We were both quite excited at the idea of meeting Dimitri, and hearing all the news of the world. We had been cut off from everything for more than four months, and had not had a single letter, or a scrap of information of any sort. We speculated as to whether the dragoman would have brought our English letters up with him, and we wondered what sort of a reception the Consul-General would have told him to give us. We could not imagine the obsequious Dimitri being anything but polite, and we knew, of course, that, of himself, he could have no authority over us. We presumed that he had been sent up with an order, or a message, or a letter from the Consul-General, and our presumption proved to be correct. No sooner did we pass through the gate of the town than we met the dragoman, clothed in his best blue serge suit, and wreathed in smiles.
"Here we are again, Dimitri," said Edwards, greeting him heartily. "I suppose you thought that we were lost. We are very sorry to have given you this long journey."
"I am truly delighted," replied Dimitri, "to see you two gentlemen again, safe and well. The Consul-General ordered me to convey an important letter to you, and to return with you to Baghdad."
"Where is the letter?" asked Edwards.
"I have it," said the dragoman, "at my lodgings, and I shall hand it to you as soon as I have seen you accommodated in suitable quarters."
Having paid his respects to the Commandant, with whom he appeared to have business to discuss, Dimitri came and walked by our sides as we rode through the streets of Nejf, pointing out to us the great golden shrine of Ali, and the other buildings of importance. He told us much news, but, to our great disappointment, we learned that he had brought with him neither letters nor newspapers; and he confided to Edwards that he was afraid that there was trouble in store for us.
The next excitement was the Consul-General's letter to Edwards, which was brought to him soon after we had settled down in the room allotted to us. Dismissing Dimitri, with a request that he would come and see us again at sunset, Edwards nervously broke the seal of the letter, and read its contents to himself. I watched his face as he read; at first pale and serious, it presently flushed crimson, and the puckered forehead gradually grew smooth, then came a deep-drawn sigh of relief, and I knew that things were not as bad as Edwards had expected them to be.
"Would you like to read it?" asked Edwards, handing me the letter. "It is marked 'Private and confidential,' but I do not suppose that there is any harm in your seeing it. You will not mind his abusing you a bit, I am sure."
I took the letter, and read it through. It was of considerable length, and began by severely reprimanding Edwards in strong official terms, after which the Consul-General appeared to have laid aside his wrath, for the remainder of the epistle might have been written by one friend to another. He hoped that we had made good use of our opportunities, and would be able to add to the world's knowledge of the desert. He even expressed his admiration of our pluck in having lived for so long in the wilds; and, except that in one sentence I was alluded to as "that crack-brained treasure-seeker," there was nothing in the letter with which I could quarrel. Towards the end, however, he had evidently read over what he had written, and perhaps repented of having said so much; for he added a postscript, which ran as follows:—
"Do not imagine from the above that I am not annoyed with you both. I am intensely annoyed, and at present I do not see how the matter is going to end. I am unwilling to judge you until I have heard your own explanation. I beg that you will inform Mr Henderson that I request that he will be good enough to accompany you and Mr Dimitri to Baghdad forthwith."
"Do not imagine from the above that I am not annoyed with you both. I am intensely annoyed, and at present I do not see how the matter is going to end. I am unwilling to judge you until I have heard your own explanation. I beg that you will inform Mr Henderson that I request that he will be good enough to accompany you and Mr Dimitri to Baghdad forthwith."
"Well," said Edwards, anxiously, when I had finished reading, "what do you think?"
"I think," I replied, "that your chief is a gentleman, and, though he may think me a hopeless idiot, you may be quite certain that he will see you through any difficulties that may arise."
"I am glad that that is your opinion," said Edwards. "The letter has certainly made me feel happier."
"After all," said I, "we have done nothing extraordinarily sinful or foolish. The Turkish Government gave me afirman, which was practically a passport to go where I pleased. We were certainly advised by the police captain, poor chap, not to go into the desert from Hillah, but that was only so that he might not get mixed up in a row himself. If he had thought that there was any real harm in our going to visit Faris, he would not have lent us a guide to put us on our way. The one mistake we made was not coming back that first day, when we found that the Turkish police were after Faris. From that moment we were done. We never had a chance of returning until now. And we have returned; what more can they want? There is the whole business, placed comfortably in a nutshell."
As I concluded my address, Dimitri knocked at the door, and we were soon informed of the programme that had been arranged for us. Next morning, our friend the Commandant was to pay a state visit to the Governor of Adiba, who was in camp on the other side of the water, and we were to go with him. It now transpired that the object of our having been sent to Nejf was not so much to be handed over to Dimitri, as to be confronted with Ali Khan. The authorities, apparently, had a sort of suspicion that we had not played a square game with Ali Khan, and the Commandant was to investigate the matter. Directly our visit was over, we were to start for Baghdad by the direct route, passing some miles to the west of Hillah, and Dimitri hoped that we should reach our destination within four days. The programme seemed to us a most satisfactory one, for our consciences were quite clear about Ali Khan, whom we felt certain we could convince that our disappearance from his camp had been not only unpremeditated but also undesired by us. I, personally, was a little disappointed that we should not return to Hillah, as I would have liked a talk with Kellner; but, after what the Consul-General had said in his letter, I thought it best to accept the situation, and get back to Baghdad as soon as possible.
At an early hour next day we rode out with much pomp and ceremony, round the shores of the Sea of Nejf, to the Adiba encampment, and were met halfway by Haroun and his brave men. He did not recognise us in our European clothes, and doubtless thought that we were two inquisitive Englishmen bent on sight-seeing; while we, fearing to upset arrangements, considered it best to restrain our desire to make ourselves known to him. Ali Khan received the Commandant in front of his tent, and, after the customary compliments had been paid, the latter requested us to come forward and be introduced.
"I have brought with me, your Excellency," said the Commandant, addressing Ali Khan, with much solemnity, "two English gentlemen who are desirous of renewing your acquaintance. This one tells me that he was at one time your court physician, the other your chief military adviser."
I do not know what Edwards's feelings were, but I, at that moment, would have been quite pleased if the earth had suddenly opened and swallowed me up. The abrupt manner in which we were, so to speak, flung at Ali Khan's head was disagreeable in the extreme, and he himself was so taken aback, that for some little time he could do nothing but stare at us open-mouthed. There was an awful silence, and nobody seemed inclined to break it, until, at last, feeling that I could stand it no longer, and observing that Edwards (as was his wont when things were going unpleasantly) was signing to me to say something, I stepped forward and spoke.
"Great sheik," I said, "what the Effendi has said is true. We have come to offer an explanation in connection with a matter which we fear has caused you trouble and pain. We have come to seek your pardon; for I doubt not you have been under the impression that, considering the kindness and hospitality which you always showed to us, we behaved ungratefully and basely towards you, when we deserted your camp some few days ago. Your knowledge of us is not slight, and you must have found it difficult to believe that two men of honour—as you knew us to be—would have released your prisoners, stolen your horses, and deserted you. Yet that is, doubtless, what you did believe, and do, even now, believe. Now, I declare to you, before Allah, that of our own accord we did none of these things."
