CHAPTER IX
SITTA NEFYSSEH.
She was reposing in her garden-kiosk. She had ordered her female slaves to place themselves in the rear of some rose-bushes in the background, and make sweet harmony with their cymbals and clarinets. She wished to be left alone with her thoughts. She lay reclining at full length on her silver-embroidered silken cushions. The white silk dress, inworked with crimson roses, enfolded her closely, displaying the contour of her graceful form. The sunlight pierced the airy latticework of the kiosk, around which clustered roses and orange-blossoms, and shed a soft light over her charming countenance. The veil, which Sitta Nefysseh only wears when she goes into the streets or meets strangers in her house, is laid aside.
Beautiful is Sitta Nefysseh, more beautiful than a young girl, than the unblown rose, radiant with loveliness and dignity. "Queen of the Roses," thus is she called by all Cairo.
Who does not know her—who has not heard of her, of the Rose of Cairo, of the wife of the great Mourad Bey, the Mameluke chieftain? Even the Franks bowed humbly before her grace and dignity, and the scha-er sings and relates, on the street-corners, of the French general, Kleber, who loved Mourad's beautiful wife, and who often, in the stillness of the evening, haunted the vicinity of his palace, awaiting, perhaps, an opportunity to invade the harem in which the Rose of Cairo dwelt. And in his songs he also intimates that the dagger-stroke which lay the general low near the palace, was dealt at the instigation of the jealous bey.
Who does not know Sitta Nefysseh, the benefactress of the poor, the proud heroine who fought at her husband's side, who shared with Mourad the dangers of war, a heroine in battle, a gentle, modest woman in the harem?
All is still about her. The waters of the fountains near the kiosk murmur gently as they fall in the basins beneath, as if to lull the beautiful woman to rest with their music, and now the soft music from behind the rose-bushes is also wafted over, to the kiosk.
The slaves accompany the instruments with their voices.
What are they singing? What song is this that exults and is yet filled with sadness? whose strains are so passionate, so lamenting, so longing?
Sitta Nefysseh well knows what they are; although the words are inaudible, yet she knows them, knows the sad love-song "of her whom he loved, of him who slew her." The song is a familiar one. But why does it excite such emotion in her heart, why do her large black eyes fill with tears? She would permit no one to see these tears, she would quickly brush them from her sparkling eyes with her hand, white as the lily, if the eye of any human being could now behold her.
But no one sees her—Sitta Nefysseh is alone.
At least she thinks so. The pair of black eyes that peer out from behind the shrubbery and flowers near the garden-wall, she does not see, and yet these eyes are fixed with such anguish and longing, with such passionate ardor, on the lovely woman who lies there dreamily on her cushions.
Of what is she dreaming? The slaves are singing of love and bliss; the waters murmuring of love and bliss, and, in the heart of the beautiful Sitta Nefysseh, there are also singing, sighing, and murmuring of love and bliss!
People say that Sitta Nefysseh is proud and has a cold heart. Love has never dared to approach her since the death of her husband, Mourad Bey. She is kindly in her manner toward all, yet no one dares suppose she views him with more favor than others. She keeps all men at a distance; they all love her and bow down in reverence and adoration before her, but Sitta Nefysseh remains proud and cold; she loves no one!
This the people say, and, if she heard it, she would nod her beautiful head, would smile and say: "They are right, I love no one. Mourad Bey, my husband and my hero, him I loved! Since he is dead, I am alone and love no one!"
The black eyes are still peering out through the shrubbery and flowers, fixed on her with passionate ardor. She does not see them; but now, as she raises her head as if to rise from her cushions, these eyes quickly disappear, and a tall, manly figure, stooping forward behind the trees and shrubbery, glides noiselessly along to the gate that leads into the inner court-yard. But, before he steps out, young Youssouf stands still, draws a long breath, and seems to summon all his resolution to his aid to resist the charm that carries him away.
"If she knew that I watched her, she would drive me from her, and then Youssouf would die. Alas! she may not dream that I love her, she is proud and unapproachable, and what am I to her? The poor kachef of her deceased husband! She tolerates me as she tolerates the dog that is accustomed to lie on the threshold of her door. Alas, I should die if she knew of Youssouf's love for her!"
Kachef Youssouf is handsome, and, were it not the noble Sitta Nefysseh, exception would be taken to a woman's having so handsome a kachef in her service. But Sitta Nefysseh is unapproachable, virtue attends her in all her ways, modesty and dignity are everywhere her companions. No one dares approach her chaste reputation with even a breath of reproach.
Youssouf steps into the inner court-yard; he lays his hand on his brown beard and strokes its curly locks.
"Be a man," murmur his lips. "Be resolute. Alas! I could endure not being the one if no other dared approach her. But here comes one of them already. He can approach her and speak of love. Woe is me!"
With profound deference, and forcing his features into a smile, Youssouf approached Osman Bey Bardissi, who at this moment came into the court, mounted on his proud, splendidly-equipped steed, and followed by a body of his Mamelukes.
"Is your mistress at home?" asked Bardissi, springing lightly to the ground, and throwing the purple-silk reins to the Mameluke who hurried forward.
"Yes, Sitta Nefysseh is in the park. She is resting in the kiosk, and I will announce to the female slaves that Osman Bey Bardissi wishes to see their mistress."
"Do so, Kachef Youssouf," said Bardissi. "But first listen to me.
How would you like to be taken into my service, kachef? you are too
good for this life of inactivity? If you desire it, I will ask Sitta
Nefysseh to give you your freedom?"
"Give me my freedom? I am free!" said Youssouf, regarding Bardissi with proud composure. "I was a Mameluke with Mourad, as you know. My noble master had purchased me; he loved me, and often told me I should remain with him while I lived. He made me kachef, first kachef of his house. I swore eternal fidelity to him and to his house, and I will keep my oath."
"I do not doubt it," replied Bardissi, in kindly tones; "I only mean, Youssouf, that you are too young not to wish to wield the sword and join us in the conflict that is soon to be renewed. Poor Youssouf, you will then be shut out from our ranks, for Sitta Nefysseh no longer sends her Mamelukes with us to battle; she now uses them for her service only, and I am certain she would be well pleased if her kachef Youssouf, as it becomes him, draws his sword to win laurels in the field. You can make something great of yourself. Look at me, Youssouf: I was what you are; like you a Mameluke, also like you a kachef, and could let my beard grow, and now I am a Mameluke bey, and three thousand servants follow me to battle. You might accomplish as much, Youssouf."
"I am satisfied with what I am, and ask for nothing more," replied the kachef. "I swore to Mourad Bey to serve him and his house my life long, and I will keep my oath: I therefore entreat you to say nothing to Sitta Nefysseh. She might be displeased."
"I will not," replied Bardissi; "remain true to your word. And now go and inquire whether your mistress can see me."
Youssouf hastened to where the slaves were still singing their melancholy song, and sent one of them down into the park to inform her that the Mameluke bey, Osman Bardissi, had come, and desired to see her.
The slave advanced timidly to the entrance of the kiosk, and announced the visitor to Sitta Nefysseh, who, awakening from a dream she had dreamed with open eyes, gently inclined her head.
"He is welcome. Conduct him to me.—Come nearer, ye slaves, and seat yourselves behind that clump of rose-bushes. You can sing and play while I am receiving my visitor, for Osman Bey loves music. Do me honor, my slaves, and sing the love-songs of Djumeil and his Lubna."
Bardissi cannot see these musicians as he advances toward the kiosk, conducted by the slave; he only hears and rejoices in their song.
Sitta Nefysseh has risen from her cushions, but she has not covered her face with the veil which, fastened to her hair with golden clasps, falls back over her shoulders. The widow, and above all the widow of the bey, is allowed to remain unveiled in the presence of a friend. The great prophet never commanded that the wives of Moslems should appear veiled in their own houses; the jealousy of their husbands had gradually imposed this burden upon them. Conscious of her own worth and dignity, Sitta Nefysseh feels herself free to disregard such requirement. She turns her lovely countenance with a gentle smile toward the advancing bey, and Bardissi feels the glance of her large eyes, though he does not see them. He feels it, and moves not, a slight tremor possessing itself of his entire being.
What! Bardissi trembles!—the hero, who amid the din of battle joyously confronts the death-dealing cannon, who never trembles, though face to face with a whole forest of spears—Bardissi trembles and turns pale!
Sitta Nefysseh sees it, and her smile brightens. "Why do you hesitate to approach, Osman? and what have you to say to me, friend of my husband, Mourad Bey?"
She wishes to remind him that he had been Mourad's friend. He well understands her meaning, and, stepping quickly forward, falls on his knee before her, and reverently kisses the hem of her dress.
"I paused, O Sitta, Rose of Cairo—I paused because I heard the song of the slaves—they are singing my favorite song."
"The song is known to you?" said Sitta Nefysseh.
"It is. Do you know, Sitta, when I first heard this song?"
"I do not," replied she, shaking her head gently.
"May I tell you?"
"Do so; seat yourself on the marble stool standing at the entrance of the kiosk, and tell me."
She falls back upon her cushion with the easy grace of a swan. But Bardissi does not take the seat so graciously assigned him. He steps forward and remains standing in front of Sitta Nefysseh, gazing down upon her with reverence and delight, as though his glances were a consecrated gold-inworked veil in which he wishes to envelop her lovely form, and draw her to his heart.
"Well, Osman Bey, when did you first hear this song?"
He remains silent for a moment; the bees are humming in the air, the fountains flashing, and from the distance the words of the song the slaves are singing are wafted over by the gentle breeze:
"Thee alone on earth have I loved. My longing heart is drawn to thee. And, though this earth were heaven, and it contained my Lubna not, I'd wander rather through the gates of hell if I but knew my Lubna there!"
"If I but knew my Lubna there!" repeated Osman Bey, in low, tremulous tones.—"You wish to know when I first heard this song? I will tell you. It was on the evening of a bloody day of battle; I had ridden at the side of our great chieftain, Mourad Bey. He called me his friend, his—"
"His favorite," said Sitta Nefysseh, interrupting him. "He said he loved you like a brother, and would confide to you without fear or hesitation all he loved best—his wife, his child—knowing that they would be guarded and held sacred as though they were in the holiest niche of the mosque. Yes, my noble husband loved you. And now, speak on. You had gone out to battle."
"Yes, it was a bloody day. The angel of death hovered over us, and the swords of the enemy swept heavily upon our ranks. A sabre-stroke dealt by Bashi Seref fell upon the sword-arm of my noble friend, striking him down and disabling him. The Turk was preparing to deal a second blow, when I struck him to the earth with my ataghan. I then bore my friend from the conflict to his tent, and there you were, Sitta Nefysseh. You received the hero from my arms, and for the first time I saw your unveiled countenance. I then returned to the battle, and took Mourad's place at the head of his Mamelukes. Whether it was anger over the wounding of my friend, or the bliss caused by the lovely image I had beheld, I know not, but my arm was strong and mighty, and love and heroism exulted in my heart. I called out to the Mamelukes, `We must and will die or conquer!' But, being still too young to die, and loving life too well, we conquered. The enemy was driven from the field, and ours was the victory. We encamped on the field after the bloody conflict; and then, having won the victory, I felt privileged, when evening came, to repair to Mourad's tent to report our success.
"No one was there to announce me; I drew back the curtain and entered the first room. No one was there, and the curtain of the inner apartment of the tent was half drawn aside. I went no farther, knowing that the wounded Mourad lay there on his cushions, and that Sitta Nefysseh was with him. I knew this because I heard her singing; she sang her beloved to sleep as a mother lulls her babe to rest, or as the houris sing in paradise, when they in wondrous melody announce the joys of heaven to dying mortals.
"I remained standing in the tent and listened to your song, Sitta Nefysseh. You sang to your husband of love and happiness—sang in sweet words what Djumeil says to his Lubna: `Nature breathes love. The bird in the air sings of love; the spring which bubbles at your feet murmurs of love; the rose that blossoms in the garden sheds love's fragrance—all is love and bliss. Woe to them who know nothing more of love, woe to them who bear a cold heart in their bosom.' This you sang, Sitta Nefysseh, and I stood listening, entranced. What I then felt was so all-absorbing, so divinely beautiful, that I was unwilling to have the harmony of that sweet moment broken in upon by the voice of man. I silently withdrew; your song informed me that Mourad slept and was in heavenly bliss. I noiselessly left the tent, and stepped out into the night. The moon shed its soft light around, enveloping the white tents scattered over the plain and the terrors of the day in a heavenly, silver veil.
"I did not return to my tent that night, however. Where was I? If you should ask, Sitta Nefysseh, I could not tell you. But this much I can tell you, I was in paradise! I thought of this when I just now heard your slaves sing the song I then heard for the first time, and that has resounded in my heart ever since. I covered it with thick veils, and laid my hand on it to silence it: and I found it possible to do so while my noble friend Mourad still lived. I forced my heart to bury in its depths its wishes and longings. I have been silent, Sitta Nefysseh, not only while Mourad lived, but I have also honored the period allotted to a widow's mourning. But this is now passed; pain has vanisbed from your heart, I trust. Your heavenly countenance is again radiant with youthful loveliness, and no longer shows the traces of sorrow."
"It is true, Osman Bey," said Nefysseh, with a low sigh; "time heals all wounds, and sorrow no longer darkens my soul; yet know that Mourad Bey still lives in my heart, and it is because he still lives for me that I am able to bear this life and this separation."
