P. C. Wren - The Collected Works of P. C. Wren - Complete Beau Geste Series, Novels & Short Stories

My hopes rose high.

The Vizier, whose favour might be most important, I took to be of Touareg or Berber-Bedouin stock, he too being somewhat fair for a desert-Arab. He was obviously a distaff blood-relation of the Emir.

These two men removed the mouth-pieces of their long-stemmed narghilehs from their lips and stared and stared and stared at me, in petrified astonishment--to which they were too stoical or too well-bred to give other expression.

I suppose the last person they expected to see was a French officer in uniform, and they sat in stupefied silence.

Had not the idea been too absurd, I could almost have thought that I saw a look of fear in their eyes. Perhaps they thought for a moment that I was the herald of a French army that was even then getting into position round the oasis!

Fear is the father of cruelty, so I hoped that my fleeting impression was a false one. I would have disabused their minds by plunging straight in medias res , and announcing my business forthwith, but that this is not the way to handle Arabs.

Only by devious paths can the goal be reached, and much meaningless faddhling (gossip) must precede the real matter on which the mind is fixed.

I greeted the Emir with the correct honorifics and in the Arabic of the educated.

He replied in an accent with which I was not familiar, that of the classical Arabic of the Hejaz , I supposed, called "the Tongue of the Angels" by the Arabs.

Having exchanged compliments and inquired after each other's health, with repeated " Kief halaks? " and " Taiyibs ," I told the Emir of the attack upon us by the Touareg at the Salt Lake, and of my fears as to the fate of my followers.

"The Sons of Shaitan and the Forgotten of God! May they burn in Eblis eternally! Do they dare come within seven days of me !" growled the Emir, and clapped his hands.

A black youth came running.

"Send me Marbruk ben Hassan, the Commander of a Hundred," said the Emir, and when the deformed but powerful cripple came, and humbly saluted his Lord, the latter gave a prompt order.

"A hundred men. Ten days' rations. Ride to the Pass of the Salt Lake. A band of the Forgotten of God were there three days ago. Start within the hour . . ." He then whispered with him apart for a moment, and the man was gone.

The Vizier had not ceased to stare unwaveringly at me, but he uttered no word.

The Emir and I maintained a desultory and pointless conversation which concluded with an invitation to feast with him that night.

"I hear that you are accompanied by two Nazrani ladies. I am informed that wives of Roumis eat with their Lords and in the presence of other men. I shall be honoured if the Sitts--your wives doubtless?--will grace my poor tent. . . ."

One thing I liked about the Emir was the gentlemanly way in which he had forborne to question me on the subject of the astounding presence of two white women. I accordingly told him the plain truth at once, thinking it wisest and safest.

"You will receive no such treatment here as they of Zaguig meted unto you," said the Emir, when I had finished my story. "They who come in peace may remain in peace. They who come in war remain in peace also--the peace of Death." His voice was steely if not menacing. "Do you come in peace or in war, Roumi ?" he then asked, and as I replied,

"On my head and my life, I come in peace, bearing a great and peaceful message," I fancied that both he and the Vizier looked relieved--and I again wondered if they imagined the presence or approach of a French army.

§ 3

Whatever I may forget, I shall remember that night's diffa of cous-cous ; a lamb stuffed with almonds and raisins, and roasted whole; bamia , a favourite vegetable of the Arabs; stewed chicken; a pillau of rice, nuts, raisins and chopped meat; kibabs of kid; camel-milk curds; a paste-like macaroni cooked in butter, and heavy short-bread fried in oil and eaten with sugar. Between the courses, we drank bowls of lemon-juice to aid our appetites, and they needed aid as the hours wore on.

When we were full to bursting, distended, comatose, came the ceremonial drinking of mint tea. After that, coffee. Finally we were offered very large cakes of very hard plain sugar.

Only five were present, the Emir, the Vizier, Mary, Maudie, and myself. We sat cross-legged on a carpet round a red cotton cloth upon which was a vast brass tray, laden with blue bowls filled to overflowing, and we ate with our fingers.

As I entered with Miss Vanbrugh and Maudie, and they dropped their barracans , thus exposing the two Paris frocks which the latter had put in the portmanteau at Zaguig, the effect upon the two Arabs was electrical. They were as men dreaming dreams and seeing visions.

I thought the Emir was going to collapse as he looked at Mary; and I watched the Vizier devouring her with hungry eyes. I grew a little nervous.

"The Lady Sitt Miriyam Hankinson el Vanbrugh," said I, to make an imposing and sonorous mouthful of title, "and the Sitt Moad el Atkinson."

I suppose they were the first white women the Arabs had seen, and they were struck dumb and senseless by their beauty.

Nor was the effect of their hosts much less upon the girls. Miss Vanbrugh stared, fascinated, at the gorgeous figure of the Emir, while poor Maudie did not know whether she was on her head or her heels.

" Sheikhs! " she murmured. " Real Sheikhs! Oh, sir, isn't the big one a lovely man! . . ." The Emir, dragging his eyes from Mary, smiled graciously at the other fair woman, and murmured:

" Bismillah! Sitt Moad. Oua Aleikoume Esselema, 'lhamdoula! " and to me in his classic Arabic, "Sweet as the dates of Buseima is her presence," which I duly translated.

And then Mary found her voice.

"Well! Well! Major," she observed. "Aren't they sure-enough genuine Parlour Sheikhs of song and story!" and before I could stop her, she offered her hand to the Emir, her eyes dancing with delight.

Probably neither the Emir nor the Vizier had ever "shaken hands" before, but Mary's smile, gesture and " Very pleased to meet you, Sheikh," were self-explanatory, and both the Arabs made a good showing at this new ceremonial of the strange Roumis and their somewhat brazen, unveiled females.

Indeed the Vizier seemed to know more about holding Mary's hand than releasing it, and again I grew nervous.

When the Emir said to me, "Let the other Lady, the Sitt Moadi, lay her hand upon my hands also," and I translated, I thought Maudie would have swooned with pleasure and confusion. Not only did the Emir "shake hands"--he stroked hands, and I grew less and less happy.

An amorous Arab is something very amorous indeed. With these desert despots, to desire is to take, and if I were an obstacle it would be very easy to remove me. And what of the girls then ? . . . As the meal progressed and the sense of strangeness and shyness wore off, I was glad that the Sheikh and his Vizier could not possibly know a word of English, for Miss Vanbrugh's criticisms were pungent and Maudie's admiration fulsome.

I was kept busy translating the Emir's remarks to the girls, and mistranslating the girls' remarks concerning the appearance, manners, and probable customs of their hosts.

At times I was in a cold perspiration of fear, as I thought of how utterly these two women were in the power of these men, and again at times, watching their faces, I saw no evil in them. Hard they were, perhaps relentless and ruthless, but not cruel, sensual nor debauched.

"Major," Miss Vanbrugh remarked, "d'you think these Parlour Sheikhs would like to hear a little song? . . . Tell them it's grace after meat," and before I could offer my views on the propriety of thus entertaining our hosts, or translating her remark, I once more heard the familiar air, but this time to the words: