The Hawk of Egypt
Look up with Hugh Carden Ali as he lifts his head to gaze at something
far beyond the tent-roof.
You will see a copy of the central square which, divided into two,
rested upon the top of the shrine which covered the dead queen who died
about one hundred years after the siege of Troy. One side of the panel
is sprinkled with yellow and pink rosettes on a pale-blue ground; the
other side shows the vulture, the emblem of maternity, holding in its
claws the feather of justice; six there are in all.
That is the ceiling.
The tent walls are lined with a copy of the flaps which hung down on
each side of the shrine of the funeral-boat of the Egyptian queen who,
some thousand years before Christ, crossed the blue-green Nile,
followed by other boats filled with her priests and princes, her
officers, her mourning women. North and south, the flaps are of
chess-board pattern in squares of pink and green; behind one of which
was hidden the small room which held naught but a crystal pitcher and
crystal basin, filled to the brim with water for the ablutions at the
Hour of Nazam, which is the Hour of Prayer.
Near the top the sides show bands of colour, red, yellow, green and
blue, almost as bright in the original as on the day the paints were
mixed, one thousand years ago. Beneath the bands upon one side you
will see the signet-ring of the priest-King Pinotem--whose son Queen
Isi em Kheb espoused--; also the royal asps and the scarab, the emblem
of life out of death.
Upon the other wall you will see the lotus-flower, which opens at the
rising of the sun and closes at its setting; the enigmatic
double-headed ducklings and the picture of a gazelle, which is
doubtless the representation of the pet which, bound in mummy
trappings, was found beside its royal mistress in the tomb. Across the
lotus-flowers, like a silver shaft, there hung a light throwing-spear.
A very technical description, taken down in rough notes at the museum,
of a specimen of patchwork--even like the patchwork counterpanes of our
great-grandmothers--stitched together by dusky slender fingers in the
days of the great King Solomon.
And to Hugh Carden Ali as he lay in this tent, looking towards Mecca,
there came the sound, from a great distance, as of a horse running at
full speed.
[1]This is a description of the funeral-tent of Queen Isi em Kheb,
contemporary of the wise Solomon, mother-in-law of the Shishak who
besieged Jerusalem and "carried away also the shields of gold which
Solomon had made." (II Chron. 12.)
It served as a pall to cover the royal lady upon her last terrestrial
journey, when she crossed the Nile in the funeral boat from her palace
in Karnak (?) to her burial-chamber in Deir el-Bahari.
CHAPTER XXIX
"_La vie est breve:
Un peu d'espoir,
Un peu de reve
Et puis--Bon soir_!"
MONTENAEKEN.
A great light shone in his eyes as he rose from the couch of wood upon
which his dead body, with feet turned towards Mecca, was to lie.
The light from the lamp of bronze and cut-glass shade of deepest orange
tint struck down upon him, throwing shadows from the snow-white turban
which outlined the fine face to beneath the eyes, and round about the
hawk-nose, and the mouth of which the gentleness was so belied by the
dominant jaw; it gave an ivory shade to the snow-white satin of his
raiment; it glistened on his only jewel, an amulet carved from an emerald
in the shape of a scarab, set in gold and hung from a fine gold chain
about his neck.
His beauty was of the East, but it was male; there was no trace of that
effeminacy which so jars upon the sensibilities of those who are bred in
colder climes and brought up on sterner lines than the luxurious dweller
of the East.
He stood listening to the far-distant sound, then threw out his arms.
"By the mercy of Allah, God of Gods, I am found worthy to serve thee, O
my beloved! Within the hour, yea! in but a little over the passing of
half one hour, before the shadow of my tent shall reach yon rope, I shall
have looked upon thee."
He knew!
His heart told him who was coming to him out of the night; his knowledge
of the desert enabled him, by the drumming sound of the hoofs upon the
sand--a sound which has not its semblance in the world--to know to a
second when the mare would stop before the tent.
It was not the Hour of Nazam, the Hour of Prayer before dawn, the dawn
which was to see his questions answered, but he turned and, pulling back
the velvet-soft leather curtain, entered the small room lighted by a
silver lamp hanging just above the crystal basin full to the brim with
water.
No! it was not the Hour of Nazam, but filled with the Oriental's
mysterious premonition of that which is to befall, he performed the
prescribed ablutions of the Hour of Prayer. Three times he washed his
nostrils, his mouth and hands and arms to the elbow; the right first, as
ordained, then the head and neck, and ears once and feet once.
He stood erect, with his hands above his head, for five full minutes,
whilst the drumming of the sands sounded nearer and nearer, then emptied
the water in a circle upon the desert sands, refilled the crystal basin
with water from a crystal pitcher and passed into the tent and out upon
the sands across which, and even as a speck upon the horizon, he saw the
mare Pi-Kay racing. And he threw his hands heavenwards with a great cry:
"Allah be praised! Oh, Allah, unto thee I give thanks!"--the prayer of
thanksgiving uttered by his own father so many years ago.