"I well know, O Sitta, your fidelity, your noble sentiments," replied Bardissi; "it is this knowledge that makes me adore and reverence you; and were it not strange if I, too, could ever forget the man who loved you so passionately, and whose memory you still love? But such love, Sitta, excites no jealousy, and even he who loves passionately respects such love. Listen to me, Sitta Nefysseh; hear why I have come to you; I can endure it no longer; the seal must at last fall from his lips, and Bardissi must give utterance to what he feels, to that which glows in his heart, and can no longer be repressed. Yes, Sitta Nefysseh, you must at last hear that I am dying for love, and that if you refuse to hear me, I must—"
"Silence!" exclaimed Nefysseh, interrupting him, with queenly composure, as she rose from her seat—"silence, Osman Bey! do you not know that my husband Mourad lived here in this garden, in this place? How could his wife, Sitta Nefysseh, have received you unveiled if her husband had not stood by her side? Do you not see him, Osman Bey? Do you not see his eyes fixed on you with an angry expression, and do not his lips ask his friend how he can betray friendship? What was your promise to Mourad? To honor and guard his wife while you lived."
"And I will, Sitta Nefysseh. I do guard and honor her, but I also love her as ardently as ever man loved woman!" exclaimed Bardissi, in passionate tones. "Does not man honor woman most when he loves her best? How can I better prove my adoration and reverence than by laying my life at your feet, and saying, in tones of humble entreaty, `Sitta Nefysseh, be my wife, follow me to my house, and be mistress of myself and of all that I am?"
"Do not say this, Osman Bey, I entreat you, do not speak thus to me!" cried Sitta Nefysseh in a loud voice. "It would give pain to me to have to answer you, and it will be better not to have heard your words. I call you friend, and I wish you to remain my friend all your life long. Yet, hear me; my heart is open to no other love, and my hands must remain unfettered. Mourad's widow remains true to herself, and to him who dwells in her heart, and is ever at her side. Let us forget, Osman, what you, carried away by your friendship, have said. You thought Mourad's wife felt herself alone in the world, and, out of friendship for your deceased friend, you desired to offer her the support of your heroic hand. If ever I should need assistance, and a friend, rest assured, Osman, I shall call on you. But now, step back, one of my slaves is approaching with a message. Turn your countenance away, Osman, it looks so gloomy and passionate; I would not have her notice your love."
He turns aside, and seems to be listening to the distant singing and playing of the slaves; he, however, hears the slave, who now enters the kiosk, announce that L'Elfi Bey desires to see her mistress. He hears it, and shudders. L'Elfi Bey, his friend and companion-in- arms; what brings him here to Mourad's widow?
Sitta Nefysseh sends word that the bey is welcome, and the slave departs on her errand.
"L'Elfi Bey is permitted to come to you!"
"And why not?" asked she proudly. "Was not Osman Bey permitted to visit me, and was not L'Elfi also my husband's friend?"
"It is true; forgive my thoughtlessness," replied Osman in low and almost angry tones. "Permit me to take my leave, Sitta Nefysseh. I do not wish to disturb your interview with the great L'Elfi Bey."
"On the contrary, you will please remain," replied she, quietly, gracefully drawing her fragrant veil over her head, and covering her face.
Bardissi's heroic countenance became radiant with delight. She had received him unveiled, and now that L'Elfi comes she veils herself. Allah be praised, that is a favorable omen; a ray of light penetrating the gloom that enveloped his soul; he has seen her unveiled, and —
"L'Elfi Bey comes," said Sitta Nefysseh, rising to welcome her new visitor.
CHAPTER X
L'ELFI BEY.
Haughtily erect, the bey advanced, followed by four Mamelukes in rich, gold-embroidered garments, who bore a casket covered with a purple cloth, whose golden fringe hung down to the ground.
As L'Elfi came near, his countenance assumed a deferential appearance, and, his arms crossed on his breast, he stepped forward and bowed profoundly before Sitta Nefysseh.
"Queen of my heart, sun of my eyes! Allow me to do homage, and to lay my present at your feet as a token of my devotion!"
He beckoned to the Mamelukes to come forward and lay the casket down before her.
"I rejoice that you have come, L'Elfi," said Nefysseh, quietly. "I rejoice, because it proves that your wounds are now healed, as are those of Osman Bey. Yet, I see no necessity for such outward proofs of your friendship."
"O Sitta Nefysseh!" cried L'Elfi. "One brings his offerings to the good spirits, and, if I were a heathen, I would say, 'I lay on the altar of my goddess the tokens of my adoration, of my love!'"
"You are, however, no heathen, but a Moslem; and what becomes a heathen does not become the brave Mameluke L'Elfi Bey!"
"What I am elsewhere is forgotten," cried L'Elfi; "here I am nothing but your slave, nothing but a man who would gladly pluck the stars from heaven to lay them at your feet! Therefore allow me to do homage to my queen as my heart prompts!"
He drew the cloth from the casket, and golden dishes, goblets, and vases, glittered in the sunshine; and these vessels contained jewelry of varied design, set with precious stones that would have delighted the eyes of many.
Sitta Nefysseh regarded all this magnificence with an air of indifference.
"Accept the offering my adoration lays at your feet!" entreated L'Elfi. "You know I was with the British general in England, and, while there, I thought of you, and, before the ship left London, it was for days my sole occupation and endeavor to select beautiful things for you from among the articles displayed in the magnificent stores. I could not bring them with me, but they were sent after me, and have this day arrived. Pray accept them at the hands of your slave!"
"It seems to me that no one is privileged to offer Mourad Bey's widow presents of such value," said she, almost severely. "Yet," she continued in milder tones, "I will not humiliate him who was my husband's friend and companion. I will accept your gifts; they shall be placed in the saloon, and all the world shall see how L'Elfi Bey seeks to honor the widow of his former chieftain and friend. Thus will I accept your gifts, and give you thanks for them!—Come, Osman Bardissi!" she continued in louder tones, beckoning to the bey, who stood without in the shade of an oleander-tree—"come and see the magnificent presents which L'Elfi Bey has brought me from England!"
L'Elfi's countenance darkened, and he recoiled a step almost in anger. "What! Osman Bey is here?"
"And why not? He has recovered from the wounds received at Aboukir. Does it not become him to pay his respects to me? He has this privilege in common with yourself."
"True, my queen; pray forgive me for daring to find fault with your pleasure.—I greet you, Osman Bey Bardissi. I am glad to see you here! And now, I pray you, let me also see the gifts which you have brought the Rose of Cairo in token of your reverence and devotion. What becomes you, becomes me also; and, as Sitta Nefysseh has allowed you to see what I have brought, she will not refuse to permit me to see the offering of your devotion."
