She
little astonished at this question. Before I had made up my mind
how to answer it, however, the curtain was drawn, and a tall
figure stood before us. I say a figure, for not only the body,
but also the face was wrapped up in soft white, gauzy material in
such a way as at first sight to remind me most forcibly of a
corpse in its grave-clothes. And yet I do not know why it should
have given me that idea, seeing that the wrappings were so thin
that one could distinctly see the gleam of the pink flesh beneath
them. I suppose it was owing to the way in which they were
arranged, either accidentally, or more probably by design.
Anyhow, I felt more frightened than ever at this ghost-like
apparition, and my hair began to rise upon my head as the feeling
crept over me that I was in the presence of something that was
not canny. I could, however, clearly distinguish that the swathed
mummy-like form before me was that of a tall and lovely woman,
instinct with beauty in every part, and also with a certain
snake-like grace which I had never seen anything to equal before.
When she moved a hand or foot her entire frame seemed to
undulate, and the neck did not bend, it curved.
“Why art thou so frightened, stranger?” asked the sweet voice
again—a voice which seemed to draw the heart out of me, like the
strains of softest music. “Is there that about me that should
affright a man? Then surely are men changed from what they used
to be!” And with a little coquettish movement she turned herself,
and held up one arm, so as to show all her loveliness and the
rich hair of raven blackness that streamed in soft ripples down
her snowy robes, almost to her sandalled feet.
“It is thy beauty that makes me fear, oh Queen,” I answered
humbly, scarcely knowing what to say, and I thought that as I did
so I heard old Billali, who was still lying prostrate on the
floor, mutter, “Good, my Baboon, good.”
“I see that men still know how to beguile us women with false
words. Ah, stranger,” she answered, with a laugh that sounded
like distant silver bells, “thou wast afraid because mine eyes
were searching out thine heart, therefore wast thou afraid. Yet
being but a woman, I forgive thee for the lie, for it was
courteously said. And now tell me how came ye hither to this land
of the dwellers among the caves—a land of swamps and evil things
and dead old shadows of the dead? What came ye for to see? How is
it that ye hold your lives so cheap as to place them in the
hollow of the hand of _Hiya_, into the hand of
‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’? Tell me also how come ye to know the
tongue I talk. It is an ancient tongue, that sweet child of the
old Syriac. Liveth it yet in the world? Thou seest I dwell among
the caves and the dead, and naught know I of the affairs of men,
nor have I cared to know. I have lived, O stranger, with my
memories, and my memories are in a grave that mine hands
hollowed, for truly hath it been said that the child of man
maketh his own path evil;” and her beautiful voice quivered, and
broke in a note as soft as any wood-bird’s. Suddenly her eye fell
upon the sprawling frame of Billali, and she seemed to recollect
herself.
“Ah! thou art there, old man. Tell me how it is that things have
gone wrong in thine household. Forsooth, it seems that these my
guests were set upon. Ay, and one was nigh to being slain by the
hot-pot to be eaten of those brutes, thy children, and had not
the others fought gallantly they too had been slain, and not even
I could have called back the life which had been loosed from the
body. What means it, old man? What hast thou to say that I should
not give thee over to those who execute my vengeance?”
Her voice had risen in her anger, and it rang clear and cold
against the rocky walls. Also I thought I could see her eyes
flash through the gauze that hid them. I saw poor Billali, whom I
had believed to be a very fearless person, positively quiver with
terror at her words.
“Oh ‘Hiya!’ oh _She_!” he said, without lifting his white head
from the floor. “Oh _She_, as thou art great be merciful, for I
am now as ever thy servant to obey. It was no plan or fault of
mine, oh _She_, it was those wicked ones who are called my
children. Led on by a woman whom thy guest the Pig had scorned,
they would have followed the ancient custom of the land, and
eaten the fat black stranger who came hither with these thy
guests the Baboon and the Lion who is sick, thinking that no word
had come from thee about the Black one. But when the Baboon and
the Lion saw what they would do, they slew the woman, and slew
also their servant to save him from the horror of the pot. Then
those evil ones, ay, those children of the Wicked One who lives
in the Pit, they went mad with the lust of blood, and flew at the
throats of the Lion and the Baboon and the Pig. But gallantly
they fought. Oh _Hiya_! they fought like very men, and slew many,
and held their own, and then I came and saved them, and the
evildoers have I sent on hither to Kôr to be judged of thy
greatness, oh _She_! and here they are.”
“Ay, old man, I know it, and to-morrow will I sit in the great
hall and do justice upon them, fear not. And for thee, I forgive
thee, though hardly. See that thou dost keep thine household
better. Go.”
Billali rose upon his knees with astonishing alacrity, bowed his
head thrice, and his white beard sweeping the ground, crawled
down the apartment as he had crawled up it, till he finally
vanished through the curtains, leaving me, not a little to my
alarm, alone with this terrible but most fascinating person.
XIII.
