The Hawk of Egypt
legend, the ghosts of the many long-dead kingdoms buried in oblivion
and the relentless sands; when the whistling of the wind is as the
shouting of men and the thunder of your horse's hoofs as the rolling of
many drums, calling you through the power of past centuries and the
ecstasy of the solitude in your heart, out to the mystery of the plains.
Mystery, fascination, spell, lure, call of the desert. All fine words,
but hopeless to explain that which has lured more than one white woman
out into the golden wilderness to the wrecking of her soul; and which
has nothing whatever to do with the pseudo-psychic waves which trick us
into such pitiable hysteria and hallucination.
But there is no mystery about that which called Damaris. It was the
joy of youth, the salt of novelty, the exhilarating sympathy between
horse and rider; she shouted as she seemingly rode straight into the
massed colouring of the sunrise; she lifted her face to the golden
banners flung across the sky and turned in the saddle and looked back
at the hem of Night's garments disappearing down in the west.
She was still a child, for those auxiliaries, Love and Life, had not
yet lain hand upon her; they had but pulled aside the veil from before
her eyes for one brief second, and she, dazzled by the glimpse, had
pulled it back hastily. Neither was there anything to tell her that,
upon a not very far distant day, the veil would be torn from her,
leaving her to be well-nigh blinded by the radiance of the greatest
light in the world.
And she rode carelessly, without a thought to the passing of time or to
the ever-increasing speed of el-Sooltan, who was all out in an
endeavour to find his stable, also his companions, from whom he had
been parted for many weary weeks.
That they happened to be in the Oasis of Khargegh, some few hundred
miles down the Nile, he was not to know; he only knew that the desert
was his home and that in it and of it was his happiness to be found;
and it was only when Damaris turned to look at the ruins of the City of
On from a far distance that she discovered that they had disappeared in
a mist which was merely the combination of the distance and the waters
of the oasis evaporating in the morning sun.
She tried to pull the stallion, gently at first, and then with all her
might, but to no purpose; for nothing but the voice of his master or
his own particular _sayis_ could stop el-Sooltan once he had got the
light bit between his teeth; and of the death from thirst which awaited
him and his rider upon this particular venture if he continued in his
obstinacy he had, of course, no warning.
"What a nuisance," said Damaris, as she looked round the great yellow
plain which stretched, a carpet of level sand, to the west and under
her horse's feet and broke to the east into a chain of hummocks, piled
by the last sandstorm which had caused such devastation in the nomad
tribes and such annoyance to the visitors at Heliopolis.
She felt no fear, only an increasing vacuum beneath her waistbelt and
distress for the worry her long absence might cause her godmother.
"And Well-Well will have chewed everything chewable in the car, also
the legs of the _sayis_, by the time I get back," she exclaimed. "And
I can't do anything--I've irrevocably given el-Sooltan his head. It's
no use slipping from the saddle, because I couldn't walk back. I can't
. . ."
She broke off suddenly, rose in the stirrups and waved. And a more
radiant picture of youth you could not have wished to see in a lifetime.
"A village!" she shouted. "Camels, palms, water. An oasis with tents;
women and children and men. Come round, Sooltan, come round." And she
pulled with all her strength, and still to no avail, for, oblivious of
the peaceful, verdant patch, the mighty animal forged ahead.
"Well, I shall have to drop from the saddle, let Sooltan go, and walk
over to them. They are sure to be friendly and . . ."
She had just slipped her foot from the stirrup when, clear and
insistent, there came a ringing cry.
Some way off, the Hawk of Egypt had followed her from the village of
Khankah, with intent, knowing the horse she rode, to watch over but not
intrude his presence upon her. He had known for some time that
el-Sooltan was out of hand, and had decided to call him after a mile or
so more of furious exercise; but, instead, quite suddenly and
instinctively, he cried, "_A'ti balak!--a'ti balak_!" which means, "Be
careful--be careful," and pulled the mare to a standstill.
He too had seen the mirage of the peaceful oasis, thrown by the
atmosphere from a distance of eighty miles, and with his desert-trained
eyes had caught the little movement of the foot; and, connecting the
two, he insistently called the stallion, knowing that a drop from the
saddle at the almost incredible speed at which Sooltan was going might
easily result in twisted ankles or even a broken neck.
"_Irja_!" he called. "_Irja_!" Which means, "Come back, come back!"
And he called again and again as the stallion dropped from a gallop to
a canter, a canter to a trot, then stopped dead; whinnied gently;
wheeled sharply and stood stock-still.
"_Irja, Sooltan_!" came the cry. "_Irja Sooltan_!" And with the cry
came the neighing of the mare.
The stallion lashed out, reared and stood still, ears pricked, silken
mane and tail flying in the wind.
Then _he_ answered, until the desert seemed filled with the calling of
the noble beasts, as the girl sat with thudding heart and eyes fixed on
the distant spot where fretted and fidgeted the mare ridden by the Arab.
Then something within her rebelled at this intrusion upon her privacy,
causing her to be suddenly stricken with anger and confusion.
"Take me to the tents, Sooltan!" she cried, turning to look back.
"Take--but--why--oh! what an escape--a mirage--a----"
But the rest was lost in the sudden bound of el-Sooltan as he raced in
obedience to his master's call.
The man waited until they were within a mile of him; then he wheeled
the mare and took her back along her tracks, urging her to her topmost
speed. Swiftly she fled and swiftly pursued Sooltan, the man not once
turning in his seat.
And as they neared the outskirts of the oasis of Heliopolis Hugh Carden
Ali urged the mare so that she gained upon the stallion, and beckoned
to his groom, who had run hot-foot from the Obelisk to the edge of the
desert with fear in his heart for the beast but not one whit for the
girl. And he caught the shouted order as his master passed him at full
speed, and ran out, shouting in his turn to the stallion.
El-Sooltan, connecting the _sayis_ with the bucketsful of water he
stood so badly in need of, stopped short, nearly unseating Damaris with
the suddenness of his decision and then with the hand of the groom upon
his heaving flank trotted docilely back to the Obelisk, where
Wellington, risking curvature of the spine, turned himself into a
canine picture of ecstatic welcome.
"To-morrow at the same hour," said Damaris, feeding the stallion with
sugar, "he will know me better."
"_Ma sha-Allah_!" murmured the servant to himself, praising the courage
of this bit of a woman.
"_Bikhatirkum_," she said gently, as she moved off in the car.
"_Ma'a-s-salamah ya sitti_," answered the delighted, astounded man as
he salaamed almost to the ground before such unexpected graciousness.
CHAPTER XI
"_Give me that man that is not passion's slave
and I will wear him in my heart's core_. . . ."
SHAKESPEARE.
In his blindness and obstinacy and hurt Ben Kelham carried out his
intention and went after lion, the report of which, for all he knew,
might have been the outcome of some _fellah's_ vision of a tame pussy
mixed up with the nocturnal habits of the lion-headed goddess Sekhet,
who, so tradition avers, prowls about ruins by the light o' the moon,
seeking whom she may devour.
The moon plays havoc with the strongest-minded, out yonder!
Anyway, love-sick, he left Heliopolis, placing the panacea of sport
like a poultice upon his hurt.
Shortly after, one day during the noon hours, in the cool shadows of
his great palace in Cairo, there came to Hugh Carden Ali an
overpowering desire to see the girl he loved amongst her own people.
She was his at dawn in the desert, although miles of sand stretched
between them; his in the rush of the wind, the glory of the sky and the
thunder of the horses' hoofs; but to whom did she turn at night; in the
maze of the dance; the hothouse atmosphere of the hotel; the crush of
the winter visitors?
So, giving a twist to the dagger of love in his heart, he tucked the
dogs of Billi in beside him and drove as the sun set to Heliopolis,
and, guessing that the duchess would have a table near the window,
chose one on the opposite side of the dining-room, so that his presence
should not be thrust upon the girl or the old woman who had known his
mother.
He sat there, indifferent to or oblivious of the interest his presence
aroused, unconsciously counting the vertebrae of the lady at the next
table, who had evidently forgotten some essential part of her bodice.
He counted the vertebrae in the back of the lady who was dying to turn
round, until the duchess and Damaris entered the room; then he clenched
his hands under the table with an involuntary shudder of disgust.
It was the first time he had seen the girl he loved in evening dress,
and every instinct of the Oriental in him was outraged at the sight of
the gleaming neck and shoulders and hint of lace-shrouded virgin form.
She was not in full _decolletage_ by any means, but the waiter's sleeve
was but an inch from her satin skin when he bent over her, so that,
although he had long grown accustomed in Europe to the undraping of
woman o' nights, yet, because he loved the beautiful girl, he longed
for the right to walk across the room, pick her up in his arms, and,
smothering her in a _barku_, hide her forever from all male eyes but
his own.
Later, as he sat alone in a far corner of the ball-room, he twisted the
dagger of love this way and that in his tormented heart, whilst the
dogs of Billi worried the life out of the hall-porter as they fretted
and moaned for their master who tarried. He had never danced, himself,
loathing the idea of the propinquity of a stranger's body so close to
his own; of a stranger's mouth so near his own; of the animal odour of
the naked body, which no perfume can hide, within his nostrils; just as
he loathed the idea of a woman passing from one man's arms to another's
throughout the best part of a night.
He had no desire whatever to dance with Damaris, but all the Eastern in
him longed to make her dance for him; in the desert for preference;
under the light of the moon; with the insistent throbbing of the drum
keeping time to the rhythm of the slender feet upon the warm sand.
And he sat and dreamed under the palms, taking no heed of the sudden
cessation of music, the gathering of the dancers against the walls; the
half-suppressed, laughter and moistening of lip with furtive tongue and
the unusual feeling of expectancy in the heavy, perfumed air.
But he came back to earth when from some corner of the room there came
the faint tapping of a drum.
Three times there fell a single beat, then a gentle roll and a single
beat, bringing him to his feet as he recognised the measure, just as
the lights were switched off, excepting for one great beam which,
striking down from some device in the ceiling, made a silvery pool in
the middle of the floor.
"No!" he cried from the shadows, "this must not be. It is not seemly
for the eyes of women."
But the answer to this protest came in little jeering laughs and quick
remonstrance from those who feared that the whetting of their appetites