"You shall see it, L'Elfi Bey," said Osman, in a somewhat derisive tone. He stepped to the lattice-work of the kiosk, and, plucking the most beautiful crimson rose he could see, knelt down before Sitta Nefysseh and laid it at her feet. "This, Sitta, is my gift. I lay at your feet, the most beautiful of your sisters, your image!"
She smiled. "I thank you, Osman Bey, and gladly accept your offering, for Allah has created it."
He handed her the rose. She took it, held it to her face, and inhaled its fragrance. She then gracefully fell back on her cushion.
"Arise, Bardissi!" said she. "I have accepted the gifts of both of you; and, now that you are both the same in sentiment, but one thing is wanting."
"And what is this one thing still wanting?"
"Grasp each other's hands," said she, smiling. "I know that you have long been at enmity with each other; discord prevails in the land of my great beys. Let hatred now be set aside. You are both mighty and renowned, but your power will be much greater if you join hands. Let your followers see that you stand united against the common enemy. Oh, how can the fatherland be saved when its defenders are at enmity with each other! The enemy has grown stronger. You know that new troops have arrived here from Turkey, and a man is at their head, of whom I will announce to you that he is dangerous. Therefore grasp hands, and let me see that you are friends!"
"Then let it be so," said Bardissi, after a pause. "See, Sitta Nefysseh, how great your power over me.—Here, L'Elfi, my hand! Let us unitedly face the enemy!"
L'Elfi slowly and hesitatingly laid his band in that of Osman Bey. "I accept your hand, Osman, in token of our resolve to confront the enemy together. But, before I declare myself your friend, I must first know whether you are my rival or not."
Osman Bey quickly withdrew his hand. "A rival, L'Elfi! and with whom do you suppose me to be your rival?"
"With you, O Sitta Nefysseh!" said L'Elfi, falling on his knee before her, "With you, whom I adore as one adores the sun and the stars. For your love, I can tolerate no rival!—And now I beg you to withdraw, Osman Bey; I have that to say to Sitta Nefysseh which no other should hear."
Osman regarded him fiercely. "I should like to know if L'Elfi is privileged to advise or command Osman Bey Bardissi here, where it devolves upon Sitta Nefysseh alone to determine who shall go, and who remain."
"Then decide, O Sitta!" said L'Elfi.
"You shall both go; neither shall remain," replied she, sadly. "I see that you are still enemies. Oh, I tell you, you will reap a bitter harvest from this bitter seed. The struggle, in which you should present to the enemy a united front, already begins, and you are still at enmity. Therefore, I say to you, leave me, and return no more; while hatred exists between you, you shall never more come into my presence!"
"Forgiveness, forgiveness! Our hatred shall be forgotten!" exclaimed both, falling upon their knees before her.
"My only entreaty is this," cried L'Elfi. "Allow me a brief quarter of an hour. Was not Osman Bey honored with an audience alone, and would it not become you to show me the same favor?"
"He was the first who came," replied she, quickly, "and, therefore, was I alone with him. Had you accompanied him, you would have heard what he had to say, just as he shall hear what you have to say."
"Then let it be so; he shall hear!" exclaimed L'Elfi, springing to his feet. He first turned haughtily to Osman Bey, and then bowed profoundly before Sitta Nefysseh. "Let the whole world hear what L'Elfi has to say to the widow of his friend. He comes here to lay all he possesses at your feet. He desires to consecrate to you his life and heart's blood, and entreats the loveliest and noblest of women to hear his prayers. L'Elfi is free! No wife has ever stood at his side; he has no harem, as many others have. He has never, like others, reclined on soft cushions gazing at the dancing of the voluptuous almehs—has loved naught but his sword and ataghan; but his heart is now inclined in love and humility toward you, the only woman it owns as its mistress; and I now entreat you, O Sitta Nefysseh, queen of my heart, become also queen of my house and harem."
"As he entreats, so do I entreat also!" cried Osman Bey, in angry tones, thrusting L'Elfi aside, and falling on his knee before her. "Be mine, Nefysseh! True, I have loved others, and have also looked with pleasure at the dancing of the female slaves in the harem, yet I have hitherto adored no woman. Military glory, my adoration heretofore, grows pale when Sitta Nefysseh appears, and all else that I have loved and hoped for is as nothing in her presence. For your sake, I will sacrifice not only life, but renown. Command, and I will be your slave; at your feet will I lay my sword and dagger. With my head bowed down, and my beard shorn, will I follow you into the desert, blessing each day and hour in which I am permitted to look upon my queen. Now, O Sitta Nefysseh, you know what Osman Bey Bardissi feels, and that he can boast of a greater love than L'Elfi; he even offers to sacrifice renown for you! Decide whom you will bless, Nefysseh! One thing more I will say to you: if you select the hand of my rival, and command me to love him, I cannot promise to do so! Yet this I swear, that I will be contented with your choice, and that I will never seek to take or shorten his life. Consider, Nefysseh, that this is the most enormous sacrifice that Osman can make for the woman he loves; he promises not to kill him upon whom she bestows her hand."
"And you, L'Elfi," said Nefysseh, in a soft voice, "will you swear the same?"
"I will," cried L'Elfi. "I swear that I will do as Osman Bey has said—I will still detest my enemy, but I will not kill him whom you love. Now speak, Sitta Nefysseh, and decide between us!"
For a moment all were silent. The two beys awaited her decision with wildly-throbbing hearts. She was still silent, her large eyes turned toward heaven with a wondrous expression.
At this moment the song of the slaves, accompanied by the music of the clarinet and violin, again resounded from the midst of the oleander and rose-bushes. The voice of a slave arose, singing of a slave who loves his mistress, and dies because of her indifference. He has borne this bitter sorrow for long days and nights, and dares not tell the tale of his love. He bore it, and was blessed in being permitted to see her, but her heart was cold and knew no love for him. But greater unhappiness was in store for him. One day there came a proud and mighty bey, and succeeded in winning the love of his adored; and Fate willed it that the poor, tortured slave should see her eyes fixed on the bey in a loving gaze, and he also saw him fall on his knees before his mistress and take her hand and carry it to his lips. Then the poor slave's heart broke, and, falling to the earth, he died, sighing, "I love thee!"
All three had listened to the sad air and words of the song. Sitta
Nefysseh now turned to the beys.
"This song has no bearing upon you. You will never see Sitta Nefysseh give her love and hand to another! You who were my husband's friends I will ever consider my friends! But hear me: Mourad's widow will never marry again! As I knelt at the death-bed of my husband, bathing his wound with my tears, I swore that I would ever remain true to him I had loved so ardently my life long, and never become the wife of another. And now I ask, noble beys, can you desire Mourad's widow to perjure herself? I know you will say the heart knows no oaths, love cannot be restrained. That may be, but do not speak of it to me. You have come to ask with which of you I will share the remainder of my days; I ask you, decide yourselves, can I break this solemn oath?"
