackness nor shame shall cover his face. There the rivers flow with milk and with clarified honey, and he shall rest on a couch covered with thick silk embroidered with gold, and shall possess seventy beautiful virgins whose eyes are blacker than mine and their skin whiter than yours, having colour like rubies and pearls, and their voices like the song of nightingales in Ajjem, of which travellers tell. These are the rewards of the true believer as set forth in Al Koran by our prophet, upon whom peace. A man slain in battle for the faith enters directly into the possession of all this, but unbelievers shall be taken by the forelock and the heels and cast into hell, to drink boiling molten brass, as a thirsty camel drinks clear water.’
Almasta understood very little of what Zehowah said, but she smiled, nevertheless, catching the meaning of some of the words.
‘The Sultan Khaled loves black eyes,’ she said. ‘He will go to paradise.’
‘Doubtless, he will quench his thirst in the incorruptible milk of heavenly rivers,’ Zehowah replied. ‘He is the chief of the brave, the light of the faith and the burning torch of righteousness. Otherwise Allah would not have chosen him to rule. But I spoke of Abdul Kerim.’
‘He died in peace,’ said Almasta the second time, and again looking down.
‘I do not know how he died,’ Zehowah answered, looking steadily at the woman’s face. ‘It was a great misfortune for you. Do you understand? I am very sorry for you. You would have been happy with Abdul Kerim.’
‘I mourn for him,’ Almasta said, not raising her eyes.
‘It is natural and right. Doubtless you loved him as soon as you saw him.’
Almasta glanced quickly at Zehowah, as though suspecting a hidden meaning in the words, and for a moment each of the women looked into the other’s eyes, but Zehowah saw nothing. For a wise man has truly said that one may see into the depths of black eyes as into a deep well, but that blue eyes are like the sea of Oman in winter, sparkling in the sun as a plain of blue sand, but underneath more unfathomable than the desert.
Almasta was too wise and deceitful to let the silence last. So when she had looked at Zehowah and understood, she smiled somewhat sorrowfully and spoke.
‘I could have loved him,’ she said. ‘I desire no husband now.’
‘That is not true,’ Zehowah answered quickly. ‘You wish to marry Khaled, and that is the reason why you killed Abdul Kerim.’
Almasta started as a camel struck by a flight of locusts.
‘What is this lie?’ she cried out with indignation. ‘Who has told you this lie?’ But her face was as grey as a stone, and her lips trembled.
‘You probably killed him by magic arts learned in your own country,’ said Zehowah quietly. ‘Do not be afraid. We are alone, and no one can hear us. Tell me how you killed him. Truly it was very skilful of you, since the physician, who is the wisest man in Arabia, could not tell how it was done.’
But Almasta began to beat her breast and to make oaths and asseverations in her own language, which Zehowah could not understand.
‘If you will tell me how you did it, I will give you a rich gift,’ Zehowah continued.
But so much the more Almasta cried out, stretching her hands upwards and speaking incomprehensible words. So Zehowah waited until she became quiet again.
‘It may be that Khaled will marry you, if you will tell me your secret,’ Zehowah said, after a time.
Then Almasta’s cheek burned and she bent down her eyes.
‘Will you tell me how to kill a man and leave no trace?’ asked Zehowah, still pressing her. ‘Look at this pearl. Is it not beautiful? See how well it looks upon your hair. It is as the leaf of a white rose upon a river of red gold. And on your neck — you cannot see it yourself — it is like the full moon hanging
upon a milky cloud. Khaled would give you many pearls like this, if he married you. Will you not tell me?’
‘Whom do you wish to kill?’ Almasta asked, very suddenly. But Zehowah was unmoved.
‘It may be that I have a private enemy,’ she said. ‘Perhaps there is one who disturbs me, against whom I plot in the night, but can find no way of ridding myself of him. A woman might give much to destroy such a one.’
‘Khaled will kill your enemies. He loves you. He will kill all whom you hate.’
‘You make progress. You speak our language better,’ said Zehowah, laughing a little. ‘You will soon be able to tell the Sultan that you love him, as well as I could myself.’
‘But you do not love him,’ Almasta answered boldly.
Zehowah bent her brows so that they met between her eyes as the grip of a bow. Then Khaled’s heart leaped in his breast, for he saw that she was angry with the woman, and he supposed it was because she secretly loved him. But he held his breath lest even his breathing should betray him.
‘The portion of fools is fire,’ said Zehowah, not deigning to give any other answer. For she was a king’s daughter and Almasta a bought slave, though Khaled had taken her in war.
‘Be merciful!’ exclaimed Almasta, in humble tones. ‘I am your handmaid, and I speak Arabic badly.’
‘You speak with exceeding clearness when it pleases you.’
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 440