I then proceeded to describe fully and graphically how we had been carried off by the Shammar, and the miserable journey that we had been forced to take. I did not think it necessary, or desirable, to enter into details about Kellner and the Golden Girdle, so I merely said that we had eventually ridden away from the Shammar on two of the horses which had been stolen from his camp, that we had now brought these horses with us, and that we wished to return them to him. I concluded by congratulating him on the prospect of his speedy restoration to his kingdom, and expressed a hope that his little son was still enjoying good health.
My speech made an immense impression, not only on Ali Khan, Haroun, and the rest of the Adiba party, but also on the Commandant and his escort; and when I had finished, our two old friends, shaking off all formalities, seized Edwards and myself by the hands, and overwhelmed us with expressions of joy at our safety, and of regret at ever having doubted us. Though pleasant, thedenouementwas decidedly embarrassing; for the Adiba men crowded round us with offers of congratulation, and we were only saved from being carried off our feet in the frantic rush of enthusiasm by Ali Khan's prompt action in leading us to the inner apartment of his tent, to be welcomed by his wife and their beloved boy. Their delight at again seeing us was most gratifying, and they were truly sorry when they learned that we were not returning with them to Adiba. Ali Khan and his wife did all in their power to persuade us to accompany them; but finding that it was a matter of honour that we should return to Baghdad, they made us promise that, should it ever be possible, we would pay a long visit to Adiba, and see the place settled down again in peace and plenty, as they hoped that it would soon be.
The time was all too short, for we had to return to Nejf, and thence ride, some fifteen miles, to the nearest khan before dusk. We therefore prepared to take leave of our friends, and I asked Ali Khan's permission to use his two horses for the return journey to Nejf, promising that we would send them back to his camp by sundown.
"Nay," said the sheik, "I have horses enough, and I beg that you will accept them from me. Take them back with you to Baghdad, to remind you of your promise to visit us at Adiba."
With expressions of gratitude from both of us, with many handshakes and last words of parting, we at length mounted our horses and joined the escort, which had been long waiting for us. Edwards and I rode in silence for some distance; I fancy that we had similar feelings—a decided lumpiness about the throat. Edwards spoke first.
"I had no idea," said he, "that the desert possessed men like Ali Khan. I always thought that all the big rulers were stony-hearted tyrants, who only made themselves agreeable to Europeans for what they could get out of them."
"Dear old Ali Khan has not derived much benefit from us," I answered.
"On the contrary," said Edwards, "we have been a dead loss to him. And he finishes up by giving us two horses."
"These two old horses," said I, "make me laugh. They are becoming rather a stale present. Within the last week they have been given to us no less than three times, first by the Shammar sheik, then by Faris, and now by Ali Khan."
"Well," said Edwards, "I hope that this time we shall keep them, and take them safely back to Baghdad."
Arrived at our quarters in Nejf, we packed up our belongings, and were off again in half an hour, the Commandant seeing us for about a mile on our road, and then bidding us a friendly farewell. In order to make certain that we should not get lost again, he gave us an escort of twenty irregular cavalry, and I firmly believe, although Dimitri denied it, that they had instructions not to let us out of their sight until we had entered the courtyard of the Residency at Baghdad. At any rate, during our uneventful journey of the next four days, they were always about us, and on reaching the city, their sergeant requested the Consul-General to give him a letter practically amounting to a receipt for us.
What the Consul-General said to us, and what we said to him, are things best left untold. Suffice it to say, therefore, that at the conclusion of the interview, we still found ourselves alive. Moreover, on that night, and on many subsequent nights, we were the great man's guests at dinner.
After the life I had been leading, the humdrum existence in the city soon began to pall on me. I had, within a few days, seen everything that there was to be seen, and I grew tired of morning and evening canters outside the walls, and of trying to make the round wicker-workkufasgo straight up and down the river. I longed to be back in the free desert, and one day, more out of fun than anything else, I suggested to Edwards that we should pay our promised visit to Adiba. He looked at me for a minute, as if he doubted my sanity.
"What you want," said he, "is sea air. You will never be quite right until you have taken a voyage."
"That does not sound very hospitable," said I, "considering that only yesterday you begged me to stay with you as long as I could."
"Yesterday," said Edwards, "I did not know that you were so unwell."
"To tell you the honest truth," said I, "I am sick to death of this life, and if Faris does not let me have some news of the Golden Girdle soon, I shall chuck the whole thing and go home."
"You do not mean to say," said Edwards, "that you are still building castles in the air."
"No," said I, "not in the air, I hope. But if you mean that you want to know whether I am still thinking of Queen Sophana's belt, I will break it to you gently that, much as I love you, George, nothing earthly would have induced me to hang about here for the last six weeks, unless I had been in daily expectation of getting news either from Faris or from Kellner."
"Then take my advice," said my friend, "and give it up. Kellner, from what the Turkish doctor wrote to me the other day, is too ill to trouble about anything. Faris, I expect, has got other fish to fry. Besides, I believe he is in mortal terror of that Girdle. In any case, even if you did receive news from the desert, you could not go romping about there again."
"Oh, great wet blanket!" I answered, "have you no soul? Wait till I lay out before you, on that very table, the string of twisty-twirly golden serpents!"
"I cannot wait so long, old man," said Edwards irritatingly. "Unfortunately, I shall have to die, like other people."
"Then I suppose," I said, putting out a feeler, "when I go off on my next hunt, you will let me go alone."
"On that point," he replied, "you can be absolutely certain. Nothing that you or anyone else could say would ever persuade me to go on another wild-goose chase with you. Why, the Turks are still saying nasty things about us, and worrying my chief to death."
"That," said I, "is all bluster. Hillah's Governor tried it on when he talked so grandly about compensation. I happen to have discovered from Dimitri that there never was, at any time, any idea of compensation. The mistake I made was getting afirman. I shall make my next trip without one."
"By the way," said Edwards, changing the subject, "did I ever tell you the result of the inquiry after Kellner's Baghdad merchant—I mean the man who, Daud or somebody told us, was going to pay the Shammar for the Girdle?"
"No," said I, "the last news I heard was that he had cleared out of this place, bag and baggage, and no one knew what had become of him."
"Well," said Edwards, "he has been seen in the bazaar at Kerbela."
"Then I suppose that he and Kellner have got some deep scheme in hand again," I said; "but, for the life of me, I cannot fathom it."
"Do not bother about it," said Edwards. "Believe me, Kellner has not got a scheme in him at present."
About a week after this conversation had taken place, though many similar ones had intervened, there fell in the midst of my dull existence a very bomb of excitement, whose sudden explosion well-nigh rent me in twain.
Whilst I was living in Baghdad, I used to amuse myself by a daily visit to the bazaar, overhauling theantikasand other wares of the Jew dealers, and to save myself the unpleasantness of being mobbed by a crowd of Arab boys, on these occasions I dressed in simple Persian garments. The shop people, of course, knew who I was, but I mingled with the crowd without attracting attention. On the particular day of which I am writing, I noticed, as I walked about the bazaar, that I was being followed from place to place by a ruffianly-looking Arab, who, whenever I stopped to look at a stall, always seemed to be at my elbow. I began to be a little nervous about him, thinking that possibly he might be a fanatic, who, having returned from a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrines, and having discovered that I was an unbeliever, thought to ensure his entry into Paradise by putting a knife into me. At last I stopped, turned on him suddenly, and asked him what he wanted. He was so taken aback, that without offering a reply, he bolted into the crowd, and disappeared.