The two beys bow their heads still deeper, and sigh profoundly.
"Decide!" repeated Sitta Nefysseh.
They raise their heads and gaze at her sadly. "No, Sitta Nefysseh!
You may not break the oath to your husband, sworn in the name of
Allah and the prophet! No, you can never bestow your hand upon
another. Alas, that this is so! alas, that we must submit!"
"No, it is well that it is so!" said Sitta Nefysseh, with a soft smile. "Mourad's widow has the right to be the friend of both of you; she may hold out her hands to you and say: `Be my friends, my brothers, and, as you love me, also love one another.' For the second time I entreat you, grasp each other's hands and be friends. For both let there be one common enemy—the enemy who confronts you on the field of battle—the Turk! Grasp hands in love and friendship!"
The two beys grasped each other's hands firmly.
"Let it be as our friend and sister wishes; she shall see us united.
Let there be for us but one common enemy—the Turk!"
"An enemy who grows stronger each day!" said Sitta Nefysseh. "We thought to have peace when the Franks should have left, but unfortunately it is not so. The Turks are resolved to subjugate us. I know they will not rest until they have overthrown and destroyed the haughty Mameluke beys! They are continually bringing new troops, into the country, and their leader is a dangerous enemy, believe me!"
"For the second time you speak of this `dangerous enemy.' Tell us,
Sitta, who is he?"
"He it is," said she, in earnest tones, "who brought the letter to the capitan pacha at Aboukir; he it is who confronted you in that bloody struggle, and whose courage, boldness, and determination, captured the stronghold Rosetta. I have read the countenance of the sarechsme, and in his eye I have recognized the lion and the fox combined. Before him, I for the first time in my life experienced fear. Beware of him; if possible, make a friend of him, for the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, would prove a mighty ally!"
"I know him well," said Osman Bey, smiling. "I met him when a boy, and even then we confronted each other as enemies. A short time since I met him again, and he then protected me from the fury of his soldiers; and I am grateful. I will endeavor, Sitta, to win him over to our interests, as you suggest. If we succeed, and when this formidable enemy shall have become our ally, the Mameluke beys will have great cause to congratulate themselves, and thank Sitta Nefysseh again."
"The only proof of your gratitude that I ask is, that you stand united. Thank me by pronouncing my name when you stand side by side on the battle-field, from which you have driven the enemy!"
"We will do so. Your name will I pronounce when I go out to battle! And your name will my lips utter, O Sitta Nefysseh, when I sink down upon the bloody field!" Thus spoke both, and then bowed profoundly before Mourad's widow.
"And now you may go," said she, gently. "Walk arm-in-arm through the Muskj Street, that all the world may see that the two greatest Mameluke beys are friends. If these are united, then will the struggle soon terminate. Now go and show the people that you are friends."
"And if they express surprise at our friendship," cried Osman Bey, his eyes sparkling, "we will say Mourad's widow wills it so, and we humbly and cheerfully obey."
"Yes, we will say this," cried l'Elfi, joyously. "Mourad's widow commanded us to be united, and therefore are we united.—And now let us go, Osman Bey; it is, however, not necessary that we walk arm-in- arm here; only when we have passed the threshold of this house shall Osman give me his arm, that the world may see your influence over us."
Osman Bey walked rapidly down the avenue. L'Elfi followed him slowly and hesitatingly, looking back twice at Sitta Nefysseh. The latter waved her hand deprecatingly, and he then rapidly followed Osman.
Sitta Nefysseh sighed profoundly as the two disappeared through the gateway, falling back upon her cushions as if overwhelmed with grief. She heard nothing of the music, that still resounded from the rose-bushes; she heard only the secret and sacred voices which lamented in her soul, and she shuddered at what they said.
"No, no, it may not be," said she to herself. "I saved myself from their importunity by the falsehood of the oath. I never swore to my husband that Mourad's wife would become the wife of no other. It was not because an oath bound her that she rejected them; but because her heart so willed it. Not without love is Mourad's widow; but whom she loves no one must know, no one must even suspect."
She arose and threw back her veil to wipe away the tears that burned her eyes. Suddenly she trembled, a deep blush overspreading her countenance. She saw the young kachef Youssouf coming up the walk. She saw his proud, erect figure, his countenance full of youthful freshness and nobility. She drew heir veil more closely about her; but the veil cannot hide the brightness of her eyes. They fairly sparkled as he advanced. He approached slowly. She seemed not to see him, leaned back on her cushions, raised the crimson rose to her face, and inhaled its fragrance. Kachef Youssouf, his arms folded on his breast, stood at the entrance of the kiosk.
"Sitta Nefysseh, mistress, you command to have your carriage ready, as you wished to drive out at this hour. It is ready, and I humbly ask if it is your pleasure to go now, and if I may have the honor of accompanying your suite, and riding at the side of your carriage?"
Sitta Nefysseh, who was still inhaling the fragrance of the rose, slowly let fall her hand to her side, and the flower fell from her fingers to the ground.
"You are an attentive, punctual servant," said she. "I thank you; I will drive out at once with two of my women; you may ride beside my carriage."
Sitta Nefysseh arose and left the kiosk. She passed close by him, and her white veil lightly touched Youssouf's shoulder. He stood as if touched by a magic wand and fixed to the spot. He could not follow his mistress, who walked proudly toward the place where the women awaited her. He followed her with his eyes, however, and saw how her long flowing garment adjusted itself to her lovely figure, and how her white veil fluttered about her noble head, enveloping it as with a delicate white cloud.
"Would that I were the wind that kisses your cheek!" murmured he, lost in contemplation of his idol. "Would I were the sand your foot blesses with its touch! To die near you, beholding you in death, were heavenly bliss."
Sitta Nefysseh had disappeared behind the clump of bushes. Kachef Youssouf still stood before the kiosk. He listened. The music had ceased. He knew that his mistress was returning with her women to the house. He hastily glanced around the garden, fastening his large, black eyes, on every bush, as if expecting to find an enemy concealed there. No one is to be seen. Only Heaven and the bees in the air see Youssouf as he rushes into the kiosk, picks up the rose, presses it passionately to his lips, and then conceals it in his bosom.
CHAPTER XI
THE COUNCIL OF WAR.
From the day of their first meeting, when Cousrouf Pacha appointed Mohammed Ali sarechsme, the new general had proved his bravery and his shrewdness in many a skirmish and battle with the Mamelukes. He had already captured from them two strongholds, and had returned victorious from every battle with them. Cousrouf praised his fortune at having such a general at his side. Mohammed Ali showed himself so zealous and devoted in his service that the viceroy listened to his advice only, and called him his favorite and confidant.
