Now during all these weary hours Rupert had been taking counsel with himself. He was skilled in Arab warfare, and guessed that Ibrahim’s plan was not to attempt to rush him in the daylight, which at best would cost him many more men and might mean defeat, but to get among his little band with the spear under cover of the night, or perhaps just at the break of dawn. Utterly outnumbered as they were, to such a move as this there could be but one end—annihilation. It was, however, possible that it would not be made; that the Arabs would be content to continue their present tactics, knowing that Rupert had no hope of succour, and that soon or late thirst must conquer him. Therefore it would seem that he was driven to choose between two alternatives—surrender or retreat. He gathered his men together and addressed them through the darkness, not hiding from them how desperate he thought their plight.

Under the circumstances, he said, if they wished to surrender he would not forbid them, only then he believed that whatever promises were made, they would all be killed, or at the best taken away and sold as slaves to the Khalifa, or his emirs, with whom, doubtless, Ibrahim was in league. For himself, however, he should certainly not surrender, but choosing the best place he could find, fight on till he was killed like Gordon.

With one voice the soldiers said they would not suffer this; their business was to die with their captain, not desert him: they were Soudanese and men, not Fellaheen.

He thanked them simply, and put before them the second alternative—that of retreat. The pass behind them was open, though none of them had ever travelled it, and a map he had showed a water-hole about some thirty miles away in the desert beyond, which they might reach. Or failing that, when they were clear of the pass they could turn and skirt along the mountains, taking their chance of water and of safety. Or they could try to cut their way back to Wady-Halfa, a thing however that seemed hopeless, since if they got through, they would be overtaken, surrounded and picked off in the open desert.

Having discussed the matter among themselves the men announced their decision that flight was best. For the rest, they said, they resigned themselves to el Mektub which means “to that which is written”; or in other words, to Destiny. Then Rupert called the roll to see that all were present. Two did not answer to their names—the dead man and the sergeant Abdullah. At first it was thought that the latter had been killed also, till someone remembered that early in the afternoon he had gone to tend and feed the camels, since when he had not been seen. Afterwards it was discovered that, anticipating his commander’s plan, he had already retreated—with the best camel—an act of cowardice which, it will be seen, produced very grave results to Rupert, and indeed profoundly influenced his subsequent career. For here it may be said at once that Abdullah got back to the Nile in safety by skirting round the mountains, and needless to add, made his own report to the authorities, which, as it happened, there was no one to contradict.

Now, their counsel taken, the little band set themselves to carry it out as best they could without delay, since they knew not at what moment the attack might be delivered. First they built a fire of whatever material they could collect and lit it, so as to suggest to the Arabs that they remained in camp there. Also, having said the prayers for the dead over him, they set their fallen companion behind a stone, above which one hand and his rifle projected, in such a position that the light of the fire fell upon them. Two of the worst camels also they left behind, that their roaring might deceive the enemy into the belief that the caravan had not moved. This done they started as noiselessly as possible, only to find that their task was more difficult even than they thought.

The moon not being up, the darkness in that narrow gorge was intense; moreover, the pass was strewn with boulders and pitted with holes washed out by water, in one of which a camel soon broke its leg and had to be killed with a knife and left with its valuable load. Not half a mile further on another camel fell over a bank or precipice—they could not tell which—and vanished, while a man twisted his ankle, and a second, stumbling, struck his forehead against a stone and cut it badly. After this Rupert ordered a halt till the moon rose since to proceed was practically impossible. At length the moon came, but the sky was cloudy, also she was on the wane; so they found themselves but little better off in that deep gulf. Still they struggled on, praying for daylight, and taking comfort from the thought that if the Arabs followed, matters would be equally bad for them.

The sky turned grey, the dawn broke, and then with the startling suddenness that will be familiar to all travellers in the Egyptian desert, the sun rose, and by its light they pushed forward. For a mile or so all went well till they came to a place where the pass opened out, and its sides, no longer precipitous, were clothed with scrub and boulders. Then suddenly from behind one of these boulders rang out a rifle shot. A few yards ahead, in the centre of the valley, was a little hill or kopje, also boulder-strewn, and understanding at once what had happened, namely, that the Arabs, foreseeing this retreat, probably on the previous afternoon, had sent most of their force over the mountains to waylay them, Rupert shouted to his band to make for this kopje and hold it.

They did so under a fierce fire, but as the Arab shooting was bad and the mist still hung at the bottom of the valley, without much loss. On the kopje were two or three of the enemy’s marksmen whom they dislodged and killed. Then taking the best positions they could find, the little company prepared itself to inflict all the damage it could upon its foes before it met its inevitable doom. Although a man fell now and again this was delayed for several hours, until at length the rest of the Arabs, who had followed them down the pass, arrived.

