God Wills It! Part 45

The mandate was implicitly obeyed.

"Take your cimeter! Fall upon it!"

Had the emir said, "Drink of this wine," there had not been less change in the Syrian's face. Not an eyelash quivered, nor did the lips twitch, when he held the keen blade at his breast and dashed himself upon the ground. A single spasm of the limbs, a red glow on the green sward,--that was all. Through all the great host standing under the torchlight there ran not so much as s.h.i.+ver or murmur.

"See, my children!" cried Iftikhar again, "this moment Masudi, your brother, sits down with the maids whose bodies are pure musk,--they who sit waiting by the stream of honey flowing from the root of the tree Tba. Who else, at my summons, will take the journey thither?"

And the shout came back: "I!" and "I!" and "I!"; so all the three thousand cried it, and many sprang eagerly forward.

"No, my children," warned the emir, upraising his hand. "Allah and our lord on earth, the Cid Ha.s.san Sabah, have need of you. Full soon shall you win all the glory and riches of this world, or the kiss of the houris! And now bear the poor dross of Masudi away, and think on his bliss."

As the eunuchs bore off the dead, Iftikhar spoke to Mary:--

"O Soul of my Soul, bethink you, here are three thousand of like mind to this man; and in the rest of Syria nine thousand more. With such a host we shall conquer the world--the world; and over it, you, my own, shall be sovereign sultana!"

"O Iftikhar," came from the Greek, "who am I to be thus wors.h.i.+pped!"

The voice, the throb behind the voice,--the word "Iftikhar," not "master"--were they Mary's own? She felt herself s.n.a.t.c.hed in a current she might not resist. Drifting, drifting, and she knew whither, yet in some strange way did not shrink. Why did the light flash still more brightly in Iftikhar's eyes? Why did his dark beauty become more splendid?

"Come!" was all he said. And in that word there rang a triumph, clearer than if sounded by trumpets. Her hand in his, he led her down the steps of the portico, all strewn with white bells of lilies, a carpet of blooming snow. At the foot of the stair a car which shone like a huge carbuncle; and harnessed to the car two lions, tame as oxen, yet tossing their s.h.a.ggy manes, and their eyes twin coals of fire. Mary saw the beasts, but did not shrink. She looked upon the emir's face; in it confidence, pride,--and pa.s.sion beyond words. How splendid he was! How one ought to wors.h.i.+p this lord of men, to whom the lords of the beasts crouched submissive! How he had loved her with a love surpa.s.sing thought! She entered the car. They put in her hands reins of silken white ribbon. But Iftikhar himself stood at the heads of the lions, leading as if they were camels. Then he spoke: "s.h.i.+ne forth, O Moon, to the beautiful stars! Unveil!" And Mary, her hand answering his nod, swept the gauze from her face. In the same flash all the palace grounds shone with the red glare of Greek fire, so that the flambeaux made shadow; and Mary stood erect in the car, the light making her face bright and fair as the white cloud of summer. As she stood, she knew a tremor ran through the mult.i.tude and through the great lords on the portico; and a thousand voices were crying, not by forced acclaim, but out of their hearts: "Beauty of Allah! Fairest of the daughters of genii or men!" Such, and many more, the cries. Mary looked about; eyes past counting were on her. She held her head very proudly. Captive or queen, it was her triumph; and to Iftikhar she owed it all!

The emir led the lions down the long avenue opened for them by the ranks of the Ismaelians, amid the admiring women,--straight toward the lake; and as the car moved, the Greek fire sprang from the very water, red and blue, fantastic flame-columns, whose brightness blotted out the stars. As they advanced, the mult.i.tude closed after them; the torches on the palace doubled, trebled; every dome and minaret was traced in light; the music swayed and throbbed like the sighs of an ocean surf. They reached the sh.o.r.e; a second carpet of lilies; a boat, long, narrow, bowered in roses; a high canopy of flowers in the bow; a single negro eunuch standing like an ebon statue at the stern, poising his oar.

"Come!" so again Iftikhar spoke; Mary dismounted. He led her to the boat, seated her upon the roses. The mult.i.tude upon the sh.o.r.e stood in silence, all their praises in their eyes. The music was hushed for an instant. Iftikhar nodded to the rower. The oar dipped noiselessly. The boat glided from the sh.o.r.e gently as the tread of a spirit. Iftikhar sat upon the flower-strewn floor of the skiff, looking up into Mary's eyes. This was the end, praise G.o.d it was the end; she would do no more now! Iftikhar had conquered. Who of mortal stuff would fail to bend before such love as his; and he--was he not worth all loving?

