4 African Mysteries: Zoraida, The Great White Queen, The Eye of Istar & The Veiled Man (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux

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СКАЧАТЬ Thirty Six

       The Bond of Blood

       Table of Contents

      Sleep was impossible. Thoughts of Zoraida absorbed me. Her position was an extraordinary, yet perilous one, and she herself was still enveloped in a mystery that seemed utterly impenetrable. Apparently she was well aware of the secret plans of the Senousya, and by her grace and beauty had charmed these wild, merciless outlaws, ruling even Hadj Absalam himself. Queen of that fierce piratical band, she seemed to have held them so completely under her sway, that the great Sultan of the Sahara himself had been led by her into battle, and had carried out her orders with implicit confidence and passive obedience. The whole situation seemed unintelligible. It appeared impossible that this fair woman, scarcely more than a girl, with such amazingly beautiful features and gracefully-moulded half-bare limbs, who seemed to lead an exotic existence, half consumed by the ennui of the harem, should be responsible for the plunder and carnage, the heartless outrages and brutal massacres, which had during the past few years appalled both Christians and True Believers throughout North Africa. Yet had I not already heard rumours of this from the Spahis? Was it not now proved by her own admissions that she had led the Ennitra against the Zouaves, Turcos, and homards?

      Why, I wondered, had the dead hand been sent to me; why had some unknown person endeavoured to convince me of her death; why, indeed, had those who knew her all conspired to keep from me the knowledge that she still lived? The facts formed a strange enigma which I hoped would ere long be solved, for this latest disappearance of the Crescent of Glorious Wonders had added considerably to the mystery. Nevertheless she had promised to communicate with me, so I existed from hour to hour in intense expectancy, hoping to receive a summons to enter her bewitching presence.

      I had not long to wait, for, on the following evening, while the people had assembled on the opposite side of the camp and were performing their evening prayer, I was strolling slowly past the three silken pavilions of the self-styled Sultan, when suddenly there appeared at the door of one of the two smaller tents, that were zealously and constantly guarded by armed men, a black female slave. For a few seconds she disappeared, then, coming forth again, she beckoned me. As I approached, my passage was immediately barred by a dozen unsheathed swords, but on a word from the negress the men’s arms were relegated to their scabbards, and I followed her into the pavilion.

      The sweetly-scented interior was replete with every comfort and luxury. From a golden lamp above a soft, subdued light fell upon bright divans, velvet hangings, dark-hued rugs, and little mother-of-pearl tables, whereon there stood fresh fruits in vessels of gold; while stretched upon a lion’s skin, with which her low couch was covered, lay Zoraida, a radiant, dazzling vision of beauty.

      Throwing down her cigarette as I entered, she raised herself upon her elbow and greeted me with a smile of glad welcome, at the same time ordering her slave to bring me cigarettes, and motioning me to a seat beside her.

      In silence our hands clasped until the negress disappeared. She had gone to mount guard at the door, in order to give us warning if enemies approached. The armed guards were, Zoraida explained in a few hasty words, her own trusted servants, and would keep my presence a secret. Thus placing me at my ease, and assuring me that we had naught to fear, she entwined her bare arms around my neck, and, gently pulling my head down to hers, kissed me passionately.

      “Through long, weary days, my Amîn, have we been parted. So long! And thou hast always been so faithful, so unswerving in thy devotion unto me!”

      “I have merely striven to fulfil my promise,” I said, enravished by her beauty, and returning her tender caress. “For many moons have I journeyed in order to accomplish the mission I undertook, yet until yesterday I mourned for thee as dead. Canst thou imagine my joy now that we are once again together?”

      “Ah!” she exclaimed, throwing one arm over her head, as her white, scented bosom, half-covered with flashing jewels, slowly rose and fell. “Thou didst think me dead? Perhaps it would have been better for me — better for thee — if I had really died. On the night we parted I was near indeed to death.”

      “How?” I asked anxiously. “I heard thy screams, but was held powerless to return and render thee help. Tell me what occurred?”

      “Strive not to penetrate secrets that are mine alone, Ce-cil,” she answered, kindly but firmly. “I can only show thee evidence of the coward’s blow;” and raising herself into a sitting posture, she tore asunder the transparent, pearl-embroidered lace which was the only covering of the upper part of her body, revealing to my astonished eyes a great ugly wound only half-healed. She had been struck in the left side, half-way between arm-pit and waist, evidently with a keen, crooked jambiyah, which had inflicted a terrible injury. The white, delicate flesh was red and inflamed around a deep wound about three inches in length, from which bandages had apparently only recently been removed.

      “Who attempted thy murder?” I asked, enraged that anyone should thus strike down a defenceless woman.

      “An enemy,” she answered, readjusting her filmy garments, the transparency of which caused her no concern. The gauzes of the harem had always been her attire from childhood, and she knew nothing of rigid Western conventionalities. To the fair daughters of Al-Islâm the follies and foibles of Parisian fashion are a mystery. It is the mission of the inmates of the harem to look beautiful, but they trust to their own personal attractions, not to Worth’s creations or Truefitt’s coiffures. The corsets, tailor-made gowns, and other arts that transform a hag of sixty into a “smart” Society woman, are unknown in the dreamy Courts of Love, for the velvet zouaves, the gauzy serroual, and the garments of brilliant silk brocade are practically the same from Fez to Teheran.

      “Name the man who struck thee!” I cried. “He shall answer to me.”

      “No, no,” she replied, turning slowly among her luxurious cushions, causing her golden anklets to jingle. “It is best that, for the present, thou shouldst not know.”

      “But a dead hand, with thy rings upon its lifeless fingers, was sent to me, and I thought thou hadst — ”

      “Yes, yes,” she answered quickly, interrupting. “But thou mayest not know for what object the severed hand was sent thee. Forget the incident now; some day shalt thou know all.”

      “When?”

      Taking my hand gently in hers, she raised it slowly to her lips, replying, “When we are free to love each other.”

      “Are we not free now? What obstacle is there?”

      “One that seemeth insurmountable,” she answered, looking earnestly at me with her fine dark eyes, so full of love and passion. “By a secret bond am I held unto the Ennitra, and thou alone canst sever it and give me freedom.”

      “How?” I asked eagerly.

      “By faithfully carrying out the mission that I entrusted unto thee; by obtaining the secret from Mohammed ben Ishak at Agadez.”

      “I have done my best,” I said. “I have actually been in Agadez, but only as slave in the Fáda of the Sultan.”

      “Yes,” she replied, with a sweet, tender smile, lifting her dark lashes for an instant; “already have I heard of thy perilous adventures, of the gallant attempt thou hast made, risking thy life fearlessly among thine enemies for my sake. True, we love each other devotedly, but, alas! we — we are not yet free;” and her bright eyes became dimmed with tears.

      “When СКАЧАТЬ