There was a King in Egypt Part 49

"_Aiwah_, Effendi. They seldom go up to see the sky; perhaps they have never sung to the moon."

"To every bird his nest is home, Abdul."

"_Aiwah_, Effendi. But I will take you to the _Omdeh's_ house--we shall soon be out of this."

"Is his house amongst these hovels?" Michael pointed to one particularly dark cavern. Unlike the ordinary desert peoples, the women were veiled; only their dark eyes were visible to the stranger whom they flocked to see. They showed great surprise when Michael spoke to one of the men in fluent Arabic.

At Michael's suggestion that the _Omdeh's_ house would be like one of the cave-houses, Abdul had flung back his head. His smile was scornful; a little annoyance was perceptible in his voice.

"_La_, Effendi. The _Omdeh's_ house is like a bower in paradise. The Effendi will enjoy a cup of caravan-tea and a long rest in the cool orchard, where water flows and caged birds sing."

"He has an orchard in a cavern like this!" Michael steadied himself by catching hold of Abdul's staff; he had almost fallen over a baby.

"_Aiwah_, Effendi. The _Omdeh_ does not live in the rocks, like the bats. His house is just outside the village. He is very rich--he owns many camels and much cotton and he has a date-farm. He is ent.i.tled to three wives."

"Very well, Abdul. I put myself in your hands." Michael sighed.

"This village makes me feel rather sick--the whole thing is too horrible, too sad--G.o.d's blue sky just up above, and His sweet, clean desert sand, and down here this living death, these idle, dirty women, these sickly, fly-covered babies."

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, it is custom." Abdul shrugged his shoulders. "Did the Effendi not say that to every bird his nest is home? These women were born here, their children will grow up here, they will have their children here. It is their home."

"We must get out of it, Abdul. I can't stand it any longer!" Michael tried to walk faster. "If I had only a fly-switch! I can't keep the beasts out of my mouth--it's disgusting!"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, I told you it was not a wholesome village. I a.s.sured the Effendi it would be wiser for him only to pay his respects to the _Omdeh_ and not to pa.s.s through his village." Abdul darted into one of the houses, whose open front was flush with the rock-wall of the street, which was simply a tunnel in a vast rock; he returned with a palm-leaf fan; a half-piastre had purchased it. He fanned his master with it until he saw the colour return to his cheeks. "The Effendi is better?"

"Thank you, Abdul, I am all right. It was only this stifling atmosphere, and I've been feeling a bit off colour for the last few days--my usual powers of sleep have deserted me."

"The Effendi has some trouble on his mind?"

"That is true, Abdul, but the trouble would not be there if I was feeling quite my usual self--I could banish it."

"The Effendi's heart must not be distracted."

"I have received no letters from the Valley, Abdul. What do you think has happened?"

"The Effendi must not ask for things impossible."

"I suppose not, Abdul. When I left the Valley I agreed that I should not expect to receive letters--they were not to write unless there were things taking place which I ought to know, yet my heart is troubled--I have written so often."

"May the Effendi's servant know the cause of his master's unrest? Will he permit two hearts to bear the burden?"

"I should feel at rest if I was certain that the Effendi Lampton had received my letter, if I knew that scandal had not been carried to the hut." Michael paused. "I wished to be the first to tell him that Madam was a member of our camp, that I met her unexpectedly, that fear sent her away. My happiness depended upon his answer, upon his absolute belief in my explanation."

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, Abdul understands. The situation has complications--ill news travels apace."

"I should not like the _Sitt_ to hear from other sources that Madam was with us."

"But your letter should have reached the hut by this time, Effendi."

"Has there been time to get an answer? Do you believe my letter reached Effendi Lampton, Abdul?" Michael asked the question interestedly. Had this seer any second knowledge on the subject? Had he the conviction that in the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings there was no misgiving, no fear, that Margaret's heart was undisturbed?

Abdul knew what his master meant, but with his native dislike of giving an unpleasant answer when a pleasant one would serve, he parried the question.

"The honourable _Sitt_ has a n.o.ble nature, a clean heart. She is not like Madam. The Effendi's thoughts make his own unhappiness, they are not the thoughts of the gracious lady. The thoughts that come from her travel on angel's wings; they gave the Effendi dreams last night."

"You are right, Abdul. Ah, thank goodness!" Michael gave an exclamation of pleasure; he had caught a glint of suns.h.i.+ne, had felt a breath of desert air. The Living Aton was penetrating the rat-pit.

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, that is the exit of the village. The _Omdeh's_ house is not far off--in less than five minutes the Effendi will be reposing in his cool _selamlik_, his throat refreshed with caravan tea."

In a native house the _selamlik_ is a s.p.a.cious room or summerhouse, set apart for the receiving of guests. To Michael the _Omdeh's selamlik_ seemed like a foretaste of paradise. The _Omdeh_ was a courteous old gentleman, who played the part of host and government official with a simple dignity and friendly hospitality.

The open front of the _selamlik_ faced a beautiful orange orchard; low seats, comfortably cus.h.i.+oned, ran round its three walls. The _Omdeh_ sat on his feet on his _mastaba_. His splendid turban and flowing white robes gave him the appearance of a _Kadi_ dispensing justice from his throne. Abdul and Michael reclined on the seat which faced him.