A little later I left the bazaar, and strolled along the narrow lanes towards Edwards's house. As I was nearing home, I heard footsteps behind, and glancing over my shoulder, saw that my supposed Arab fanatic was running after me. Thinking that I should have to fight, and seeing nobody else about, I stepped back against the wall, and prepared to make the best use of my heavy stick.
"Master," said the man, as he drew near, "it is you who were with Sheik Faris in the desert; is it not so?"
"Yes," I replied, "I am that man. Why do you follow me about?"
"I was told," said he, "that you would be in the bazaar, but I could not be certain that I had found you. I did not recognise you with the hair absent from your face, and in those clothes."
"But why are you so anxious to find me?" I asked.
"I have come," said the Arab, "from Sheik Faris, who bade me seek you out with all haste, and tell you, in secret, certain words."
"What were they?" I inquired, excitedly.
"I know not their meaning," he replied, "but the words Sheik Faris spoke to me were these: 'Go tell the Hakim's friend thatsnakes which do poison mankind cower before the eye of the magician; that winged snakes drop their wings at the sound of his coming; and that the shoe of a desert-born mare must needs have a desert home.' Thus spoke Sheik Faris-ibn-Feyzul; I have said it."
I knew what it all meant. This was the message which I had eagerly awaited for many weeks. Faris, brave Faris, had secured the Golden Girdle for me, but he evidently intended that I should go and get it. I wondered why he had not sent it. It would, I thought, have simplified matters considerably.
"Sheik Faris," I asked, "sent, by you, nothing for me?"
"No," answered the man.
"Did he not give you any other message?" I inquired.
"I was to tell the Beg," said he, "that when the moon rises to-night, three Aeniza, with a spare horse, will be on the western bank of the river, opposite the great ruins of Ctesiphon, and will there await you until daybreak to-morrow. The howl of the hyæna repeated three times will cause them to make known their presence."
"It is well," said I, and giving the Arab a keran to spend in the bazaar, I dismissed him.
Hurrying home as fast as I was able, with steps as light as air, I bounded up the stairs to break the news to Edwards. He was out, and on the table I found a note addressed to me. I tore it open, and read the hasty pencil scrawl, which ran as follows:—
Dear Walter,—Just had a message from the C.-G., saying he is very ill at Mosul. Has sent the launch down for me. Do not expect me back for at least a week. If I am detained longer, I will drop you a line. Mind you do not start for home before I come back. So long,YoursG. E.
Dear Walter,—
Just had a message from the C.-G., saying he is very ill at Mosul. Has sent the launch down for me. Do not expect me back for at least a week. If I am detained longer, I will drop you a line. Mind you do not start for home before I come back. So long,
Yours
G. E.
Calling a servant, I asked when his master had left, and was told that the launch had gone up the river about an hour before. Utterly knocked out of time by this unexpected turn of events, I sank into a chair, and endeavoured to think out the situation. Something had to be done, and done quickly. Nothing should prevent my reaching the rendezvous opposite Ctesiphon that night. On that point I was determined. I would get the Golden Girdle without saying anything to anyone, and with luck I might be able to lay it in front of Edwards on his return from up-river. What a grand surprise it would be for him, and how I should crow over him! After all, it was rather a good thing, I thought, that both Edwards and the Consul-General were away from Baghdad; otherwise they might have interfered with my movements. I was, at anyrate, free to do as I pleased. But how I was to cover the fifty miles to the spot where I was to meet the Aeniza I could not decide. It was already two o'clock; I had about four hours of daylight I could order my horse and say I was going for an afternoon ride, then make straight for Ctesiphon. It was a long journey to accomplish on one horse in four hours, and I had never followed the road before. If I did not succeed in reaching the ruins before dark, I doubted if I should ever reach them, and even if I succeeded, I still had to cross to the opposite bank of the river. I should have to swim it—there was no other means of crossing. I did not like the idea. Then I thought I would cross the river by the Baghdad bridge, and try to find my way to the appointed place by following the right bank of the river. That, however, I abandoned as hopeless, for I was acquainted with no road on that side of the river. My next idea was to hire akufa, and paddle away down stream. It would not be a very great undertaking, as I could certainly cover six or eight miles an hour by simply drifting, which would bring me to my destination well before break of day. There was only one thing against this plan: I was not at all sure that, being at such a little height above the water-level, I should be able to identify landmarks. There would be a good moon, I knew, and I had been to Ctesiphon by water once or twice from Baghdad. It was a risky undertaking, but I did not see what else I could do. All at once a sudden inspiration came to me. I leapt from my chair, rushed across the room, and hunted among my papers for the river steamer time-table. At last I found it, and, as I had hoped, discovered that this was the day that one of the steamers left Baghdad for Bussorah. Nervously I ran my finger along the line to learn the hour of departure, and when my eyes fell on the announcement "4P.M.," I could have shouted for joy.
I had a couple of hours to make arrangements, though there were few to make. Still, certain matters had to be worked out. In the first place, I had qualms of conscience about going off without telling anyone, and I began to think that I had better take Dimitri, the dragoman, into my confidence. But I was afraid to trust him, as I thought that perhaps he would consider it his duty to frustrate my plan. Then I could not make up my mind whether to disguise myself as a native, and take a deck passage; or whether to go on board with a bag, and book first-class to Bussorah. My difficulty was that the captain of the steamer was a well-known member of the small English community in Baghdad, and a personal friend of mine. In either case, whether I shipped as a native or as myself, I should have to slip overboard when approaching Ctesiphon, and swim ashore, and in either case I should have to deceive my friend the captain. I hated the idea; but I came to the conclusion that, as a desperate man, I must bury my conscience for the time being. To fail now would probably be to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime. I would tell as few lies as possible, and trust that some day I might be able to make reparation for my evil doings.
My plan matured, I immediately set to work to collect a few odds and ends to fill my bag, fastened it up, called my boy, and sent him down to the steamer with it, at the same time giving him a note for the purser, in which I asked for a cabin to Bussorah. Having taken the first step, I felt easier in my mind, and telling Edwards's servants that I was going for a trip down the river, and should be away for a few days, I strolled leisurely down to the wharf, and went on board the steamer. From that moment I forgot my conscience altogether. I told the captain that, as Edwards had been called away to Mosul, and as I did not care about my own society, I had decided to spend the time in running down to Bussorah. He expressed himself as delighted to have my company, and I settled myself in my cabin, as if I really intended to remain on board for three or four days. We were a little late in getting off, but I knew that an hour or two would not affect my plans, as, even steaming in the dark, we ought to be off Ctesiphon within six hours or so of our departure from the city.
There being no other first-class passengers, I dined alone with the captain, and, aware that it might be my last respectable meal for some days, I made the most of it, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Afterwards, we sat long on the upper deck, outside the captain's cabin, discussing many things, and watching the reflections of the bright moon in the river. I began to grow anxious about the time, and a little nervous about the part I was shortly to play. I was a strong swimmer, but even with that knowledge I did not relish the prospect of plunging overboard and making for the shore. I confess that it required every scrap of courage that I possessed, and for a moment my courage almost failed me.
"You are very silent," said the captain, after a long pause in the conversation, "are you getting sleepy?"
