“But suppose I fail?”
“Even then, our fate will be not one whit the worse than it is at this moment,” answered Mukhtar.
There was a short pause. Then Amagay, who had apparently become convinced by the strength of his fellow-conspirator’s argument, answered —
“I agree with thee, O Mukhtar. Thy mouth uttereth wisdom. Only the mighty Hámed’s death can save us; so, if Allah willeth, my keen steel shall strike the tyrant to the dust.”
“Then we shall count upon thee,” exclaimed the Grand Vizier, apparently well pleased. “Hearken, and I will show thee how the removal of His Majesty can be best accomplished. He hath sent information to the Keeper of the Treasure that to-morrow, after the midday meal, it will please him to repair unto the Treasury, in order to choose jewels to present to his new favourite. The jewels of great price are to be laid out for his inspection. On his way from the court to the Treasure House he will be compelled to pass across the Great Hall of Audience and through the long, dark passage that divideth that chamber from the Court of the Treasury. In that passage are niches where one mayest remain concealed, and it is there that thy steel must strike.”
“But may not others accompany him?”
“Leave that unto me. After he hath eaten, I shall detain him in conversation about certain pressing matters of state, so that his guards will pass before him, and he will walk alone past the spot where thou art secreted with thy companions, the Chamberlain and the Aga of the Janissaries. Then wilt thou rush out, and in a second the Sultan Hámed will be no more.”
“Will not the guards rush back and kill us?” the Chief Eunuch asked doubtfully.
“No. The conspiracy hath already been well planned in every detail. When the tyrant falleth, the heads of Khadidja and Zobeide will be struck off by thy guardians of the harem, and thus will the three persons whose power threateneth us have disappeared, and so secretly that not twenty of those within the Fáda will be aware of the tragedy.”
“Thou art indeed, O Mukhtar, a man of much foresight and one fitted to rule,” exclaimed Amagay, in admiration of the old villain’s cunning. “True, the Sultan Hámed is as a shadow betwixt us and the shining of the sun, and he must be removed. In thee, upon whom the One Merciful hath bestowed bounteous wisdom, I place my trust, and will assist thee in placing upon the Great Divan ’Abd-el-Kerim, the Son of the Doomed. Thy servant’s scimitar shall strike this daring blow for liberty. Peace.”
“Hush! Listen!” whispered the Grand Vizier in a tone of alarm. “One of thy men approacheth from the harem. Let us part to allay suspicion. I will await thee in my pavilion two hours after the sun hath arisen. Until then, slama!”
A slight jingling of keys and softly-receding footsteps; then all was quiet again.
Alone I sat for a long time reflecting upon the secret of the great plot of which I had accidentally obtained knowledge. At noon the Sultan Hámed, dreaded throughout Fezzan, Tripoli, and the Sahara as the most powerful and tyrannical of rulers, would be struck down, and his son proclaimed monarch, while the assassination would, no doubt, bring death to many of the inmates of the harem. The palace was asleep, its lotus-eating inmates little dreaming of the great coup d’état that had been so cunningly planned, or of the startling sensation in store for them. The black guardians of the harem stood silent and statuesque on either side of its carved portals, and the dead silence of the Court of the Eunuchs remained unbroken.
Enslaved as I was, my thoughts were always of liberty whereby I might deliver Zoraida’s message to the imam, and I now saw in this knowledge of the attempt on the Sultan’s life a means to regain my freedom. Though excited over the discovery, I resolved to remain calm and act judiciously, for I foresaw that any desire I might express to seek audience of His Majesty would arouse suspicion among the conspirators. Through that night I pondered deeply over the strange events of the past few months, endeavouring time after time to convince myself that Zoraida no longer lived. Yet my mind refused to accept any indistinct theory of which I had not absolute proof. She had entrusted to me a mission in which, alas! I had by sheer ill-luck failed, nevertheless I recollected her earnest words when she had given the Crescent of Glorious Wonders into my keeping, and it was more than possible, I argued, that the imam was daily expecting my arrival and wondering what mishap had befallen me.
From him alone I could obtain the Great Secret, yet what would that knowledge avail, now that I had lost the mysterious half-circle of steel? Where was Zoraida? If alive, she would, I reflected, probably be journeying with her people in the Great Desert, the all-powerful prophetess of the most desperate band of fleet horsemen that ever rode over the Sahara. She, the dazzling, mysterious Daughter of the Sun, held in awe by the Ennitra, was possibly directing their marauding expeditions, sharing the plunder with her own delicate fingers, and causing death and desolation among neighbouring caravans; yet, when I recollected how at heart she hated that life of rapine and murder, how she shrank from the position in which, by some unaccountable combination of circumstances, she was forcibly held, my blood rose within me. Had she not acknowledged that she loved me? Were we not actually betrothed? Truly, the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof which I had ridiculed had been a presage of impending evil that was gradually being fulfilled. Mystified by the strange, weird rites that Zoraida had practised, fascinated by her marvellous beauty, filled with admiration at the cool courage she had displayed when saving my life, I had travelled steadily onward, meeting misfortune with a smile and disregarding danger and fatigue, until my capture. Then I knew that to declare myself a Christian would mean certain death, so I had been compelled, much against my will, to conceal my nationality and act as a devout follower of the Prophet until an opportunity for escape should present itself. That opportunity, I felt, was now at hand, and though the flush of dawn appeared, sleep came not to my eyes, for I sat devising various schemes, one of which, however wild and hazardous, it was imperative should be carried out successfully before noon.
As the sun rose, and the great courts of the Fáda grew animated, I resumed my work, burnishing swords, spears, and shields until they shone like mirrors, yet keeping an ever-vigilant eye upon the gate of the harem, in case His Majesty should emerge. Unfortunately, the Sultan seldom eared to pass outside his private apartments. Only once had I seen him, and then only at a distance. To all save his high officers and body-servants he was absolutely unapproachable. When he made a tour of the palace, — which I learned was of very rare occurrence, — he was surrounded by men-at-arms with drawn swords, and none dared address him for fear of incurring his displeasure, which meant unceremonious decapitation.
As the hours sped on, and the shade in the sunlit court grew smaller, I began to consider all hope of averting the triple tragedy futile. Once or twice, Amagay, a giant in stature, had passed and repassed with heavy, thoughtful brow and arms folded under his burnouse, as if preoccupied with the details of the widespread conspiracy, and my astonishment was sudden when presently he entered my den, and, drawing his splendid scimitar, the hilt of which was encrusted with jewels, said — “This weapon hath no edge upon it. Sharpen it quickly. Whet it upon thy stone.”
With hands trembling with excitement, I took the great sword, such as could only be wielded by one of enormous strength, and proceeded to sharpen it as he commanded.
“Take thy time. Make the blade so keen that it will cut a single hair.”
“Thy will be done, O lord Amagay,” I answered, not daring to look up lest my agitation should betray me, while the Chief of the Eunuchs lit a cigarette, and, lolling against the door, watched me until I had sharpened to a keen edge the scimitar that was to strike dead СКАЧАТЬ