"Truly, I am a happy man," said Cousrouf to himself. "I am the ruler of a great kingdom. I have friends at my side in whom I can confide, and who will assist me in all my plans, executing all I determine. Who knows but that a great future still awaits me, and that the crown which now hangs suspended over my head may not one day adorn it in reality? Mohammed shall aid me. He is the bravest of the brave, and the wisest of the wise."
He walked to and fro in his room as he said this to himself, his countenance radiant with smiles.
"I will soon have my wives brought to me, and my daughters also. Who knows, perhaps it were well to chain the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, to my side with still closer bonds? Who knows? Sometimes a strange presentiment comes over me when I look at him. Mohammed's eyes sometimes glitter so strangely and angrily, but he is conscious of it at once, and then becomes more gentle and devoted than ever. There are times when I distrust him. It were perhaps well to fasten him to my side so firmly that he cannot free himself. Yes, I had best give him one of my daughters in marriage. He must be submissive and devoted to his father-in-law at all times," said he, in low tones, "Sometimes I think his smooth countenance conceals a gloomy soul, and that Mohammed Ali has not yet forgotten the evil done the young lad in Cavalla. But these are mere fancies. He has proved on every occasion that he no longer thinks of it. I will have him called and study his countenance while speaking with him."
He sent one of his slaves to request the sarechsme to come to him.
After a few minutes Mohammed entered. He bowed profoundly before
Cousrouf, and seemed delighted when invited to seat himself beside
the pacha on the divan, and smoke the chibouque with him.
"Tell me, Mohammed, how old are you?" asked Cousrouf, after a pause, blowing clouds of smoke from his lips, and seeming to regard the general with kindly composure. "How old are you?"
"I hardly know, highness," replied Mohammed, smiling. "But let me count. I believe I was fifteen when, at Cavalla, I first had the happiness of meeting you, my distinguished master."
"Let us proceed with the calculation," said Cousrouf. "I remained three years in Cavalla. By Allah, they seemed to me to be three centuries! Yes, I remained there three years, and you were therefore eighteen when I left Cavalla?"
"Yes, eighteen years old; and a wild, reckless lad I was, too! Even now I beg your forgiveness for my conduct at that time," said Mohammed, humbly.
The viceroy bowed a gracious consent.
"Since then twelve years have passed, and you are therefore now thirty."
"You see, I am an old man! And when I look back at the past it seems to me I have lived an eternity. Yes, highness, I am an old man, and can hardly say that any wishes or aspirations now find a place in my bosom."
"Are you alone in the world?" asked Cousrouf. "Have you no family?"
A strange fire gleamed for an instant in Mohammed's eyes, and he compressed his lips firmly. How could he who had inflicted such intolerable anguish upon him, how could he question him as to his heart's history? Woe to him for so doing! for this, too, shall retribution be visited upon him!
"Yes, highness, I have a family. I have a wife and three sons at home in Cavalla."
"One wife only!" said the pacha. "Are you contented with one wife?"
"One is often too many," replied Mohammed. "But this does not apply to my wife. She is the niece of the tschorbadji, and devoted to me. I have no cause to complain of her."
"Is that all?" asked the pacha, with an air of indifference. "You have nothing further to say of her? Then you do not love her, I suppose?"
"Highness, I believe love was torn from my heart in my youth."
"Everyone says that until he loves," replied Cousrouf, composedly blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth. "Yet, in my opinion, one is never too old to love; the heart never grows old. Let me know it if you feel that another love can blossom in your heart, and that you wish, in addition to the wife you have long possessed—and I know that possession gives satiety—another, a young and beautiful wife. Perhaps I can find such a one for you. And I will do so, Mohammed, if you return victorious from the new campaign."
"A new campaign? and against whom?" was Mohammed's only response.
"Against whom? Against the insolent Mameluke beys, of course. The time has come to dispose of them finally," said Cousrouf. "Listen, general. The grand-sultan, weary of these incessant struggles with the rebellious Mameluke beys, is resolved to bring them to a conclusion, and restore peace to the province of Egypt. You, however, have now been here long enough to know that peace in Egypt means death and destruction to the Mameluke beys."
"Yes, highness, peace in Egypt means death to the Mameluke beys!" replied Mohammed Ali. "Truly, while one of them survives, so long will his proud, ambitious heart prompt him to endeavor to reconquer the rule which he believes is predestined for the Mameluke beys by Allah and the prophet."
"They shall learn that Allah has doomed them to destruction!" cried Cousrouf, passionately. "All is arranged. To the Franks we are indebted for one thing, and that is for having fought these rebellious beys. Since the French expedition the number of the Mamelukes is diminished by at least one-half. In order to prevent them from recruiting their decimated ranks, the grand-sultan has issued a firman which prohibits further importation into Egypt of Circassian and Georgian slaves."
"And yet, as I have heard, they resort to other sources to refill their depleted ranks," said Mohammed, respectfully. "I am told that they recruit their forces with the inhabitants of the desert, with the children of Albania, and the tribe of Achmed Ali."
"They do, it is true. But the Arabs and Bedouins are poor substitutes for the Georgian and Circassian slaves. You cannot make lions of wild-cats, nor tigers of jackals. Moreover, discord has fallen out among the Mameluke beys themselves, since Mourad Bey fell. He was a great man and a hero! But since his death they have lacked a chieftain who could unite them; Tamboudji Bey was such a one for a brief season, but, as you know, he fell at Aboukir. Three others are now quarrelling over the succession. There is Osman Bey Bardissi; Ibrahim Bey, the old Mameluke chieftain; and finally, L'Elfi Bey, a protege of the English, as Bardissi is of the French. These three are now at daggers'-ends as to who shall be the leader. We must, it seems to me, draw advantage from this quarrel. I know Bardissi and Ibrahim have again applied to France, and have sent ambassadors to the French general, Bonaparte, to solicit their aid against their own masters—against us, the Turks. L'Elfi Bey, however, has sought the intervention of England, and begged for assistance against us in that quarter. They well know that they are too weak to resist us alone. And therefore, it seems to me, we should avail ourselves of this favorable moment when they are awaiting foreign aid. They must be overwhelmed, never to rise again."
"How wise your words, highness! Overwhelmed they must be for all time, in order that you alone may rule, and that the sultan at Stamboul may look with admiration upon him who has restored to the old rulers of Egypt the power of former days. This great work is reserved for you, Cousrouf Pacha, and your most obedient and devoted servant, Mohammed Ali, will consider himself highly honored, if permitted to aid you in this great cause."