"I suppose I must be," I replied. "I expect it is about time to turn in. Whereabouts are we?"
"Getting near Ctesiphon," he answered. "We ought to pass it in about half an hour. I must get on to the bridge, as we are coming to rather a tricky bit of channel."
"Then I shall retire to my cabin," said I. We wished each other "Good-night," and I went down the companion to the lower deck. I had previously inspected the situation of everything most carefully. The first-class accommodation was in the stern of the steamer; the saloon in the centre, cabins on either side of the saloon, with a narrow gangway between the cabin doors and the taffrail. My cabin was on the starboard side, and I had only to walk out of the door, take one step, vault the taffrail, and so into the river. In the daylight it seemed quite simple, but now, as the time for action was at hand, I had many misgivings. The steamer had twin screws, and I was afraid that, if I dropped over the side, I should be caught by the screw before I managed to get clear away. I hastened to the stern of the vessel, and examined the water carefully. The screws churned it horribly. Still, I thought that my best chance would be here, as by stepping out on to the anchor, which lay on the extremity of deck, and then diving well away, I might succeed in finding my way into slack water. There was no one about; the captain and the steersman were both on the bridge, and would, of course, be intent on looking ahead. The time was slipping by, and I ran up the companion to get a better view of the country from the upper deck. I thought I recognised the beginning of the bend in the river close to Ctesiphon. I had forgotten about this bend, but now I knew that it would be all in my favour. Certain now of our whereabouts, I dropped down to the lower deck, and made for the anchor. We were well in the bend and only a few yards from the right bank of the river; moreover, the starboard screw was barely revolving. Now or never, I thought, and clenching my teeth, I stretched out my hands, and made a frantic dive in the direction of the land. So close was the steamer to the bank at the moment I left it, that in half a dozen strokes I found my feet touching bottom, and I was soon lying among the bushes, and watching the steamer continuing its way round the bend.
I took some minutes to pull myself together; in fact, I sat there looking after the disappearing vessel, until I could see nothing but the smoke rising up from the funnel. Then my nerves began to trouble me. My teeth chattered, and I shivered and shook as if I had a violent attack of ague. I could not make up my mind to move, and I wondered whether I had not made an arrant fool of myself. I had met a perfect stranger in the bazaar, and had come here by his instructions. It was true, that if the man were an impostor, desiring to lure me to this spot with the object of robbing and possibly murdering me, he had worked up his plan with great skill; and I did not think that anyone could have invented the message from Faris. Yet, I did not feel altogether happy about it. Then I thought of what an amount of bother I should give to the captain of the steamer. My absence probably would not be discovered until breakfast time next morning, when, of course, it would be thought that I had fallen overboard accidentally, or had committed suicide. However, I argued with myself that, having taken the fatal plunge, it was useless sitting shivering by the side of the river in a state of inaction; so I got up and struggled through the scrub towards higher ground, eventually reaching a low mound. Here I crouched down, and putting both hands to my mouth, as I had once seen Sheik Faris do, I gave forth a long piercing hyæna call. The whole thing seemed so uncanny, that I shuddered at my own voice. I repeated the howl again, and after a slight interval yet again.
I listened intently, and thought that I heard an answering call in the far distance. Presently there came the unmistakable cry a little nearer, and, before many seconds had passed, dismal howls appeared to echo all around me. In my excitement I stood up and shouted, and almost at the same time I noticed that there were men and horses quite close to me.
"Where are you?" called out one of the men in Arabic.
"Here, on the hillock in front of you," I replied.
I waited a little, while one of the men picked his way towards me; and, as he drew near, I called to him, asking if he had come from Sheik Faris. The only reply that I received was a joyous laugh, and the next moment Sedjur stood by my side. That meeting, so unexpected, was well worth all the trouble that it had cost. Life was full of roses once again, and we stood there talking for, I should think, a good half hour. He could not understand how I had come, as he had expected that I would have ridden from Baghdad, and when I told him what I had done, his admiration knew no bounds.
"It is good that you arrived so early," said he, at last, "for we can now get well on our journey before daylight comes. I have brought some of our desert clothes for you to wear, as you have done before; and my father has sent you one of Kushki's own sons for you to ride."
I thanked him for forgetting nothing; flung my bundle of saturated clothes across my saddle, mounted my horse, and, a true Bedouin in appearance, followed close behind the three long, waving spears. The smell of the desert, after my sojourn in the town, was good indeed; and, though I had had no sleep, and ought to have been dead tired, I felt fresh, and fit for any exertion. I had, of course, asked Sedjur for news of the Golden Girdle, but all that he would say was that his father did not wish the matter discussed until he had seen me; and Sedjur begged that I would not speak about it until we reached the camp. Thus, to my disappointment, I was left, throughout our long ride, in ignorance of the state of affairs.
As far as I could judge by the stars, from our starting-point we rode north-west, scarcely ever deviating from our course during that night; and, crossing the pilgrim route from Baghdad to Kerbela some time before there was any sign of dawn, struck the Euphrates, as Sedjur told me, thirty miles or more above the latter town. After fording the river, we kept along the right bank for the remainder of the day, at nightfall halting at a small village, whose inhabitants were old friends of our party, and who did their best to make us comfortable. My prompt answer to his father's summons had evidently made a great impression on Sedjur, who confessed to me, when we talked that night, that he never expected me to come; that, in fact, he had tried to dissuade Faris from sending him on what he considered would be a fruitless mission.
"How much farther have we to go?" I asked.
"When two more suns have set," said Sedjur, "we should be near the encampment. We shall get on to the Damascus road early to-morrow, and then there will be little difficulty."
"That is good news," said I, "for, as you are aware, I cannot ride long distances for many days together."
"If I were to tell you," laughed Sedjur, "that we were to ride day and night all the way to Damascus, you would not complain. You forget that you have lived in our tents, and that my father and I know you perhaps better than you know yourself."
It was pleasant to think that my friends had such a high opinion of me, though I hoped that they would not try me too severely. I did not mind a long day in the saddle, if it were all straightforward going, but our ride of this day and of the two following days was a perpetual anxiety. There were only four of us, and we had to be continuously on the look-out for prowling bands of hostile tribes. Fighting was out of the question; all that we could do was to avoid everyone whom we saw, and to trust to the speed of our horses, if pursued. But we were particularly fortunate, for only once were we really troubled, and then, though followed for some distance, we showed our pursuers that their horses were no match for ours. Still, always having to be on thequi vive, like driving a shying horse, is most tiring work; and I was glad enough when, soon after daylight on the fourth day, Sedjur suddenly shouted to me, "Behold our tents!"
Great was the excitement in the encampment when we were seen to be approaching; some sixty or seventy horsemen, headed by Faris, galloped out to meet us, and wheeling round in front of us, performed afantasiafor my benefit all the way into camp. Then everyone turned out to greet me, and my reception was royal, Faris leading me by the hand to his tent, and paying me the greatest honour. I could see at once that his pleasure at my arrival was genuine; for, as he said, he and I had been in peril together, and had seen stranger things than had any two men of his acquaintance, and though we had met for a few hours outside Hillah, he never had had the opportunity of welcoming me to his tents, since the time of our adventures at the ruins of Katib. He would have it that I had saved his life and that of Sedjur on two occasions, first when I and Edwards gave ourselves up to the Governor of Adiba, and allowed him and his son to escape; and secondly, when at the Birs Nimroud, I had warned him of the Shammar lying in ambush. In vain I tried to persuade him that I had done nothing out of the common; in his eyes I was a hero; and, I think, still a little bit of a magician, though he did not rally me on this point.