AYESHA UNVEILS
“There,” said _She_, “he has gone, the white-bearded old fool!
Ah, how little knowledge does a man acquire in his life. He
gathereth it up like water, but like water it runneth through his
fingers, and yet, if his hands be but wet as though with dew,
behold a generation of fools call out, ‘See, he is a wise man!’
Is it not so? But how call they thee? ‘Baboon,’ he says,” and she
laughed; “but that is the fashion of these savages who lack
imagination, and fly to the beasts they resemble for a name. How
do they call thee in thine own country, stranger?”
“They call me Holly, oh Queen,” I answered.
“Holly,” she answered, speaking the word with difficulty, and yet
with a most charming accent; “and what is ‘Holly’?”
“’Holly’ is a prickly tree,” I said.
“So. Well, thou hast a prickly and yet a tree-like look. Strong
art thou, and ugly, but if my wisdom be not at fault, honest at
the core, and a staff to lean on. Also one who thinks. But stay,
oh Holly, stand not there, enter with me and be seated by me. I
would not see thee crawl before me like those slaves. I am aweary
of their worship and their terror; sometimes when they vex me I
could blast them for very sport, and to see the rest turn white,
even to the heart.” And she held the curtain aside with her ivory
hand to let me pass in.
I entered, shuddering. This woman was very terrible. Within the
curtains was a recess, about twelve feet by ten, and in the
recess was a couch and a table whereon stood fruit and sparkling
water. By it, at its end, was a vessel like a font cut in carved
stone, also full of pure water. The place was softly lit with
lamps formed out of the beautiful vessels of which I have spoken,
and the air and curtains were laden with a subtle perfume.
Perfume too seemed to emanate from the glorious hair and
white-clinging vestments of _She_ herself. I entered the little
room, and there stood uncertain.
“Sit,” said _She_, pointing to the couch. “As yet thou hast no
cause to fear me. If thou hast cause, thou shalt not fear for
long, for I shall slay thee. Therefore let thy heart be light.”
I sat down on the foot of the couch near to the font-like basin
of water, and _She_ sank down softly on to the other end.
“Now, Holly,” she said, “how comest thou to speak Arabic? It is my own
dear tongue, for Arabian am I by my birth, even ‘al Arab al Ariba’ (an
Arab of the Arabs), and of the race of our father Yárab, the son of
Kâhtan, for in that fair and ancient city Ozal was I born, in the
province of Yaman the Happy. Yet dost thou not speak it as we used to
speak. Thy talk doth lack the music of the sweet tongue of the tribes
of Hamyar which I was wont to hear. Some of the words too seemed
changed, even as among these Amahagger, who have debased and defiled
its purity, so that I must speak with them in what is to me another
tongue.”[1]
[1] Yárab the son of Kâhtan, who lived some centuries before the time
of Abraham, was the father of the ancient Arabs, and gave its name
Araba to the country. In speaking of herself as “al Arab al Ariba,”
_She_ no doubt meant to convey that she was of the true Arab blood as
distinguished from the naturalised Arabs, the descendants of Ismael,
the son of Abraham and Hagar, who were known as “al Arab al
mostáraba.” The dialect of the Koreish was usually called the clear or
“perspicuous” Arabic, but the Hamaritic dialect approached nearer to
the purity of the mother Syriac.—L. H. H.
“I have studied it,” I answered, “for many years. Also the
language is spoken in Egypt and elsewhere.”
“So it is still spoken, and there is yet an Egypt? And what
Pharaoh sits upon the throne? Still one of the spawn of the
Persian Ochús, or are the Achæmenians gone, for far is it to the
days of Ochús.”
“The Persians have been gone from Egypt for nigh two thousand
years, and since then the Ptolemies, the Romans, and many others
have flourished and held sway upon the Nile, and fallen when
their time was ripe,” I said, aghast. “What canst thou know of
the Persian Artaxerxes?”
She laughed, and made no answer, and again a cold chill went
through me. “And Greece,” she said; “is there still a Greece? Ah,
I loved the Greeks. Beautiful were they as the day, and clever,
but fierce at heart and fickle, notwithstanding.”
“Yes,” I said, “there is a Greece; and, just now, it is once more
a people. Yet the Greeks of to-day are not what the Greeks of the
old time were, and Greece herself is but a mockery of the Greece
that was.”
“So! The Hebrews, are they yet at Jerusalem? And does the Temple
that the wise king built stand, and if so what God do they
worship therein? Is their Messiah come, of whom they preached so
much and prophesied so loudly, and doth He rule the earth?”
“The Jews are broken and gone, and the fragments of their people
strew the world, and Jerusalem is no more. As for the temple that
Herod built——”
“Herod!” she said. “I know not Herod. But go on.”
“The Romans burnt it, and the Roman eagles flew across its ruins,
and now Judæa is a desert.”
“So, so! They were a great people, those Romans, and went
straight to their end—ay, they sped to it like Fate, or like
their own eagles on their prey!—and left peace behind them.”