The journey was especially difficult for those who came from the northern countries like Pandion and the two Etruscans.
Pandion felt that his head was squeezed in an iron band, the blood throbbing furiously at the temples, causing him great pain.
He was almost blinded; before his eyes floated patches and stripes of the most astoundingly brilliant colours that flowed and whirled, changing their combinations in wonderful kaleidoscopic patterns. The unbearable strength of the sun turned the sand into golden dust permeated with light.
Pandion was in a delirium, hallucinations grew out of his maddened brain. The colossal statues of Aigyptos moved through flashes of crimson fire and sank into the waves of a purple sea. Then the sea fell back and packs of strange creatures, half-beast and half-bird, flew down from the steep cliffs at amazing speed. And once more the granite Pharaohs of the Black Land formed into battle order and advanced towards Pandion.
Staggering on, he rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks in an effort to see what was really there — the heat-breathing slopes of the sand-dunes that piled one on the other in the blinding, grey-gold light. But again the whirling vortices of coloured fire appeared and Pandion was lost in a heavy delirium. Nothing but the fervent desire for freedom could have made him keep moving in step with Kidogo, leaving thousands of sand-dunes behind. Fresh chains of hills confronted the runaways and between them were huge, smooth-sided craters at the bottom of which could be seen coal-black patches of soil.
The hoarse imploring moans that passed along the column grew more and more frequent; here and there exhausted men dropped to their knees or fell face down in the scorching sand, begging their comrades to put an end to their suffering.
The others turned morosely away from them and continued their way until the pleas died away behind them and beyond sand-hills so soft in their configuration. Sand, burning hot sand; monstrous quantities of sand, stretching to infinity; silent and evil sand that seemed to have drowned the whole universe in its stifling, treacherous flames.
Ahead of them a patch of silver in the golden fire of the sun’s rays appeared in the distance. The Libyan gave a brief shout of encouragement. Clearer and clearer, against the brownish background, appeared patches of ground covered with salt crystals that shone with an intolerably brilliant blue gleam.
The sand-dunes grew smaller and soon gave way to hard, well-packed sand; the feet of the marchers moved more freely, liberated from the cloying embrace of the friable sand. The hard yellow clay, furrowed with dark cracks, seemed to them like the stone-paved path of some palace garden.
The sun was still a hand’s breadth from the zenith when the insurgent slaves reached a low, cliff-like ledge of stratified brown stone and from there turned sharply to the left, to the south-west. In a short re-entrant, that bit into the cliff at a wide angle so that from a distance it looked like the black entrance to a cave, was an ancient well, a spring with cool, fresh water.
In order to prevent disorder amongst people already mad with thirst, Cavius placed the strongest of the slaves to guard the entrance to the gully. The weakest were allowed to drink first.
The sun had long passed the zenith and the men kept on drinking as though they would never stop; they lay for a while in the shade of the cliff with distended bellies and then crawled ‘back to the water again. The runaways gradually regained their vitality and soon the rapid speech of the hardy Negroes could be heard accompanied by occasional laughter and jocular altercation… No joy, however, came to the men with returning life — too many of their faithful comrades had remained behind to die in the labyrinth of sand-dunes, comrades who had only just entered the path to freedom, who had fought bravely, with contempt for ‘death, comrades whose efforts had merged in the supreme common effort with those who had been spared.
Pandion was astonished at the change that had taken place in those slaves with whom he had spent such a long time in the shehne. That dull indifference to their surroundings that gave the same expression to all their tired, worn-out faces, was gone.
Eyes that had been dull and listless were now looking round them full of life and interest and the features of the sombre faces seemed to be more sharply defined. They were already people and not slaves and Pandion remembered how right Cavius had been in his wisdom when he reproached Pandion with contempt for his companions. Pandion had had too little experience of life to be able to understand people. He had the mistaken view that the inhibition born of long captivity was natural in them.