"Well, now, Sheik of Sheiks," I said, after we had settled down to our pipes in private, "what news of the serpent belt?"
"Much," he answered, "and strange."
"Have you, then, secured it?" I asked.
"Nay!" he replied, "not yet. But it is yours to take when you will."
"How so?" said I.
"It is a long story," said the sheik, "but I will make it as short as possible. After leaving you that night at Hillah, we returned to our men, and immediately we scoured the whole country, in order to find those two Jews who had carried away the belt, as the sick Ingleezee at the Birs Nimroud had told us. We tracked them to Kerbela, and I sent a message to them with a request that they would meet me at a certain time outside the town, near the bridge, promising them gold for their trouble, well knowing that without some reward they would never come. They kept their appointment—the two of them—thinking that I had intended to compensate them for having destroyed their dwelling at the Birs Nimroud, of which event they had somehow heard. I paid them a little money, and promised them more if they would permit me to see the golden belt which the sick Ingleezee had bidden them carry away. They vouchsafed that they knew nothing of such a thing; but, unwittingly, one of them inquired how much I would give. I replied that if they would sell me the belt I would pay them 2000 kerans. Then the two men incontinently wept and tore their beards, saying that they would willingly have accepted the price I offered, had it not been that they had been robbed of it by a party of Shammar soon after they had left the Birs Nimroud. They told me, when I had paid them a few more kerans, who the Shammar were. It was the same band whose members had stolen the belt from Raspul on that memorable night, and with whom you are well acquainted. So those men are in possession of the twice-stolen treasure, and we know where they have their tents, not five days' journey from this."
"Then," said I, overjoyed at the news, "the Golden Girdle is indeed mine. If you will show me the way to the Shammar camp, I shall purchase the belt from them for the value which I know they attach to it. They themselves told me that their reward was to be 5000 kerans."
"Why waste this money," said Faris, "when the golden serpents can be had for nothing. Sedjur and I have laid our plans, and, ere half a moon, we shall hand you that which you desire. Then shall the name of Faris-ibn-Feyzul be made known to those who keep the big house wherein lies Shahzadi's shoe. It is a small undertaking to surround and surprise these few Shammar, and,inshallah—if God wills, it shall be accomplished."
"To obtain it thus, by stratagem and bloodshed," I replied, "would be for me to invoke the curses of all the evil spirits which haunt the world. Know you not, sheik, that these very Shammar extended to me full hospitality? How, then, is it possible for me to agree to your proposals?"
"I had forgotten," said the sheik. "Those are difficulties. Can you yourself think of any plan by which they may be removed?"
"I shall require time to consider," I replied. "Allow me until to-night."
"So be it," said Faris, "and to-night I shall entertain you at a feast. It is a great occasion."
Glad of quiet and repose, I lay on the rugs in my tent all the afternoon, and gave myself up to deep thought. That I was bitterly disappointed I need not say. I had fully made up my mind that Faris actually had the Girdle ready to hand over to me. I now learned that it was some two hundred miles away. Truly had Edwards described it as a will-o'-the-wisp. Was I to start again on another interminable ride? It seemed to be my only chance; and yet, when I reached the Shammar tents, I might find that my Golden Girdle had again taken wings. I began to hate the thing; but I had gone through so much in my attempts to obtain it, that I was more than ever determined that it should be mine. So I thought on, and frequently wished that Edwards had been with me, so that I might have had the value of his advice, although I felt that he would have counselled a masterly inactivity, in other words, a retreat to Baghdad. At any rate, I should now have the satisfaction of playing the game off my own bat.
At sundown came the supper party, and it certainly was a great affair, all the principal men of the tribe being invited, and the dishes being of the best. But I was quite unprepared for the honour that awaited me at the conclusion of the feast. Faris rose and made a speech, in which he told his guests that the time had come for him to prove to me, his principal guest, in how high esteem he held me. He then spoke at some length of the courage displayed by me on several occasions when in his company, though I noticed that he was careful not to go into details concerning our doings at Katib. He regretted that his friend the Hakim, an equally brave man, was not also present; but he hoped some day to welcome him to the desert. It was now, he went on, his earnest desire that I, the bravest of the brave, should hold out to him, Faris-ibn-Feyzul, a Sheik of the Jelas Aeniza, the hand of eternal friendship. Throughout his long speech I had been hot and uncomfortable; all eyes were riveted on me, and I felt that each pair of eyes could read, in my crimson face, that I was a rank impostor. Yet they greeted their chiefs appeal for eternal friendship with shouts of acclamation, and not knowing exactly what was required of me, I stood up and spoke. Thanking the sheik for the kind words which he had used regarding me, but at the same time proclaiming that he had greatly exaggerated my courage, I declared my willingness, and indeed my desire, that we should ever be friends.
"Brothers!" exclaimed Faris.
"Brothers!" shouted everyone in chorus.
Then I knew what was intended. I and Faris were to swear blood-brotherhood, the highest honour that one man can show to another, and by which we should bind ourselves, so long as we lived, to remain true to each other, to fight for each other if necessary, and never to quarrel. There and then, on the spur of the moment, the ceremony was performed, Sedjur, on my other side, prompting me how to act. All stood up in silence, and to the onlookers the scene must have appeared a solemn and impressive one; for my part, I was so nervous that I scarcely knew what I was doing, though Sedjur instructed me that whatever his father did or said, I was to repeat. Facing one another, the sheik grasped my girdle with his left hand, and I grasped his with mine. Then, with our right hands raised to heaven, we pledged ourselves, I repeating the words which Faris spoke, one by one, and each one many times. We called on God to bear witness; we swore by God, and through God, and we declared ourselves to be brothers to-day, to-morrow, and hereafter. It was no light undertaking, and those present regarded the ceremony with much seriousness, remaining silent for some time after it had been concluded.
"Now," said Faris, later on, when the guests had departed, and he, I, and Sedjur were alone, "now, we are true brothers. Praise be to Allah! From this time we have all things in common; should you desire camels, horses, or sheep, take any that I have. Whatsoever is mine is yours, and anything that you ask of me shall be granted."
"Great Sheik and Brother," I said, "I know not how to thank you for all the kindness and generosity which you have shown to me. Would that I could repay you but one half. I desire nothing but the one thing of which you know, and with it to return to my own country. This afternoon I spent in devising a plan for becoming possessed of that Golden Girdle, which we two once saw lying before the altar of Sophana, whom Raspul called Goddess Queen. To unfold my plan and ask you to agree to it will be to put your oath of brotherhood to a severe test."
"Have I not sworn by Allah?" said the sheik. "Speak on, brother."