Neither said a word for a long time. The distance betwixt quay and boat widened slowly. The lights from the gardens spread out s.h.i.+mmering paths of fire upon the black waters. The only sound was the distant music once more throbbing from the palace, the dim shouts of the revellers within the groves, and the drip of the water from the noiseless oar. On high above the feathery palms crept the round disk of the moon. At last Iftikhar, never taking away his gaze, said: "O Mary, my own,--at last, at last,--I have made all good. You are mine now--body, soul, forever; for even in Paradise those who love are not sundered. For you will I strive to win glory as never man strove; a year, two years, and I lead you into Bagdad, first princess of the world. Ha.s.san Sabah grows old; his glory pa.s.ses to me, to you, whose slave I am,--and you shall be adored from the rising of the sun to its setting."

"Ah! Iftikhar--" but Mary said no more; the emir had interrupted her.

"Mine are no vain dreams. Kerbogha, lord of Mosul, is gathering all the might of Mesopotamia for our service. Amaz, emir of Fars, is with us; and the exiled Vizier Muejjed. The Fatimite kalif of Cairo is our ally, if all else prosper. Soon--soon--Bakyarok, the arch-sultan, is fallen, the phantom kalif of Bagdad vanished away, and the hour for the Ismaelians is come."

Again Mary's lips opened; but the emir checked her.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "IFTIKHAR TOOK FROM THE SEAT A LITTLE LUTE, TOUCHED THE STRINGS, AND SANG"]

"O my own! why speak of this to-night? Hark, let me sing if I may, as Antar the hero sang the praise of Abla, whose love he won by labors greater than mine; hearken."

And Iftikhar took from the seat a little lute, touched the strings, and sang, while his rich voice stole softly over the waters:--

"Moonlight and starlight clear gleaming, Over the slow waters streaming, Glint on the lake's s.h.i.+ning breast; Fairer my love's eyes are beaming, Where the dark wavelets lie dreaming, By the soft oar lightly pressed!

"Now while the sh.o.r.e lights are dying, Now while with swifter stroke plying, Flit we across the dim deep; Let us in rapt delight lying Hear the mild wind gently hying Where th' sprites night watches keep!

"O that for aye I might, sweeping Where the long willows hang weeping, Feel the musked breeze of the west Over our blessed bark creeping; Then would I smile in my sleeping By my love's white arms caressed!"

When he raised his eyes to Mary, she could see they were touched by a gleam of awful fire; and her own breast and face grew warm, flushed with strange heat. The oar of the negro had stopped; the skiff drifted on slowly, slowly. Here toward the centre of the lake the water stretched beneath the moon, a mirror of black gla.s.s.

"Mary, my beautiful!" cried Iftikhar, half rising, and he outstretched his arms. And Mary, as if his beck were a magician's, started toward him--the end! But as she stirred, her eye glanced downward; the moonbeams lit on something gleaming upon her hand--the silver ring of Richard Longsword: and a voice sounded, from the very heavens it seemed:--

"Mary de St. Julien, what price may a Christian wife give in exchange for her soul!"

CHAPTER x.x.xI

HOW MARY REDEEMED HER SOUL

Near midnight--Morgiana had gone to her chamber early, but not to sleep. The throb of the music, the crash of the cymbals, the shoutings and laughter of the thousands,--all these nigh drove her mad. Twice had she tried to shut all out by a fierce resolve to hear no more, and sleep. Useless; sleep was a thousand leagues away. She had stood by her lattice and seen the mult.i.tudes swarming down to the illumined quay, had heard the praises of Mary Kurkuas ring up to heaven, had seen the boat glide into the darkness. And the Arab had cast herself on her cus.h.i.+ons, and wept and wept, until her tears would no more flow. How long a time sped thus, she might not tell. When next she knew anything save her grief, she heard a light hand thrusting back the curtains from her bed.

"Morgiana." Mary stood holding a little silver lamp. The coronet was still flas.h.i.+ng on her flowing hair, the dim light s.h.i.+ning on her bare neck and swan-white shoulders. Never in the eyes of her rival had she seemed fairer. Morgiana stirred, stared into Mary's face.