The men crowded on to the small patches of life-giving shade in the gully. In a short time they were all overcome by deep sleep; there was no fear of the pursuit overtaking them on that day — who but people prepared to face death for the sake of liberty could pass through the fiery hell of that sea of sand in daytime?
The runaways rested until sunset by which time their tired feet were again ready for the journey. The small quantity of food that the strongest had managed to carry through the desert was carefully shared out amongst ail of them.
There was a long journey to be made to the next well; the Libyan said that they would have to keep on all night, but that at dawn, — before the day grew hot, they would find water. After that the road again lay through sand-hills, the last between them and the big oasis. Fortunately the stretch of sand-hills was not of great width, no more than that they had already passed, and if they set out in the evening, when the sun was in the south-west, they would reach the big oasis during the night and find food there. They would only have to go twenty-four hours without, food.
All this did not seem so very terrible to people who had suffered so much. The chief thing that encouraged them and gave them strength was the fact that they were free and were moving farther and farther away from the hated Land of Quemt, that the possibility of their being overtaken was diminishing.
The sunset died away, grey ash covered its flaming red embers. Drinking their fill for the last time the runaways moved on.
The depressing heat had gone, scattered by the black wings of night, and the darkness tenderly caressed skin that had been burned by the flames of the desert.
Their way lay across a low, level plateau covered with sharp-edged stones that cut the feet of the less cautious.
By midnight the runaways dropped down into a wide valley sprinkled with grey, round boulders. These strange stones, between one and three cubits in diameter, lay about like stone balls with which some unknown gods had been playing. The men were no longer in a column but walked on without any formation, cutting diagonally across the valley towards a rise that could be seen some distance in front of them.
After a terrible stupefying day that had shown the weakness of man with such ruthlessness, the quiet calm of the night gave rise to profound meditation. It seemed to Pandion that the endless desert rose up to the bowl of the sky, the stars seemed quite near in the transparent air, permeated with a kind of glow. The moon rose and a silver carpet of light lay on the dark earth.
The party of runaway slaves reached the rise. The gentle slope consisted of blocks of limestone, polished by the fine sand until they shone and reflected the light of the moon in what looked like a blue glass staircase.
When Pandion set foot on their cold, slippery surface it seemed to him that he had only to go a little higher and he would reach the dark blue bowl of the sky.
The rise came to an end, the staircase vanished and the long descent began into the dark valley, covered with coarse sand, that lay black below them. The valley was encircled with a chain of serrated crags that jutted out of the sand at all angles, like the stumps of gigantic tree-trunks. By dawn the party had reached the cliff and for a long time wandered through a labyrinth of crevasses until their Libyan leader found the well. From the cliff could be seen the serried ranks of a new army of sand-dunes that formed a hostile ring around the rocks amongst which the runaways had taken refuge. Shadows of deep violet lay between the rosy slopes of the sand hills. While they were close to water there was nothing
terrible about the sea of sand.
Kidogo found a place protected from the sun by a huge stone cube that hung over walls of sandstone cut away on the northern side by a deep, dry watercourse. There was sufficient shade for the whole party between the rocks and they lay down to rest until sunset.
The tired men immediately dropped off to sleep — there was nothing to do but wait until the sun, raging in the high heavens, became more amenable. The sky that had seemed so close to them during the night had now receded to an unfathomable distance and from that great height blinded and burned the men as though in revenge for the breathing space given them during the hours of darkness. Time went on, the peacefully sleeping people were surrounded by a sea of fiery sunlight that cut them off from their native lands where the sun did not destroy all living things.
Cavius was suddenly awakened by faint, plaintive groans. The puzzled Etruscan raised his heavy head and listened. From time to time he heard sharp cracks coming from different directions and then long drawn-out plaintive moans filled with sorrow. The sounds grew louder and he looked round him in fear. There was no sign of movement anywhere amongst the sun-baked rocks; all his comrades occupied their former places and were either sleeping or listening. Cavius roused the calmly sleeping Akhmi. The Libyan sat up, yawned and then laughed right in the face of the astounded and alarmed Etruscan.