They had both been presented with an elaborate fly-switch, whose handles were decorated with bright beads.

The old man was astonished and delighted to find that Michael could speak Arabic. He was an intelligent, well-read man and something of a politician, an ardent supporter of the British rule in Egypt. He was greatly interested in all that Michael could tell him relating to the news from the outer world.

In his turn, he expressed his regret that more trouble was not taken to suppress the secret, seditious, and anti-English propaganda which was being taught and preached in the desert schools and mosques.

"Where they started, no man knows," he said. "Nevertheless, Effendi, their headquarters is 'somewhere.'" He smiled the peculiar smile of the Eastern, so baffling to the Western mind. "The English are without suspicion, Effendi; they trust everyone."

Michael expressed his ignorance as to what he alluded to. Was he referring to the Nationalist Party in Egypt?

"They do not know their worst enemies, Effendi. They tolerate the presence of mischief-makers, who seduce the ignorant. And these strangers are clever, Effendi, they spare no trouble. In the mosques and the schools they are teaching, or causing to be taught, strange and new ideas. No village is too far off for this propaganda to reach. It is well to believe in others as we would be believed in ourselves, Effendi, but England is like the ostrich which buries its head in the sand. I grieve to tell the Effendi these truths."

To Michael the man's words rang with the truth of conviction. They suggested a new danger to British rule in Egypt. And yet he had heard nothing of the unrest to which he alluded while he was in Luxor or in Cairo; it seemed to flourish in the desert. When he questioned the old man, he became as secret as an oyster; what he definitely knew he did not mean to present to every pa.s.sing stranger.

While they had been talking, Michael had enjoyed countless small cups of tea. It was so good and fragrant that he realized that for the first time he had drunk tea as it was meant to be drunk. He understood how greatly it deteriorates by crossing the ocean; this tea had journeyed all the way to the _Omdeh's_ house by caravan; it had been brought overland by the old trade-route.

When Michael had rested he began the lengthy preliminaries of saying good-bye. The _Omdeh_ would not hear of his going; he invited him to visit his orchard, a beautiful Eden of fruits and exotic flowers, abundantly irrigated by rivulets of clear water. The contrast between this emerald patch, where golden globes of fruit were still hanging from some of the orange-trees, struck Michael as flagrantly cruel. The _Omdeh_, because of his wealth and social position, was living in a cool, well-built house, surrounded by all that was fresh and fair, an ideal home; yet, not a stone's throw from his secluded orchard and cool _selamlik_, were the narrow streets, littered over with filthy children, encrusted with scabs and black with flies! An overwhelming pity for the ignorant, subterranean people, who were content to live like rats in their holes, filled his soul. How could the _Omdeh_ permit it? He seemed kind and he knew that he was intelligent.

Probably when the poor were in trouble they instinctively came to him; he administered the affairs of the village, no doubt, with scrupulous impartiality. In this ancient and conservative land it was simply a part of his inherited belief and tradition that such extremes would always exist, that the condition of these people was the condition of which they were worthy, that it was no man's business but their own.

They were in Allah's hands. If He willed it, He would help them to rise above it. Our wants make us poor--these men and women had no wants; they were not poor.

It was with much difficulty that Michael at last bade his host adieu, an adieu of abounding phraseology and grace of speech. The _Omdeh_, with native hospitality, had tried to persuade his guest to remain with him for some days, or if he could not do that, to at least do honour to his humble house by spending one night in it. If the honourable Effendi would only remain, he would tell his servant to kill a sheep and have it roasted; he would send for a noted dancer, to beguile the later hours of the evening; he would have his four gazelles brought to the _selamlik_ and Michael should see how beautifully they ran and jumped--they were of a very rare species, much admired by all who could appreciate their points.

To all these inducements Michael turned a deaf ear, even to the last, a blind musician, whose _'ood_ playing was greatly celebrated. It was not easy to refuse these pressing inducements, which were all put before Michael with the elaborate charm of Arabic speech. It was he who was to confer the pleasure by remaining; it was he who was to be unselfish and bestow so unexpected and great a pleasure on his humble host.

Determined to get on his way that same afternoon, Michael hardened his heart. He told the _Omdeh_ that Abdul had arranged that they were to travel to within one day's journey of their destination that same day; their camp would be in readiness. On the following day Abdul and he were to leave the servants in charge of the camp and start out on the last portion of their journey. They were now but one day and a half from the Promised Land.

Michael had agreed with Abdul that their secret must not be divulged, that the servants must remain in ignorance of the real purpose of their tour. They imagined that it was to visit the ancient Pharaoh's tomb.

Just as they were leaving the orchard the _Omdeh_ said: "There have been strange rumours afloat, Effendi. Men say that a wealth of buried treasure has been discovered in the hills to which you are travelling.

Is it known to you?"

"Indeed?" Michael said evasively. "What sort of treasure? Do the authorities know of it? Who has discovered it?" He managed to speak calmly and without emotion.

The _Omdeh_ threw back his head. "It is not worth a wise man's breath inquiring. It is but one of the many foolish fables which travel with the winds." He shrugged his shoulders.

"What started the rumour? Where did it originate? There is generally some fire where there's smoke."