I then expounded my plan, which was that, in place of my going on what might prove a long and useless journey, we should send to the party of Shammar now in possession of the Girdle, and invite them, as guests, to pay us a visit. As I explained, they were my friends, and they were, therefore, now the friends of Sheik Faris. He saw the argument, and though I am confident that my suggestion was most distasteful to him, he acquiesced without so much as a question. I explained to him my reason for wishing that the Shammar should come to me, rather than that I should go to them: I did not altogether believe in the veracity of the two Jews, who had said that they had been robbed, knowing, as I did, that the Jews of Arabia have reduced lying to a fine art. By persuading the Shammar to come to us, if we should find that the Jews had lied, we should be able to get in touch at once with the latter; whereas if I were to ride away a couple of hundred miles, I should have to come back again before being able to do anything. I was quite certain that if the Shammar had the Girdle, they would sell it to me; for I had been with them long enough to know that they were poor men, and that their sole desire was to obtain Kellner's 5000 kerans. Therefore I proposed that the message which I should send to them should be to the effect that I was anxious once again to see my old friends, and that I would purchase from them the Golden Girdle at the price which Kellner had agreed to give.
As Faris said, the negotiations would require fine handling, but Sedjur stepped into the breach, and immediately suggested that he himself should carry the message. He would go with one other, and he was quite convinced that he would succeed in inducing the Shammar to come and see me. The sheik consented, and, moreover, offered to lead the tribe southwards in the direction of the winter pastures, by which Sedjur's return journey would be considerably shortened, and we should be at no greater distance from Kerbela and the two Jews than we now were. I went to bed that night more contented in mind; I still had every chance of obtaining my prize; I should have to pay for it, of course; but that I had long decided would be necessary. If the Shammar had the Girdle, they should have 5000 kerans for it; if the Jews still possessed it, they would doubtless sell it for that sum, and be glad to get the money. The only question that troubled me at all was the position of Kellner. I did not wish to do anything mean or underhand, for he had fought valiantly for the thing, and that he had failed to keep it was only due to his loss of health at the last. So I made a vow that, when I had secured the Girdle and had it safe in Baghdad, I would display the utmost generosity to Kellner, and recompense him handsomely. I felt that then I should be able to afford to be generous.
Next morning, Sedjur and his companion set out on their mission, and after they had left, I almost regretted not having accompanied them. The sheik, however, laid himself out to entertain me, and on the following day, the whole tribe commenced its annual migration towards the south. It was an interesting sight, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I was glad to find that the pace was slow and the day's march consequently short. Thousands of camels and horses moved abreast across the plain, a few horsemen scouting ahead, as an advanced guard, while Faris and I, with a small escort, rode a little in front of the centre of the long line, which extended across country for several miles. There was sport to be had, also; for the sheik did not make these slow marches without his hawks and greyhounds, and many a fast gallop they gave us. The camels and horses were as good as a line of beaters; wolves, foxes, jackals, gazelles, and bustards were frequently turned out of the scrub, and pursued by hound or hawk. For a week or more we travelled in this easy and delightful manner, pitching camp early each evening, and starting again none too early in the morning.
At length we reached the spot at which Faris had agreed to wait for Sedjur, and so satisfactorily did the arrangement work, that we had to wait barely twenty-four hours before we had the joy of seeing four horsemen coming into camp. Sedjur's mission had been successful, and with him rode Daud and another of the Shammar. I was not a little astonished at the politeness with which Faris received his old enemies, and welcomed them as the guests of the tribe. They might have been his dearest friends; and the Shammar themselves were evidently well-pleased at their reception.
It had been my hope all along that Daud would be one of the guests, as I knew him better than his chief, and I was aware that he was much attached to me; but it grieved me to hear that, some weeks before, the sheik had lost his life in a foray, and that three others had also perished. Daud was now the head of this small family of the Shammar, and he and the man accompanying him were the only survivors of the original party who had been responsible for the death of the seer at Katib. I mentioned this to Faris in private. His reply was typical of the man.
"The curse has indeed followed them," said he, softly, "as I was sure that it would. For the murder of Raspul nine lives have been given. His death has been avenged, and the crime expiated. I am sorry for them, for they were daring and brave men."
"I have not told you, sheik," I said, "that this Daud and the other man were both at Katib on that night, and were parties to the death of Raspul the seer."
"That cannot be helped now," said Faris. "I cursed them, and swore, by Allah, that I would not rest until I had slain them. Yet the laws of hospitality are in the eyes of Allah inviolable, and of greater importance than an oath of vengeance taken in hot blood. I wish my guests no ill, and I trust that the curse of Sophana may not fall upon these two men."
It was not long before I approached Daud in the matter of the Golden Girdle, fully expecting that he would show it to me hanging from his waist. But no sooner did I mention it than I realised that my hopes were destined to be dashed to the ground once again. What the two Jews had said was absolutely false. Never had Daud or any of his men set eyes on them since the day that he rode with Edwards and myself to the Birs Nimroud, and had then been forced to retire because of the sudden arrival of Faris and his superior numbers. Certainly, as I had thought probable, the Jews had lied, and undoubtedly with a purpose. I did not altogether blame them, since if they were acting faithfully in Kellner's interests, they were justified in throwing Faris and everyone else off the scent. Faris, however, when I told him all, did not see things in the same light, and declared that he would be even with the Jews who had lied to him.
I was beginning to lose heart. I felt that I was no match for Kellner; and when I remembered that the Baghdad merchant, Mersina, who was evidently Kellner's trusty agent, had been tracked to Kerbela, whither also the two Jews had fled with the Girdle, I saw clearly what had happened. Mersina had received it on behalf of Kellner, and had conveyed it to a place of safety, where it would remain until the German was released from hospital, and able to take it away. My sole hope now lay in the possibility of purchasing the Girdle from Kellner—a poor hope, at the best; and I settled that my wisest course would be to return to Baghdad as soon as possible, and endeavour to discuss matters with him. He might still be in hospital at Hillah; if so, I would persuade Edwards that it would be friendly to visit him there. But, a few hours later, my new plan was wrecked.
We had assembled—we three, Faris, Daud, and I—for the purpose of deciding if by any means we could discover reliable news of the Golden Girdle. Each of us, though for a different reason, was anxious that it should come into my possession. Faris, who had wealth enough and to spare, had but one desire in the world—to become the owner of the shoe of Shahzadi. Daud had dreams of placing himself on an equal footing with the other sheiks of his tribe, as I had promised him that whenever the Girdle should become mine, I would bestow on him the sum agreed upon by Kellner. As to myself, fame spurred me on to exertion; but I argued with myself that it was not a mere craving for notoriety, so much as an ambition to accomplish that which I had undertaken, with perhaps a wish to be able to prove to Edwards, the sceptic, that there was method in my madness. I opened the debate, telling my friends what I had heard of the merchant, Mersina; how I imagined that he was holding the Girdle until Kellner should claim it, and that, if this were the case, there was nothing to be done, since to dispossess the rightful owner was out of the question.
"The words that you have spoken," said Daud, quickly, "are wise and just. Yet no man can assert that the dead have a claim on the goods of this world."
"I do not understand you," said I, "I was speaking of the living."
"Then," said Daud, "you know not that that Ingleezee is dead?"
"Dead!" I replied in astonishment, "why should you think that he has died?"