"You have yielded! You are his--his forever! Oh, sorrow, sorrow!" So cried the Arab; but the Greek touched her cheek softly.

"Hush, dear sister! I have not yielded. I have defied him; and this time there is a gulf sprung between us that only death can close. It was an angel from heaven that spoke; I must, I will--escape him! I must fly, fly--or it is best to peris.h.!.+"

"Fly!" cried Morgiana, startled now. "Allah the Compa.s.sionate! You are mad!" Mary checked her.

"No, not mad; only I know that I cannot sell my soul to Iftikhar Eddauleh, though he led me sultana through Bagdad. Listen: I had a terrible scene with him in the boat. G.o.d knows what I said or did; I recall nothing, save as out of a frightful dream. But one thing I know, I am the wife of Richard Longsword, and till I know he is numbered with the dead, I will lift eyes to no man, nor angel either; but to Iftikhar Eddauleh never--till the endless ages end! Dear G.o.d--I can endure no more. I must--I will--fly!"

"O dearest one," cried Morgiana, troubled greatly, "how may I comfort you? say what? do what? Allah pity us both!"

"He will have pity!" burst out the Greek. "Follow me. When Iftikhar rowed back to the sh.o.r.e he was in a black rage. I hoped he would strike me dead. He did not. The Sultan Redouan and his lords were feasting in the palace. Said Iftikhar to the eunuchs at the quay, 'I must join the revelling, but lead the accursed woman back to the harem; for seven days she shall not see my face, since she likes it so ill.' But the eunuchs were reeling with their wine. I wrapped a veil about me, and evaded them. Then I wandered through the palace, as did the other women come from Aleppo. No one knew me. And as I strayed by the great banqueting hall, I saw one whom they styled Aboun Nedjn, vizier of Redouan, rise and shout the pledge, 'To the confusion of the Christians, and may they soon fight their last before Antioch!' Then I turned to one of the women, and said, 'And are the Christians besieging Antioch?' and she replied: 'How ignorant! All Aleppo knows that they have lain about that city all winter; certain prisoners of theirs have been brought to Aleppo; and now the Lord Iftikhar makes ready to join the great host which Kerbogha, emir of Mosul, is gathering to deliver Antioch and its prince, Yaghi-Sian.' Then I listened no more, but fled straight to you. For I must fly this very night. Think, Morgiana: at Antioch are the Christians; at Antioch are Duke G.o.dfrey, and Raymond, and Tancred; at Antioch, oh, joy! is Richard Longsword, whose soul is more dear than my own!"

"But, sweet sister," protested the Arab, "Antioch, I believe, is twenty of our Eastern leagues away, perhaps sixty of your Frankish miles. How can you make the journey? Alone?"

"To-night!" cried Mary, tearing the gold from her hair. "To-night! All the palace is drunken. Even the 'devoted' are in stupid sleep. No watch is kept, I saw that well. A late slave boy returning to his master in Aleppo--no questions."

"But the dangers of the way! Full of bandits, roving hors.e.m.e.n, the sc.u.m of both armies--for such must be afield. You on foot! The hards.h.i.+ps; deathly peril!"

"Light of my heart," exclaimed the Greek, "let the jackals prey on me--beasts or more cruel men,--if they be not Iftikhar Eddauleh!"

"Curse him not," blazed the other; "not even you shall speak him ill.

Fool, that you do not love him!"

Mary was tearing off her silken dress.

"Morgiana," she said very quietly, "you know the presses where the eunuchs keep their clothes:--bring me a vest and mantle, and a turban,--the coa.r.s.est you can find; and heavy shoes, if any fit me.

St. Theodore," she cried, looking down at the white thongs of her sandals, where the gems were s.h.i.+ning, "how miserable to have such small feet!"

Morgiana obeyed without a word.

"Your skin! Your face white as milk!" she protested, when Mary stood in the costume of a serving-page.

The Greek laughed. "Have I not mocked you often for your Persian 'light of the cheeks' which you keep in that casket? Take your pencils and your _kohl_, and make me dark and tanned as a true Syrian! Haste; the night is flying!" As she spoke, an iron ball dropped from the water-clock in the corner upon a bell. "An hour after midnight. Quick, if you love me and love yourself!"

Morgiana did her task with all deftness.

"They will search for you. You will be pursued at dawn!"