“The stones are crying out from the heat of the sun,” explained the Libyan, “and that’s a sign that the heat is subsiding.”
The cracking of the stones greatly disturbed the other runaway slaves. The Libyan climbed on to a high rock, looked through the crack between his folded hands and announced that soon they could set out on the last march to the oasis; they must drink their fill for the march.
Although the sun had sunk far to the west, the sand hills still radiated heat. It seemed an impossible feat to leave the shade and go out into that sea of fire and sunlight. Nevertheless the men formed a column, two by two, and without a single protest followed the Libyan — so strong was the call of freedom.
Pandion and Kidogo formed the third pair behind the Libyan, Akhmi.
The inexhaustible endurance and joviality of the Negro were a frequent encouragement to the Hellene who felt little confidence in himself when confronted with the might of the desert.
The fiery, hostile breath of the desert again forced the men to bow their heads low before its savage face. They had journeyed no less than fifteen thousand cubits when Pandion noticed that their Libyan guide seemed somewhat distressed. Akhmi had halted the column twice while he mounted a sand-hill, sinking up to his knees in the soft sand, to examine the horizon. The Libyan, however, did not answer any questions.
The sand-hills grew lower and Pandion asked Akhmi in a glad voice whether the sand was coming to an end.
“We’ve still a long way to go; there’s a lot more sand yet,” snapped the guide gloomily and turned his head towards the north-west.
Pandion and Kidogo looked in the same direction and saw that the burning sky was covered with a leaden haze. A dark wall that rose straight up had conquered the fearful might of the sun and the glow of the sky.
Suddenly they heard resonant, pleasant sounds — high, singing, purely metallic notes, like silver trumpets playing an enchanting melody behind the sand-dunes.
The sounds were repeated, grew more frequent and louder and hearts beat more rapidly, affected by some unconscious fear brought by those silver notes that were like nothing on earth and far removed from all that was mortal.
The Libyan stopped and fell on to his knees with a plaintive cry. Raising his hands towards the heavens he prayed to his gods to protect them from an awful calamity. The frightened runaways cowered together in a crowd between three sand-hills. Pandion looked inquiringly at Kidogo and staggered back — the Negro’s black skin had turned grey. Pandion had seen his friend frightened for the first time and did not know that a Negro’s skin turns grey with pallor. Cavius seized the guide by the shoulders, lifted him to his feet without an effort and asked him angrily what had happened.
Akhmi turned towards him, his face distorted with fear and covered with beads of perspiration.
“The sands of the desert are singing; they call to the wind, and with the wind death will come flying — there will be a sand-storm…”
An oppressive silence hung over the party broken only by the sounds of the singing sand.
Cavius stood still in bewilderment — he did not know what to do and those who realized the degree of danger that threatened them kept silent.
At last Akhmi came to himself.
“Forward, forward, as quickly as possible! I saw a stony place where there’s no sand: we must get there before the storm reaches us. If we stay here death is certain, we’ll all be buried in the sand, but over there, maybe some of us will be saved…”
The frightened men ran after the Libyan guide.
The leaden haze had changed to a ruddy gloom that spread over the whole sky. Menacing wisps of sand whirled round the hill-tops like smoke; the hot breath of the wind swept tiny particles of sand into the men’s inflamed faces. There was no air to breathe; it was as though the atmosphere were filled with some corrosive poison. The sand-hills opened out and the runaways found themselves on a small patch of stony ground, black and smooth. All round them the rumble and roar of the oncoming wind increased in fury, the ruddy cloud darkened on its lower side as though a black curtain were being drawn across the sky. Its upper side remained a dark red and the disc of the sun was hidden by that awful cloud. Imitating their more experienced comrades the men tore off their loin-cloths and rags that covered their heads and shoulders, wrapped them round their faces and dropped on to the stony ground, pressing close against each other.