"Because," answered the Bedouin, "I myself saw him lying dead in the hospital at Hillah. I happened to have been in the town in disguise, when my nephew, who sweeps out the hospital for the base-born Turks, informed me of the death of a strange Ingleezee who had come from the desert. He took me to see the dead man, and I saw that it was none other than that same man who had brought ruin to my people. I had sworn to kill him, but of that I have told you. No knife of mine was needed to avenge the death of my many relations. It had pleased Allah to strike him."
It seemed to me a dreadful thing that Kellner, of whom, as my cabin-companion, I had the most pleasant recollections, should have thus come to an untimely end, regarded probably by those about him in his last moments as an outcast, if not also as a felon. But his death had changed the whole situation; and though I did not immediately take it all in, my more astute friends saw at once how matters lay.
"There is only one thing to be done," said Faris, breaking the silence, "and I am sure that my guest here will agree with me. Come, Daud, do you understand my meaning?"
"That, sheik, I cannot say," replied Daud, "but I have my own idea of the only plan by which we can succeed. It is that we immediately seek the Jews, and discover from them truly what they have done with the Girdle."
"And after that?" said Faris.
"With spear and sword and with horse," answered Daud, his eyes flashing fiercely, "pursuing to the limits of the earth, and sparing no one, until we have accomplished our end."
"In this matter," said Faris, "we are one. If you agree, let us swear to be loyal to one another so long as we are fighting for the serpent belt, and until our friend the Beg proclaims that he has no further need of our services."
"I agree," said Daud rising, and holding his right hand aloft "By Allah, I swear it!"
"By Allah, I swear it!" repeated Faris.
Great plans were discussed by the two warriors, who apparently intended to be stopped by nothing; and though I counselled moderation and as little bloodshed as possible, I knew that it would be useless to argue with two men of this description when their blood was up. I therefore contented myself with listening to their projects, hoping that before anything desperate occurred I should have an opportunity of interfering and of preventing unnecessary slaughter.
The plan finally decided on, and forthwith set on foot, was, in its initial stage, simple enough. Daud went alone to Kerbela, where, as a mendicant pilgrim from the far interior, he was to display much religious zeal, discover all he could about Mersina and the two other Jews, and remain in the place until he had found out what had become of the precious Girdle.
A week passed without any news, and my patience began to be sorely tried. My hosts did all in their power to make the time pass pleasantly. Among other things, Faris told me the story of Shahzadi's shoe, and how Raspul the seer had prophesied: "War and constant fighting there will be, until the coming of the eight-nailed shoe. Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod."
At length Daud returned from his reconnaissance. I saw at once that he was a changed man, haggard, and his eyes as if on the look-out for danger. He told us how he had heard of the Girdle from Shustri, a Hindu astrologer of Kerbela. Shustri related that the Baghdad Jew, Mersina, had stolen the Girdle from Kellner and sold it for a large sum to an important sheik bound for Deyr, a long distance up the Euphrates.
Daud confessed to us that he had no very high opinion of the Hindu astrologer. He thought that he was quite capable of lying, if it suited his purpose; and that it was by no means impossible that he was mixed up in the theft of the Golden Girdle. If the latter were the case, the tale of Mersina's flight and subsequent disposal of the stolen property was, of course, an invention, to get Daud well out of the way; and it might be that the astrologer knew that the Girdle was safely deposited somewhere in Kerbela. The Shammar, however, came to the conclusion that, whatever was going on, his line of action was quite clear. He would ride after the sheik who was said to have bought the Girdle, and find out what truth there was in the story. If it proved to be a lie, he would return and tax the astrologer with the telling of it. So, getting his horse at the village, and taking one of the Aeniza with him, he went off in the direction which the sheik's kafila had taken. From information picked up at the khans and villages on his route, he found that it was quite true that the caravan had passed that way a few days previously, but he failed to ascertain anything reliable about Mersina's presence with it.
Each day, trying his horse's powers of endurance to the utmost, he rode immense distances, and after a while heard that he was rapidly gaining on the sheik's party. Another long day's ride, and he probably would attain the object of his journey. Starting early to make his final effort, at mid-day he reached a small village, where, he was told, the great caravan had halted three nights before. The Arab with whom he conversed had a strange tale to tell him, and one which, if Daud had not known the reputation possessed by the Golden Girdle, would have seemed incredible. In the middle of the night, said the villager, the whole camp and the village close by were aroused by piercing shrieks from the women's tents, and soon it became known that the sheik's favourite wife had suddenly started up in her sleep, had rushed in a state of frenzy from the tent, and was flying screaming into the desert. The sheik himself and several horsemen immediately went in pursuit and in the course of the night brought back the unfortunate lady, who had apparently lost her reason. More than that the Arab did not know, for the kafila continued its journey in the morning, and the sheik, at its head, rode by the side of the camel which carried thehaudaj, or sedan saddle, bearing his wife.
Later in the evening Daud passed another village, and heard further strange stories of the sheik and his wife; how the latter was raving mad, and was under the impression that snakes were devouring her body; how the sheik had attempted in vain to appease her, and how the mulla had declared her to be possessed of a devil. These tales set Daud thinking, and calling to mind the madness that had seized Kellner when he rode away with the Golden Girdle, and the other curious things which he had heard about its mysterious powers, he felt certain that the sheik had given his wife the precious girdle purchased from Mersina. Rapidly forming his plan, he pressed forward, and before nightfall he found himself approaching the encampment of the sheik. He rode straight up to the sheik's tent, and demanded an immediate interview. This was granted; and Daud, assuming an air of importance, proclaimed that he had been despatched by Shustri, the astrologer of Kerbela, to overtake the sheik, and warn him of the evil that the Golden Girdle was capable of producing. He told him what misfortunes had befallen people who had worn the belt, on which there was undoubtedly a curse, and he pointed out that it was Shustri's opinion that Mersina had committed murder and had stolen the Girdle—acts which in all probability would intensify the curse, causing greater misfortunes than ever to fall on its wearer.
The sheik, on hearing this, became as one demented, and acknowledged that he had paid a large sum to Mersina for the Girdle, because his wife had desired to possess it; and that no sooner had she unwrapped it and fastened it round her waist, than she was suddenly taken ill. No one could say what was the cause of her illness, but now it seemed evident, from what Daud had related, that it must have been brought about by the ill-fated Girdle. The sheik, excusing himself, hurried off to his wife's tent, and presently returned with the Golden Girdle itself, which he cast on the floor at Daud's feet. For a moment Daud imagined that the belt lying before him was his to take away, if he had a mind to do so. He stretched out his hand towards it; but the sheik motioned to him to stop, saying that he had conferred with his mulla, with the result that they had determined that this thing of evil should no longer be permitted to harry the inhabitants of the world. The mulla was now consulting the Koran, and would in due course come and make known in what way it would be possible to drive out the evil spirit.
For some time Daud sat watching the entwined mass of serpents in front of him, longing to snatch up the coveted belt and fly with it. Yet, brave man as he was, he dared not to make the attempt, and shortly before midnight the mulla came in, to declare what the Koran decreed. Carried on the point of a spear, the evil-working Girdle was to be borne with due ceremony to the Euphrates; plunged three times in its waters; then carried, still aloft on the spear, across the river for a day's ride to the east. Here would be found the dreaded Devil's Well, known to all to be haunted by afreets and evil spirits, and the dwelling-place of countless snakes. Down into the depths of this dry well the accursed Girdle should be cast from the spear-point, and there it would find a resting-place in fitting company, the snakes crawling over their golden brethren, and the afreets and jins playing with them for all time. No man would be found courageous enough to descend into the pit and battle with its inmates. Thus would the world be freed from this great curse.