"I count on you," replied the pacha, inclining his head graciously. "I know your devotion and zeal in my service, and therefore do I advise with you in all my plans, and speak to you as to my other self. To proceed: The Mameluke beys who applied to England and France also addressed a letter to me at the same time. In this letter they request me to conclude with them an armistice of five months' duration, in order that they may address themselves to the sultan at Constantinople, to settle, with the assistance of the English and French ambassadors there, the terms of a final treaty of peace. What do you think our answer to the demand of these Mameluke beys should be, Mohammed? Shall we consent to this armistice? Give me your views without reserve. What is your opinion?"
"I think, highness, that it would be folly to grant this armistice. The Mamelukes would avail themselves of this interval to recruit their ranks, and would secretly import slaves. They are cunning, and many resources are open to them. They would make warriors of these slaves in five months, and they would then be the first to recommence the war!"
Cousrouf remained silent for a time. "You are a good general in the field, and a good adviser in the cabinet. I rejoice in your possession!" said he, with his most gracious manner. "Just as you think and say, have I determined, and I have informed these insolent beys that I will not grant them a respite of five months, nor of five weeks; no, not of five days. I, moreover, informed them that if they so ardently desired to have peace, and to enjoy peace, they should submit, and come to Cairo, and live here as Osman Bey Hassan does, who has hitherto also been a Mameluke chieftain. Further, I told them that I was ready to treat with them, and, in order to be rid of this continuous plundering and robbing, I offered to assign them the province of Esneh, in Upper Egypt, where they might indulge their propensities to their hearts' content. They, however, in their insolence, demanded that I should give them the whole province of Girgeh in addition. This I refused. And now, I think, we have had attempts enough at peace-making. I will draw the sword again, and my armies shall take the field against these insolent rebels. Youssouf Bey, my lieutenant, leads the first column, and the second, my Mohammed Ali, the second you will lead!"
"I thank you, highness, and I promise to lead my soldiers to battle and victory, or to be brought back with the dead!"
"You will lead them to victory, and return a victor. My general, Taher Pacha, will unite his forces with yours and Youssouf Bey's. Taher Pacha is already on the march from Upper Egypt. And now, tell me, do you think our forces are strong enough to chastise and overthrow the Mameluke beys?"
"In order to reply, I must first know the strength of all your forces combined." He spoke with downcast eyes, apparently all devotion, and only intent on his master's advantage. Cousrouf Pacha was far from suspecting with what feverish suspense the sarechsme awaited his reply.
"I will tell you, and you alone, Mohammed Ali," replied he, in subdued tones. "We have only sixteen or seventeen thousand soldiers, and it will be difficult to concentrate them at one point, as they are scattered throughout Middle and Upper Egypt. The nucleus of this army that is to be formed consists of the four thousand Albanians sent me by the capitan pacha, and these Albanians count double. They are strong and brave. To be sure they are also a little too wild and headstrong; and, in addition, they are not Turks."
"O highness," said Mohammed, with a sigh, "if that is a fault, I must express my profound regret, as I unfortunately am not a Turk myself."
"And yet I confide in you," said Cousrouf, "as I know you are repairing the misfortune of your birth by your deeds. But I would never place the same reliance in the old troops of Albania; and, therefore, I have formed a corps of Nubians, and selected a body- guard from the number of these black slaves, and upon them I can and do rely. They have become good soldiers; I have taken a number of French soldiers into my service, and they have drilled my body-guard well. Yes, upon them I can rely. If traitors should come near me, they would slay them."
"How could traitors come near your highness?" said Mohammed, with an air of dismay. " Who could dare to threaten Cousrouf Pacha, the kind and noble ruler, with treason! No. You can sleep in peace. Treason must stand aloof from your great and sacred person."
The pacha shook his head. "The viceroy will not sleep in peace, Mohammed, until you can announce to him that the last Mameluke bey lies dead at your feet."
"I trust, highness, that I shall soon be able to make this announcement," said Mohammed, in kindly tones. "My most ardent desire is to march out to battle, and prove to my kind master that I am not only a good soldier, but also a true and devoted servant."
"Then march out to battle, Mohammed, and be mindful of what I before said. Cousrouf will, perhaps, be able to reward the victorious Mohammed with a beautiful young wife, with a rich dowry. Go! Be mindful of this, and hold your troops in readiness to march. Taher Pacha will already have received my orders to join you; and Youssouf Bey, my lieutenant, is also ready to take the field. You will follow him rapidly, and, united, you will give battle to the Mamelukes." He then dismissed Mohammed with a gracious salutation.
As the latter passes out through the antechamber, his head humbly bowed down, he whispers to himself: "The black body-guard would slay those who should threaten your life! Cousrouf Pacha, I am glad you rely on your black body-guard!"
CHAPTER XII
THE ABDUCTION.
OSMAN BEY BARDISSI was encamped on the plain of Darmanhour with his Mamelukes, awaiting the arrival of L'Elfi Bey and his forces. Spies and scouts had announced that the Turkish army was advancing from Cairo in two columns, and that Taher Pacha was approaching from another direction—from Upper Egypt-at the head of seven thousand men.
Bardissi's countenance lighted up with joy when the Bedouin sheik
Arnhyn brought this intelligence.
"The decisive moment, the day of battle is at hand. If we are victors, how Sitta Nefysseh will smile on us, how happy she will be!"
Yes, the decisive moment is at hand. Perhaps Nefysseh's cold heart will be touched, perhaps she will bestow upon the victor a glorious reward—herself.
But why does not L'Elfi come? Without him Bardissi cannot, he well knows, venture to give battle, for he, with his men and the Mamelukes of Elmar Bey, is too weak to engage an enemy of such superior strength.
"To be sure, the Turks are cowards," said Osman to himself; "and against the Turks every Mameluke counts for two. Yet, as the scouts announce, their forces are too strong for us. Youssouf Bey comes first at the head of three thousand Turks, and the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, follows him with five thousand men. In addition to these, Taher Pacha is also advancing with his forces; if they all unite, it is impossible that we should be victorious, and yet we must be victorious."
At last, intelligence is brought that L'Elfi Bey is advancing. He, however, brings but few of his warriors with him, and his countenance is sad and gloomy.
The beys, Osman at their head, gather around him, and impart to him the intelligence brought by the scouts with regard to the strength of the enemy.
"We should therefore advance against him as soon as possible, and vanquish one of his corps after the other before they have time to unite."
L'Elfi Bey shook his head. "We must wait, friends and companions in arms," said he. "I think it would be rash and unwise to meet the enemy, when his army is twice as strong as ours, and I came here to tell you this."
"Then, by Allah, it would have been better had you not come!" cried Bardissi, angrily. "Shall the Turks say of us that we, the brave and haughty Mamelukes, have fled at their approach?"
"Let them say what they please, Osman Bey Bardissi," responded L'Elfi Bey, throwing his head back proudly. "What care we? We do not flee, we only retreat. And our friends advise us to do this."
"Who are these friends?" asked Bardissi, angrily.