Pandion was slow in making his preparations. The last thing he saw filled him with horror. Everything around him was in motion. Stones as big as his fist rolled over the black ground like dry leaves in an autumn wind. The sand-hills threw out long tentacles in the direction of the party; the sand was moving and was soon flowing all round them like water thrown up by a storm on to a low beach. A whirling mass of sand rushed at Pandion; the youth fell face down and saw nothing more. His heart beat furiously and its every beat resounded in his head. His mouth and throat seemed to be coated with a hard crust that prevented his panting breath from escaping.
The whistling of the wind reached a high note but that, too, was drowned by the roar of the moving sand; the desert howled and rumbled around him. Pandion’s head went dizzy, he struggled against unconsciousness towards which the stifling, withering storm was driving him. Coughing desperately, he freed his throat of sand and again began his rapid breathing. Pandion’s bursts of resistance were repeated at ever-growing intervals until at last he lost consciousness.
The thunder of the storm grew ever more insistent and menacing, it rumbled in peals across the desert like huge bronze wheels. The stony ground gave forth an answering rumble like a sheet of metal, and clouds of sand swept over it. Grains of sand, charged with electricity, burst into blue sparks giving the whole mass of moving sand a bluish glow as it rolled over the desert. It seemed that at any moment rain would fall and fresh water would save the people, dried up by the overheated air and lying unconscious. But there was no rain and the storm raged on. The dark pile of human bodies was covered by an ever-thickening layer of sand that hid the weak movement and stifled the rare moans…
Pandion opened his eyes and saw Kidogo’s black head outlined against the stars. Later Pandion learned that the Negro had been working over the motionless bodies of his friends, Pandion and the Etruscans, for a long time.
People were busy in the darkness, digging out their comrades from under the sand, listening to the feeble signs of life in their bodies and laying aside those who would breathe no more.
The Libyan, Akhmi, with some of his fellow-countrymen, who were accustomed to the desert, and a few Negroes had gone back to the well amongst the rocks for water. Kidogo had remained
with Pandion, unable to leave his friend who was scarcely breathing.
At last fifty-five half-dead men, led by Kidogo, finding the road with difficulty and supporting each other as they walked along, followed in the tracks of those who had left earlier. Nobody gave a thought to the fact that they ware going back, that they would meet with a possible pursuit; the mind of every one of them was concentrated on one thing — water. The craving for water swept aside all will to struggle; it was stronger than any other urge — water was a lodestone in the dull fever of their inflamed brains.
Pandion had lost all conception of time; he had forgotten that they had journeyed not more than twenty thousand cubits from the well; he had forgotten everything except that he must hold on to the shoulders of the man in front and keep step with those plodding ahead. About halfway to the well they heard voices in front of them that sounded unusually loud: Akhmi and the twenty-seven men who had gone with him were hurrying to meet them, carrying rags steeped in water and two old gourd bottles they had found at the well.
The men mustered strength enough to refuse the water and propose to Akhmi that he go back to those who had remained at the scene of the catastrophe.
Superhuman efforts were needed to keep going as far as the well; their strength grew less with every step, nevertheless the men allowed the water-carriers to pass in silence and continued to plod on.
A wavering black haze spread before the eyes of the stumbling people; some of them fell, but encouraged by the others and supported by their stronger comrades they continued on their way. The fifty-five men could not remember the last hour of their journey — they walked on almost unconsciously, their legs continuing their slow, stumbling movements. But reach their goal they did; the water revived them, refreshed their bodies and enabled their congealed blood to soften their dried muscles.
No sooner had the travellers fully recovered than they remembered those left behind. Following the example of the first party they went back, carrying rags, dripping with water — the source of life — to those wandering in the desert. This help was invaluable because it came in time. The sun had risen. The last group of those still alive was given strength by the water brought by the Libyans. The people had halted amidst the sand-dunes and could not muster strength enough to continue their way despite all persuasion, urging and even threats. The wet rags enabled them to keep going for another hour which proved sufficient to reach the well.
The Land of Foam Page 14