It was a sight to watch, that of the snow-white mare Pi-Kay stretched
out, flying like the wind, ridden by a slip of a girl with her gleaming
cloak streaming like a banner behind her; but the look upon the man's
face was still more wonderful to behold as he stood motionless, sharply
outlined against the orange light behind him.
The mare slackened not her pace one whit; like a thunderbolt she hurled
herself right up to where stood the master she loved with all her great
equine heart; then she stopped short, fine fore-legs spread wide; then
reared until it seemed she must fall backwards; then crashed down to rear
again, until the loved voice bade her stand.
With the strange frozen look in her eyes which gave them the appearance
of ice-bound lakes, and which had been there since she had crept from the
hotel, Damaris slipped from the saddle into the arms of Hugh Carden Ali,
and there she rested, trembling from head to foot with the stress of her
ride, whilst the white mare whinnied for some recognition from her
master. And he pulled her forelock from about her gentle eyes and pulled
her small ears, and stroked the arched neck; then with a sharp word
ordered her to her stables, and, turning to lead the girl into the tent
in which no foot but his had trod, gave no more thought to the mare
Pi-Kay.
She obeyed him, with mighty little zest, yet lingering not one moment,
even though her delicate nostrils showed wide their crimson depths, and
her satin flanks heaved like bellows through the speed in which she had
covered so many miles.
She moved away at a gentle trot, then stopped and looked back along her
satin flank towards the tent, in a vain hope of seeing her master just
once more; she did not turn completely round,--she obeyed where she
loved--she just looked back along her flank; then, doubtless recognising
her defeat, gave a little flick of her heels and trotted off again.
She was just midway between the tents and her stables when she stopped
dead, with ears pricked forward.
Save for the silvery mane and tail blown by the night-wind she might have
been a statue carved out of marble, so still was she.
Then she suddenly backed and reared a foot or two, then backed again;
wheeled; started towards the tents; stopped and wheeled again.
She trembled from head to foot, the beautiful terrified creature; great
eyes rolling, little feet sending the sand flying as she moved
continually on one spot.
There was nothing to see as she stood, looking east; the tents were
behind her, her stables in a straight line from them to the west; there
was absolutely no sound, none at all until she neighed.
She neighed until the desert rang with the sound, neighed until the
horses in the stables some miles away pulled at their halters and lashed
out on every side; then she reared and wheeled as she stood straight on
her slender hind-legs, then, crashing to the ground, with a convulsive
leap was off into the desert.
Neither did she return for many days; nor was she seen until that dawn
when her _sayis_ found her in front of the middle tent, snuffing at the
closed flap.
* * * * * *
But the flap was not closed this night, as Hugh Carden Ali sat on the
couch of wood and looked at the girl who sat beside him.
She stared down at her hands, which pleated and flattened and re-pleated
the satin of her skirt, and her face was as white as her neck and her
arms, which shone like lilies kissed by the sun, under the light of the
orange lamp.
He waited for her to speak, for it was not for him to guide or influence
her in any way by spoken word.
He led her to the wooden couch, which had perforce to serve as seat as
there was none other in the tent, and took her cloak, passing his hand
gently across the sable collar which encircled her throat; and he
glimpsed the hurt of her heart down in the depths of her eyes when she
looked up at him and put out her hand and stopped him when, murmuring
something about coffee, he turned to the entrance.
"I could not drink it, thank you," she whispered. "I--I want------" and
stopped and looked down and pleated the satin over her knee and flattened
it with her palm.
She was terrified at the desperate step she had taken--and well she might
be. She was strung to a great pitch of nervous excitement through the
exhilaration of her tearing ride; she was stubbornly determined to
prevent the finger of scorn from pointing in her direction; but she was
finding a subtle salve to the smart of the wound to her pride in the
romantic setting of the wonderful picture made by the man beside her.
In faith, I see no real excuse whatever in exoneration of her mad
impulse, unless it be in her education--or, rather, want of it--and in
the fact that she was younger than her years.
Educated in the hugger-mugger way in which are educated the girls who
will not have to use their knowledge to earn a livelihood; with, it must
be confessed, the great and rare--in these days--asset of perfect manners
and courtesy towards all mankind, yet had she never been taught the
rudiments of self-control and deliberation. She had a heart of gold,
truly, but she leapt to conclusions with closed eyes.
With her to think had always been to act. So that, having leapt far out
into a morass of incertitude, she sat perplexed, for 'tis no easy matter
to say, "Please will you marry me?" to a man, even if you know that he
worships the ground your shadow falls upon.
He sat silent, with his eyes upon her hands, waiting for Fate to point
out his path.
Little by little, bit by bit, her surroundings began to affect her. The
blood came slowly back to her cheeks so that they glowed like the wild
rose in the hedgerow; and her eyes began to lose that set stare which
hides the perturbed mind, and to soften behind the heavy fringe of
lashes, and her hands to cease their nervous plucking at her dress.
She lifted her eyes to the strangely-painted tent side, looked at the
silvery spear and tilted her head back until her throat gleamed like an
ivory pillar, to look up at the ceiling with the painted vultures--the
emblem of maternity.
The man looked up, then looked down upon this woman of his mother's race