Then came the last bitter struggle. Such things sound heroic to tell of—the forlorn stands of the few against the many always do—but in practice they are only dreadful; the glory is naught but a residuum deposited in the cauldrons of their sanguinary and seething horror by the powerful precipitants of distance, romance, and time.

Thus this last desperate fight of a few wearied men against many may be noble to read of, but in fact it was merely hideous. Brave things were done by these black Soudanese, who, if they are well led and trust their leader, will not surrender with a loss of about five per cent in killed and wounded; indeed surrender was talked of no more. But though it was emphasised thereby, who could think of gallantry when a man shot through the bowels lay writhing on the ground beside him, cursing and praying by turns, but still loading his gun, and, in the pauses of his paroxysms, bringing other men to their death. When the tongue is hanging from the jaws with thirst, when the brows throb with fatigue and pain, and the heart is well-nigh bursting with rage, grief for those who will be seen no more, and apprehensions of the dreadful end, who can think of the cup and chaplets of fame, and the empty trappings of honour?

At least Rupert could not. He fought on grimly; he did his best. Two rushes he repelled, for now that their fire slackened, the Arabs were trying to make an end of them with the spear. In the intervals that followed these rushes Rupert thought of Edith. He wondered what she was doing, and remembered that without doubt she would be comfortably in bed and asleep, dreaming no dreams of him and his sore plight. He wondered if when he died, as he must do in a few minutes, it would wake her, or whether she would still sleep on as his spirit passed. Then he remembered the other woman, that strange, high-bred native girl, and it came into his mind that she would wake however sound she slept, and that there would be vengeance taken for this death of his, the wild vengeance of the desert. Next he forgot all such things, and shook a dying comrade by the hand.

“Kismet!” said the man, with a ghastly smile, “and we have killed more of them than they can kill of us. The water of the Sweet Wells will be bitter for a while. Allah is good and Paradise pleasant. Are you hurt, Bey?”

“Not yet,” he answered, “but wait, I come presently. Ah! that got him fair.”

“No, don’t come,” answered the man, “live on if you may. He who lives long sees much, and amongst other things vengeance on his enemies. Live on, and you will see the sheik Ibrahim hanging to the bough of a thorn.”

Then the soldier grunted, rolled on to his face, and was dead.

Puffs of smoke spurted from behind rocks; spears shone in the sunlight; hoarse voices announced the fact which nobody contradicted—that Allah was great and Mahomet was his prophet; here and there men fell forward or backward, still declaring that Allah was great, and instantly departed from the body to put the argument to proof. Blood ran in thin, black streams, and was soaked up by the thankful soil; men died beneath the hands of their fellow-men as in this devil-ridden world they have done from the beginning, and will do till the end. Untouched by some miracle, Rupert still fought on. His rifle was empty; a tall, bearded Arab had fallen before its last shot. Then quite close to him he saw Ibrahim, and remembering his revolver, drew it, when suddenly a heavy blow from behind felled him to the ground.

Rupert came to himself again, and by degrees understood dimly that he was not dead, since he lay where he had fallen, and all about him were slain and wounded men. Near by, also, stood two of his own people, captives, with their hands tied behind them. The sheik Ibrahim was questioning them, promising them life if they would tell him where they had hidden away the gipsy Bakhita and her companion, the lady Mea. They answered that they accepted his terms, and would do so with pleasure. They were hidden in the desert, whither they had departed before the beginning of the fight, so if he wanted them he had best go look for them there.

This answer seemed to infuriate the sheik, who called to some of his people to kill “these dogs.” They came, whereon the two men, putting down their heads, butted at them like rams, and knocking one of them down, jumped and trampled on his face until the cruel swords did their work with them and they died there. Then the wounded were killed also, so that presently, of all his company, Rupert alone was left alive.

Now they caught hold of him and asked him questions about the women, but he pretended not to be able to speak because of thirst, pointing to his throat and mouth. The artifice succeeded, for they brought him water, of which he stood in terrible need. The bowl was large, but he emptied all of it, and felt his life come back to him. Now Ibrahim addressed him.

“Dog of an unbeliever,” he said, “you see that your cunning and courage have not availed against the decrees of Allah who has destroyed all your band!”

“It is so,” answered Rupert; “but he seems to have destroyed many of yours also. Here I count over twenty of your dead, and thirty wounded. Allah is just, and takes life for life.”

“Blaspheme not, dog! Of Allah I will speak to you afterwards. Tell me—where are the women?”

“Those brave men whom you murdered after promising them their lives have told you; they are in the desert. Go; search for them there. Come; I tire of this talk. Murder me also, and begone to meet the doom that God prepares in this world and the next for the traitor and the liar.”