The sheik agreed that the fate which the mulla had interpreted from the Koran for the Girdle was well devised, and regretting that the Jew from whom he had purchased it had left the kafila and had thus escaped being consigned to the well with his stolen wares, he ordered a three days' halt to be proclaimed, while he and a party of chosen men proceeded to convey the Girdle to the Devil's Well. At break of day the party left the encampment, one man riding ahead with the gold belt transfixed to his spear. The sheik and his mulla followed, and behind rode an escort of some twenty horsemen. Daud volunteered to accompany the sheik, explaining that doing so would only entail a slight delay in his return to Kerbela, but the sheik requested that he would go straight back to the town and thank the astrologer Shustri for having sent him with such valuable information. Moreover, he presented Daud with a handsome inlaid knife, as a reward for his services. So the Shammar and his Aeniza companion took leave of the sheik, and rode away to the south, at the same time as the others moved eastwards towards the Euphrates.
Daud, crestfallen at what he considered to be his failure, travelled slowly, and, before noon, had covered little ground. He was disgusted with himself at having let slip the opportunity of carrying off the Golden Girdle when it lay at his feet. He argued with himself that it would have been quite feasible to have snatched it up, and, while everyone was in a state of bewilderment, made good his escape into the desert. Now, although he had actually seen it, and had had ample leisure to study the form of each serpent composing it, he had lost it for ever. He doubted not that what the sheik and his mulla had said was true; that the last resting-place of the golden snakes would be impenetrable to man, and that, therefore, there was no chance now that it would ever come into my possession. He had never seen the place, neither had his Aeniza companion, and it was at the latter's suggestion that he decided, a few hours later, that he would endeavour to find it, and satisfy himself, before returning to Faris, that all hope had gone.
Towards dusk the two travellers reached a small village, close to the Euphrates, where they intended to spend the night, and try to discover something about the haunted well. Their host knew of it by repute, but said that no one would willingly pass within half a day's journey of it, so evil was the locality supposed to be. From the village it was distant rather more than a long day's ride, and when Daud expressed a desire to see for himself what manner of place it was, the Arab reluctantly agreed that, for a certain sum, he would, on the morrow, show his guests the way thither, but would not journey with them beyond mid-day. Early next morning they set out, crossing the Euphrates on inflated skins, with their horses swimming behind them, and then, striking north-east across the plain, rode rapidly for several hours. At noon their guide said that he must return, but explained to them the direction in which they should proceed, mentioning certain distant landmarks which would assist them to find the way, and warning them that no man had ever been known to spend the night near the well and return alive.
Hour after hour the two determined men rode on, picking up the landmarks one by one, and feeling certain of their direction. But the sun was fast sinking, and there were still several landmarks unpassed. Then darkness coming on, they were forced to abandon further progress until daylight should again open up the country to them. Accustomed to sleep anywhere, a night in the desert was no hardship to them, and, much refreshed, they eagerly pushed on at daybreak. The last part of their ride, they were told, would be in the bed of a wadi; then over a ridge; and then the Devil's Well.
In an hour or so they reached the wadi, and knew that they were nearing their destination. It was now necessary to make certain that the sheik's party had cleared off; so, casting widely round to the westward, they searched for the marks of the horses, and soon found what they sought. These footprints, they presumed, marked the route taken by the party on going to and returning from the well, so they followed what had become a beaten track, to find themselves, almost at once, on the brink of the dreaded well. It was apparent that the place must at one time have been close to a caravan route, though many years must have elapsed since it contained water. In structure not altogether unlike the wells of the Lady Zobeidé which Daud had often visited when roaming to the south of Meshed Ali, it was deeply excavated, and on three sides lined with massive blocks of stone. The fourth side was more open, and seemed to have had a succession of steps leading gently down to the water's edge. Now, however, the greater part of the masonry had crumbled away; and the steps no longer existed, except that here and there their remains could be occasionally seen. Bushes grew densely in every cleft and on each ledge; so that the precipitous sides of the chasm appeared to be clothed with stunted shrubs.
Daud waxed warm as he described the place, and said that from one point it was possible to look sheer down to the bottom, perhaps a hundred feet; and from that spot, he and his friend, lying at full length, had peered into the depths. There they saw a space of some extent, the centre of which was bare and smooth, as if water at times lay there; while all around were strewn heaps of stones, which had rolled down from the walls, with bushes growing between them. The morning sun, shining through the open end, lighted up the whole well, and as Daud gazed down, he could see clearly all that he desired to see. On the bare ground at the bottom was the Golden Girdle, lying unclasped, in a heap, as it had evidently fallen from the spear on which it had been carried; and the mulla's prophecy was even already being fulfilled, for several great snakes were seen coiling and uncoiling themselves close by. For a long while the two men, fascinated by the weird scene below them, continued to look down; then they arose and walked round the edge of the well, surveying it from every point. That no man would ever recover the Girdle they felt satisfied, and cursing the spot and everything connected with it, they decided to leave it as quickly as possible, and return to bring the news to Faris and myself.
Riding throughout the remainder of that day and the night that followed, next morning they reached the Euphrates, some miles below the village whence they had started for the well. The river was in flood, and with difficulty they swam their horses across; but at length, only the open desert separated them from our encampment. Forgetting the distance that still remained to be traversed, they had neglected to carry sufficient food and water for the journey, and on the third day they found that they had little of either left. They were now aware that, unless they rode unceasingly and swiftly, they must perish of hunger and thirst, but fortunately they were well mounted, and thus escaped the death that had threatened them.
With what excitement we listened to Daud's account of his wanderings can be imagined. We praised him for his pluck, and thanked him for all that he had gone through; but that all our hopes should be thus blighted depressed us deeply. Faris and I talked the matter over for hours in private, and we agreed that until we ourselves had looked into the depths of the well of ill-repute, and had seen that it was impossible to recover the Girdle, we would not rest content. One thing was certain; Daud must guide us to the spot. But he could not undertake such a ride for some days, although, when we spoke to him about it, he was eager to set out at once. Yet we knew that if he broke down, our attempt would prove a failure, and we decided that he should have a week's rest before we put our plans into execution.
As Daud's strength returned his enthusiasm increased. He suggested that we should lower a man into the well at the end of a strong rope, and with a spear-point bent in the form of a hook it would be easy to secure the Girdle without actually touching the bottom and risking the peril of snakes.
In making our preparations the week passed quickly enough, and the world seemed brighter again. We even went so far as to arrange about the future. As soon as the Girdle was ours, we would ride straight to Baghdad, my friends remaining in hiding near Akarkouf, while I rode on in triumph to the city, and afterwards returned with the reward which I had promised to Daud. As to Shahzadi's shoe, I swore to Faris, as his blood-brother, that he should have it as soon as I could obtain it from England.
"Then," said the sheik, smiling, "will all the Aeniza remember the words of Raspul, 'Wealth untold cometh to the man whose mare shall carry the iron with which Shahzadi was shod.'"
"And, brother," said I, "if it please Allah, that man shall be none other than Faris-ibn-Feyzul."