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

It was a black and dreadful day for me, the man for whom those humble heroes had fought and died; and, for hours, I was hard put to it to contain myself.

I did see some one however--for Miss Vanbrugh entered silently, dressed my rapidly healing wound, and then stroked my hair and brow and cheek so kindly, so gently, and with such deep understanding sympathy that I broke down.

I could almost have taken her in my arms, but that I would not trade on my misery and her sympathy--and without a word spoken between us she went back to the anderun . . . the blessed, beautiful, glorious woman.

Did she understand at last? . . . Duty . . . . My duty to my General, my Service, and my Country.

* * *

That evening she was visited by the future Sheikh of the tribe that had first accepted the Emir, a charming and delightful little boy, dressed exactly like a grown man.

With him came his sister, a most lovely girl, the Sitt Leila Nakhla.

Her, the two girls found haughty, distant, disapproving, and I gathered that the visit was not a success--apart from the question of the language difficulty.

Bedouin women do not go veiled in their own villages and camps, and I saw this Arab "princess" at a feast given by her guardian, the white-bearded, delightful old gentleman, Sidi Dawad Fetata.

It was soon very clear to me that the Sitt Leila Nakhla worshipped the Emir; that the grandson of old Sidi Dawad Fetata worshipped the Sitt Leila Nakhla; and that the latter detested our Maudie, from whose face the Emir's eye roved but seldom.

The little London sparrow was the hated rival of a princess, for the hand of a powerful ruler! Oh, Songs of Araby and Tales of fair Kashmir! What a world it is!

But what troubled me more than hate was love--the love that I could see dawning in the eyes of the Sheikh el Habibka as he sat beside Miss Vanbrugh and plied her with tit-bits from the bowls.

I watched him like a lynx, and he me. How he hated me! . . .

Time after time I saw him open his lips to speak, sigh heavily, and say nothing. But if he said nothing he did a good deal--including frequent repetitions of the Roumi "shake-hands" custom, which he misinterpreted as a hold-hands habit.

He had learnt the words, and would say, " Shakand, Mees ," from time to time, in what he thought was English.

And Mary? She was infinitely amused. Amused beyond all cause that I could see; and I was really angry when she glanced from me to the Sheikh el Habibka--he holding her hand warmly clasped in both of his--and quietly hummed, in a conversational sort of voice:

" Said the Bul-bul, 'Young man, is your life then so dull That you're anxious to end your career? For Infidel, know--that you've trod on the toe Of Abdul, the Bul-bul Emir!' The Bul-bul then drew out his trusty chibouque, And shouting out 'Allah Akbar!' Being also intent on slaughter, he went For Ivan Petruski Skivah! " . . .

This interested the Sitt Leila Nakhla not at all. She watched Maudie, while young Yussuf Latif Fetata watched Leila. To me this girl was most charming, but became a little troublesome in her demands that I should translate every remark that Maudie made. I believe the Sitt's position in the Tribe was unique, owing to her relationship to the future Sheikh, and the kind indulgence of the Emir, who treated her as a child.

The chief result of this feast was to increase my anxiety and to add to my determination to bring my business to an issue and depart.

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But now, alas! the attitude of the Emir, and of his all-important and powerful Vizier toward me began to change. They grew less friendly and my position less that of guest than prisoner-guest, if not prisoner.

The most foolish proverb of the most foolish nation in the world is, "When you get near women you get near trouble," but in this instance it seemed to apply.

Mary and Maudie were the trouble; for the Emir was undoubtedly falling in love with Maudie, and the Vizier with Mary.

I wondered what would have happened if they had both fallen in love with the same girl. I suppose one of them would have died suddenly, in spite of the fact that they appeared to be more like brothers than master and servant.

And there was no hope in me for Maudie. Maudie blossomed and Maudie bloomed. If ever I saw a wildly-quietly, composedly-distractedly, madly-sanely happy woman, it was our Maudie.

She grew almost lovely. How many of us have an incredibly impossible beautiful dream--and find it come impossibly true? Maudie had dreamed of attar-scented, silk-clad, compelling but courtly Sheikhs, ever since she had read some idiotic trash; and now an attar-scented, silk-clad, compelling but courtly Sheikh was (in Maudie's words) "after" Maudie!

And Miss Vanbrugh? She, too, seemed happy as the day was long, albeit capricious; and though she did not apparently encourage the Sheikh el Habibka, nor "flirt" exactly, she undoubtedly enjoyed his society, as well as that of the Emir, and rode alone with either of them, without fear. They must have been silent rides--with a strange dumb alphabet! Nor would she listen to my words of warning.

"Don't you worry, Major de Beaujolais," she would say, "I tell you they are all right . Yes, both of them. I am just as safe with them as I am with you. . . . And I'm awfully safe with you, Major, am I not?"

Women always know better than men--until they find they know nothing about the matter at all.

The next thing that I did not like, was the giving of feasts to which the girls alone were invited; and then feasts at which Mary alone, or Maudie alone, was the guest.

However, such invitations were commands, of course; the feasts were held in the Emir's pavilion, which was but a few yards from our tent; I took care that the girls had their pistols, and I always sat ready for instant action if I should hear a scream when either of them was there alone.

Nor was there any great privacy observed, for servants were in and out with dishes, and unless there was a strong gibli blowing, the pavilion entrance was open.

But more and more I became a prisoner, and now when I took my daily ride it was with Marbruk ben Hassan and an escort--for my "protection."

One night, as I lay awake, the horrible thought occurred to me of using Miss Vanbrugh and Maudie to farther my ends--and I was almost sick at the bare idea. Whence come these devilish thoughts into clean minds?

No. At that I drew the line. My life for France, but not a girl's honour. . . . I thrust the vile thought from me.

Soon afterwards I fell asleep and had a curious dream. . . .

I was in a vast hall, greater than any built by mortal hands. At the end to which I faced were vast black velvet curtains. As I stood gazing at these, expectant, they parted and rolled away, revealing a huge pair of golden scales, in each great cup of which was seated a most beautiful woman.

One, a noble and commanding figure, wore the Cap of Liberty and I knew her to be the Genius and Goddess and Embodiment of France. . . . The other, a beautiful and beseeching figure, I saw to be Mary Vanbrugh.

Each of these lovely creatures gave me a smile of ineffable sweetness and extended a welcoming hand. . . . A great voice cried " Choose ," and, as I strode forward, the great curtains fell--and the dream became a nightmare in which a colossal brazen god stretched a vast hand from a brazen sky to destroy me where I stood in the midst of an illimitable arid desert. . . .

§ 2

Then to me, one night, came the Emir and the Vizier, clearly on business bent. There was no faddhling . As soon as I had offered them seats upon the rugs and produced my last Turkish cigarettes, the Emir got to business.