“You wish to die, then?” asked Ibrahim, lifting his spear.

“Aye; why not? My people are slaughtered; I would join them. Also, I must make report of you and your deeds, and prepare you a place.”

The Arab dropped his spear; Rupert’s words seemed to frighten him.

“Not yet, nor so swiftly,” he said. “Bind him and put him on a camel. He shall see us catch these women, and after that we will judge him according to the law.”

So they tied Rupert with ropes, and set him on his own dromedary. Presently he started forward with the Arabs—about forty of them. The rest were either dead or wounded, or had been left to convey the latter and the rich booty, including the thousand pounds in gold, back to the Sweet Wells. At the mouth of the pass, a few miles further on, they searched, and in some soft soil found the spoor of the camels ridden by Bakhita, Mea, and their servant, and seeing that it led out into the desert beyond, followed swiftly. All that day they rode till they came to the water-pool that was marked upon the map, and here, being very weary after their desperate fight and long travelling, the Arabs would go no further, although their sheik urged them to do so. So they camped there by the water, and ate dates and cakes of flour, some of which were given to Rupert.

Whilst they ate, an old man and two old women, one of them blind—wanderers who were hidden in the scrub near the water—crept out and begged for food. It was given to them, and when they had filled themselves, Ibrahim asked them if two women and a man mounted on camels had passed that way.

They answered, yes, about thirty hours before. By this time they must be far away as, after only a short rest to water their camels and to eat, they had departed very swiftly.

Now Ibrahim understood that his prey had escaped him. Indeed, the Arabs refused to follow them any further into the desert, where they feared they might be trapped by Mea’s people, and die like their brethren in the pass. His rage knew no bounds, since he was well aware the booty that he had taken could not in the least compensate for the death of so many of his best men; whose loss in a private quarrel, moreover, would be bitterly resented by the tribe, and especially by the women. He was sure, also, that as Rupert had said, the Government would avenge this great murder by sending an expedition against him, which could only be avoided by his escaping with the remainder of his people to join the Khalifa.

Lastly, all had been done in vain, since the woman, Mea, whom he desired with the fierce intensity which is characteristic of the inhabitants of the Soudan, had got away safely to her own land of Tama which was far too strong for him to attack. All these ills and others had been brought upon him, he reflected, by his old enemy, the English Bey, who had protected Mea, and with his small band fought so stubbornly in the pass that he had been unable to pursue and capture her. Hate of this dogged infidel boiled up in Ibrahim’s black and cruel heart, till with a flash of joy he remembered that at least he could make him pay for these misfortunes.

Suddenly he gave orders that the prisoner should be led before him. Accordingly he was brought to where Ibrahim sat near the cooking fire under the shadow of an ancient and wide-spreading thorn.

“What is your pleasure with me, Sheik?” asked Rupert calmly. “Is the appointed hour at hand? If so, be swift, for I am tired and wish to sleep.”

“Not yet, dog,” answered Ibrahim; “and perhaps not at all, for I remember the saying: ‘He is merciful who forgives.’ Though an infidel, you are a brave man.”

“I do not ask your forgiveness; it is you who should ask mine, who have again broken faith with your master the Khedive and murdered my people without cause,” answered Rupert proudly.

“Nor do I offer it,” said Ibrahim; “but Allah offers, and I am his servant. Once—do you remember?—I promised you that a day would come when I should command you to make choice between death and Islam. It is here. Choose now. Accept the faith publicly, which should not be hard to you, seeing that already you wear the garb and travel under the holy name of the Prophet; write it in a letter to your masters at Cairo that you renounce them and are one of the faithful, and that you blame me not, and go free. Or refuse and die an infidel. I have said.”

Rupert laughed in his face.

“Have done with such idle talk,” he answered. “Am I a child or a woman that I should be frightened by death which I have faced a score of times since yesterday? Traitor Ibrahim, you can bind my body, but not my spirit. I have chosen.”

So he spoke and stood still, awaiting death. But it did not come. Ibrahim turned aside and consulted with some of his people. Then with a cruel smile he said:

“I will not be provoked. I will still show mercy and give your stubborn spirit time for repentance, that it may not lose the joys of Paradise. Throw him down.”

They obeyed, and as he lay on his back staring through the branches of the tree at the tender sky above, Rupert saw one man, whom he had heard speaking of himself as a butcher by trade, draw his sword, while another heated the broad blade of a spear in the fire. Then for the first time he felt afraid. Death he did not fear—but mutilation!

Fourteen hours had gone by and Rupert was still living. Yes, although they had hacked off his right foot, and in the morning when again he refused to accept the Koran, burnt out his left eye and scored his cheek with a hot iron, being strong, he still lived. Now he was seated on the saddle of a dromedary beneath the thorn tree, a noose about his neck, the rope to which it was attached being thrown over a bough of the tree. They were about to hang him, but first, again in the name of mercy, gave him a little while to change his mind and accept the faith.