"The English, none of whom, as you know, have ever deceived us. They have informed me that the Turks are advancing in three columns, and have advised me not to attack them. They say it would be a great risk, and such a risk would not be advisable without a better prospect of success. But we could not hope for success, for, as you know yourselves, we are in want of arms and ammunition. If vanquished, we should also be massacred, and they would finish here at Damanhour the work they began at Aboukir. Can you desire that, ye beys?"
"We desire to conquer, and not to flee like cowards!" replied
Bardissi, haughtily.
"The unwise general attacks incautiously, and when defeated is laughed at for his pains," replied L'Elfi. "The wise general yields to necessity, and awaits his opportunity."
"Then you can wait, L'Elfi!" cried Bardissi.
"I will wait, and have resolved to do so," said L'Elfi, gravely. "I came to warn you, and not to take part in this ridiculous expedition. But observe, Bardissi, I do not flee—I retreat. Woe to you if you do not follow my example; woe to you all if you let rashness instead of prudence prevail, and attack the Turks now! I repeat it, strong columns are advancing! First, Youssouf Bey; then the shrewd sarechsme—you know, Bardissi, who told us to beware of him—the shrewd sarechsme, Mohammed Ali; and, finally, Taher Pacha, and woe to you if you venture to attack them!"
"Woe to him who sees and understands his enemy, and yet dare not attack him!" cried Bardissi.
L'Elfi seemed not to hear him. He beckoned to the Mamelukes who had come with him, greeted his friends with a proud inclination of the head, and galloped away.
At a short distance from the camp a small body of English horsemen awaited L'Elfi and his Mamelukes. With them the Mameluke chieftain rode off, riding day and night until they reached Tantah; there fresh horses awaited them, and thence they continued their journey until they reached Alexandria. Here L'Elfi Bey embarked with the Englishmen. For the second time he left Egypt. He wished to forget in a foreign land that Mourad's widow, the beautiful Sitta Nefysseh, had rejected him and his love. It was no consolation to him that Bardissi had suffered the same fate. Unrequited love causes bitter anguish. L'Elfi thought only of his heart's misery, and cared nothing for war and military renown. He will return home when his heart's anguish is stilled. Then L'Elfi Bey will draw his sword again to fight for victory and renown. Bardissi felt differently. If the former felt that it was necessary to go into solitude to heal his heart's wounds, the latter preferred to seek distraction in inflicting wounds on his enemies. "For every sigh that passes his lips he will make a Turk exhale his life's breath," so thinks Bardissi the brave.
Immediately after L'Elfi's departure, Bardissi called the kachefs of his Mamelukes, and those of Ibrahim Bey and Hassan Aga together, to hold a grand council of war on the plain of Damanhour.
"Do you wish to be cautious like L'Elfi? shall we retreat from the approaching enemy?" cries Osman Bey, the crown of bravery. "Speak, ye kachefs! We ask your advice, for not we alone, but you also, rush into danger. Our blood and yours is to be shed alike. Therefore, let us take counsel together. The enemy is very strong, as you know. He is approaching in three columns. I pray you to consider and determine quickly, as the danger increases with each minute. If the three columns unite, the danger is multiplied; therefore, every thing depends on quick and resolute action. Youssouf Bey, Sheik Arnhyn informs us, is only two days' march distant—Mohammed Ali, three. It seems to me, our plan should be to march against Youssouf, and vanquish him before Mohammed Ali can join him; we will then attack Mohammed Ali. Having vanquished both of them, I hardly think Taber Pacha will have any desire to sustain the third defeat. We will then turn our attention to Cairo, now stripped of soldiers."
The kachefs, who had listened to Bardissi's words with sparkling eyes, spoke as one man:
"We will not retreat from the enemy like L'Elfi! Lead us against him! We will vanquish him! We are strong and courageous! Our steeds will bear us upon them with the wings of the wind, and our swords, aided by those of the invisible hosts, will prove invincible. The time has at last come to let these Turks feel that we are heroes, and not cowards. Lead us against the enemy!"
"Then retire to rest early," cried Bardissi, his countenance radiant with joy. "Unsaddle your horses and let them rest, too. To-morrow at the break of day we mount, and fly with the wings of the wind to meet the enemy. Allah and his holy hosts are with us."
"Allah and his holy hosts are with us!" is the joyous cry repeated by the kachefs. Soon all is still in the camp of Damanhour. Men and horses are at rest.
Bey Bardissi alone has not yet retired. He calls the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn, to his side. "You are brave and daring. I have work for you, for which you shall be richly rewarded. If we are victorious, you shall collect all the spoils you may desire from the field of battle, and no one shall hinder you. The steeds and saddles, and the arms and equipments of all the captured Turks, shall be yours. As you know, three other sheiks have already applied to me, and offered to assist with their camels and horses. You shall, however, have the spoils of the battle-field if you will perform the service I require of you."
"Give me your commands, master," said the Bedouin sheik, his eyes sparkling with delight. "If you do not require me to pluck the sun from heaven, or to lay the moon and stars at your feet, Sheik Arnhyn will execute your commands for so rich a reward. Ah! how delighted my daughter Butheita will be when I bring her the beautiful horses, and glittering swords and daggers! The child loves such things. She is not like other women, she is more like a man. How Butheita will rejoice over the arms!"
"Then make her rejoice, Arnhyn. And now hear how you can do so. You informed me that Youssouf and his forces were in advance of the others, and that Mohammed Ali followed him?"
"Thus it is; a day's march in advance. But Mohammed Ali, so everybody says, is a daring and untiring soldier. Who knows but he may march at night, too, and unite with Youssouf?"
"You are right, Arnhyn," replied Bardissi, "and it is this that I wish to prevent. I wish, if possible, to avoid encountering Mohammed Ali. It is of this that I desire to speak with you. Come, let us withdraw a little farther from the tents and discuss this matter."
All is silent. The Mamelukes and kachefs lie sleeping beside their horses. No one hears what passes between the Mameluke bey, Osman Bardissi, and the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn.
They speak in whispers; no one sees Arnhyn display his white teeth in his delight, nor sees the glad smile that suddenly lights up his countenance.
"A splendid scheme, master. By Allah! I would do it though you had not promised so rich a reward. I give you my word it shall be done as you direct. We will make Sarechsme Mohammed Ali harmless."
"You will start out at once?" said Bardissi.
"Immediately, master, for I must soon return," replied Arnhyn. "By sunrise you will come up with Youssouf, and I must be there with my ravens to gather the spoils. I will now fly to my tent; there near the Pyramids I shall meet my daughter Butheita, and she will arrange the rest.
You will find me at your tent by morning. If I am not there, Osman Bey Bardissi, you will know that the Bedouin sheik, Arnhyn, is no longer among the living, and that the sarechsme, Mohammed Ali, has been too shrewd for him."