The agonies of his body and his soul were very great, but Rupert still sat there proudly, the ruin of a man, uttering no complaint, making no plea for pity. Only in his heart he wondered humbly what he had done that these terrors should come upon him. Then he remembered that in this blood-stained Soudan, the home of fanaticism and devilry, many a man as good or better than himself—yes, and many a woman also, had been called upon to suffer even worse things, and bowed his mangled head in submission to the decree of Destiny. Never once during those long hours of torment had he dreamed of purchasing its remission, as by a word he could have done. For this he took no credit to himself, whose faith and pride were both too deeply rooted to permit him even to entertain the thought.

This world was ended for him; none would ever know even the hideous fashion of his farewell to the sun. Now he had but one desire left—to show no sign of pain or fear to his tormentors, and brave and loyal to the last, to enter on the next. Even those heartless fiends marvelled at his courage, and grew half ashamed of their red work. They wished to let him go, but Ibrahim said nay, it was too late, he must die for their safety’s sake. Indeed, even had Rupert been weak and entered Islam, it was still his intention that he should die. Only the Arab wished to break his spirit first as he had broken his body.

They had left him alone a while, knowing that he could not stir, and were saddling their beasts. Now they came back, all of them, and stood in front of him, watching him with curious eyes. God be thanked! the end was at hand, and soon he would feel no more of those racking pains. There they stood, grave and silent, pitying him in their hearts, all except Ibrahim, who chose this moment to expound to his victim the principal doctrines of the Koran, and to assure him that he must certainly go to hell.

Rupert made no answer, only looked over the heads of his tormentors, with the eye that was left to him, at the little slope of land opposite, of which the crest ran not more than a hundred yards away. Was he mad, or was he altogether blind, and did he perhaps see visions in his blindness? If not, coming over the brow of that hill were horsemen, armed with spears, and amongst them a woman, who also held in her hand a spear. They looked, they halted, they spread out, but the murderers, intent upon the face of the dying man, never heard the sound of them on that soft sand and against the strong desert wind.

“It is without avail,” Ibrahim said. “The infidel dog rejects the cup of mercy; let him die the death of a dog,” and he seized the rope.

“One moment,” broke in Rupert, in a thick voice, “that last point of yours, Sheik, touches my reason; light breaks upon me from on high. Repeat it, I pray you.”

Ibrahim smiled cruelly. He had triumphed, the gallant English chief turned coward at the last. Then he began to repeat his argument.

The horsemen came on in a semi-circle, a hundred of them at least, or Rupert dreamed that they did. No, by Heaven! it was no dream, for hark now to that shrilling battle-cry of “Tama, Tama!” and hark to the thunder of the hoofs as the spurred horses sprang forward wildly and galloped down upon them. The Arabs wheeled round and saw their doom. With mad shouts of terror they fled this way and that, rushing towards the camels. As he went, Ibrahim hurled a spear at Rupert, but again it only grazed his head.

Then came the swift and sudden vengeance. Some were cut down and some were captured, Ibrahim among them. In two minutes it was over. A horse was dragged to its haunches almost in front of him, and from its back leapt a woman—Mea. She cast down her spear, she ran to him and threw her arms about him; she kissed him on the brow, and seeing what were the nature of his hurts, wept and cursed in English and in Arabic. Then, those soft eyes of hers flashing terribly, she turned and screamed an order:

“Bring them hither, every one of them that lives.”

They haled them up, a score of them or more; yes, even the dying; blood-stained, with rent garments and head-dresses gone, they dragged them before her.

“Now,” she said, in a voice of icy fury, “do unto them as they have done to the English lord, only from Ibrahim cut off both hands and both feet before you hang him to the tree.”

The miserable men flung themselves upon the ground, pleading for mercy. Yes, even Ibrahim prostrated himself at her feet and prayed to be slain at once. As well might he have prayed to a stone idol of slaughter. Indeed, drawn up to her full height, every nerve in her quivering, her soft and lovely face alive with rage and horror, she looked more like a goddess of vengeance than a woman.

“Spare them, lady,” said Rupert hoarsely; “they are but fanatic barbarians. Spare them for my sake.”

She turned on him.

“Be silent, Bey,” she answered roughly. “Shall I not do vengeance for your sake who were made thus for me?”

Then at length he swooned away, and when an hour later he came to himself again to find his head lying on Mea’s lap, while Bakhita doctored his hurts with cloths and ointments, he saw that the awful decree had been executed, for there upon the thorns those murdering Arabs hung, every one of them.