by Rex Beach
FLESH
I
Should you chance, in crossing a certain mountain pass in southernCatalonia, to find yourself poised above a little valley against theopposite side of which lies a monastery, look to the heights aboveit. Should you piece out from among the rocks the jagged ruins of acastle, ask its name. Your guide will perhaps inform you that thoseblackened stones are called "The Teeth of the Moor," and if he knowsthe story he will doubtless tell it to you, crossing himself manytimes during the recital. In all probability, however, he will merelyshrug his shoulders and say it is a place of bad repute, nothing more.
Even the monks of the monastery, who are considered well versed inlocal history, have forgotten the reason for the name, although theyrecall the legend that once upon a time the castle harbored a haughtyMoslem lord. Few of them ever heard the story of Joseph the Anchorite,and how he sought flesh within its portals; those who have will notrepeat it. Time was, however, when the tale was fresh, and it runsthis wise:
Away back in the reign of Abderamus the Just, First Caliph of theWest, Hafiz, a certain warlike Moor, amazed at the fertility ofthis region, established on the edge of the plateau a stronghold ofsurprising security. His house he perched upon the crest of the cliffoverlooking the valley below. It was backed by verdant, sun-kissedslopes which quickly yielded tribute in such quantity as to renderhim rich and powerful. Hafiz lived and fought and died beneath theCrescent banner, leaving in his place a son, who likewise waged war tothe northward on behalf of the Prophet and all True Believers, at thesame time farming his rich Catalonian acres.
Generations came and went, and, although the descendants of Hafizwaxed strong, so also did the power of the hated Christians. Livingas they did upon the very fringe of the Mussulman empire, theMoors beheld with consternation the slow encroachment of theUnbelievers--more noticeable here than farther to the southward.At intervals these enemies were driven back, but invariably theyreappeared, until at length, upon the plain beneath the castle, monkscame and built a monastery which they called San Sebastian. Beneaththe very eyes of Abul Malek, fourth descendant of Hafiz, they raisedtheir impious walls; although he chafed to wreak a bloody vengeancefor this outrage, his hands were tied by force of circumstance.Wearied with interminable wars, the Moorish nation had sought respite;peace dozed upon the land. Men rested and took from the earth newstrength with which to resume the never-ending struggle between theCrescent and the Cross, wherefore Abul Malek's rage availed himnothing. From his embrasured windows he beheld the cassocked enemiesof his creed passing to and fro about their business; he heard hissacred hour of prayer desecrated by their Christian bells, and coulddo no more than revile them for dogs, the while he awaited the will ofAllah. It was scant comfort for a man of his violent temper.
But the truce threatened never to be broken. Years passed and stillpeace continued to reign. Meanwhile the Moor fed upon his wrongs and,from incessant brooding over them, became possessed of a fury morefanatical, more poisonous even than had been engendered by his manybattles.
Finally, when the wrong had bit too deep for him to endure, hesummoned all his followers, and selecting from their number onehundred of the finest horsemen, he bade them make ready for a journeyto Cordova; then in their presence he kissed the blue blade of hisscimitar and vowed that the shackles which had hampered him and themwould be struck off.
For many days there ensued the bustle and the confusion of a greatpreparation in the house of the Moor; men came and went, women sewedand cleaned and burnished; horses were groomed, their manes werecombed and their hoofs were polished; and then one morning, ere thegolden sun was an hour high, down the winding trail past the monasteryof San Sebastian, came a brilliant cavalcade. Abul Malek led, seatedupon an Arabian steed whiter than the clouds which lay piled above thewestward mountains. His two sons, Hassam and Elzemah, followed astridehorses as black as night--horses the distinguished pedigrees of whichwere cited in the books of Ibn Zaid. Back of them came one hundredswarthy warriors on other coal-black mounts, whose flashing sidesflung back the morning rays. Their flowing linen robes were like thesnow, and from their turbans gleamed gems of value. Each horseman boreat his girdle a purse, a kerchief, and a poinard; and in their purseslay two thousand dinars of gold. Slaves brought up the rear ofthe procession, riding asses laden with bales, and they led fiftyblood-red bays caparisoned as for a tournament.
With scowling glances at the monastery the band rode on across thevalley, climbed to the pass, and disappeared. After many days theyarrived at Cordova, then when they had rested and cleansed themselves,Abul Malek craved audience of the Caliph, Aboul-Abbas El Hakkam. Beingof distinguished reputation, his wish was quickly granted; and on thefollowing day in the presence of the Hadjeb, the viziers, the whiteand black eunuchs, the archers, and the cuirassiers of the guard, hemade a gift to his sovereign of those hundred northern horsemen andtheir mounts, those fifty blooded bays and their housings, those balesof aloe-wood and camphor, those silken pieces and those two thousanddinars of yellow Catalonian gold. This done, he humbly craved afavor in return, and when bade to speak, he began by telling of theindignities rendered him by the monks of San Sebastian.
"Five generations my people have dwelt upon our lands, serving thetrue God and His Prophet," he declared, with quivering indignation;"but now those idolaters have come. They gibe and they mock at mebeneath my very window. My prayers are broken by their yammerings;they defile my casement, and the stench of their presence assails mynostrils."
"What do you ask of me?" inquired the Caliph.
"I ask for leave to cleanse my doorstep."
The illustrious Moslem shook his head, whereat Abul Malek cried:
"Does not the Koran direct us to destroy the unbelieving and theimpious? Must I then suffer these infidels to befoul my garden?"
"God is merciful; it is His will that for a time the Unbelievers shallappear to flourish," said the Caliph. "We are bound by solemn compactwith the kings of Leon and Castile to observe an armistice. Thatarmistice we shall observe, for our land is weary of wars, our men aretired, and their scars must heal. It is not for you or for me to say:'This is good, or this is evil.' Allah's will be done!"
Abul Malek and his sons returned alone to their mountains, but whenthey reined in at the door of their castle the father spat venomouslyat the belfried roof of the monastery beneath and vowed that he wouldyet work his will upon it.
Now that the Law forbade him to make way with his enemies by force, hecanvassed his brain for other means of effecting their downfall; butevery day the monks went on with their peaceful tasks, unmindful ofhis hatred, and their impious religion spread about the countryside.Abul Malek's venom passed them by; they gazed upon him with gentleeyes in which there was no spleen, although in him they recognized abitter foe.
As time wore on his hatred of their religion became centered upon themonks themselves, and he undertook by crafty means to annoy them. Mensaid these Christian priests were good; that their lives were spent inprayer, in meditation, and in works of charity among the poor; talescame to the Moor of their spiritual existence, of their fleshlyrenunciation; but at these he scoffed. He refused to credit them.
"Pah!" he would cry, tugging at his midnight beard; "how can these menbe aught but liars, when they live and preach a falsehood? Their creedis impious, and they are hypocrites. They are not superior beings,they are flesh like you or me. They have our passions and our faults,but a thousand times multiplied, for they walk in darkness and dwellin hypocrisy. Beneath their cassocks is black infamy; their hearts arefull of evil--aye, of lust and of every unclean thing. Being false tothe true God, they are false to themselves and to the religion theyprofess; and I will prove it." Thus ran his reasoning.
In order to make good his boast Abul Malek began to study themonks carefully, one after another. He tried temptation. A certaingross-bellied fellow he plied with wine. He flattered and fawned uponthe simple friar; he led him into his cellars, striving to poisonthe good man's body as well as his mind; but t
he visitor partook inmoderation, and preached the gospel of Christ so earnestly that theSaracen fled from his presence, bathing himself in clean water to berid of the pollution.
Next he laid a trap for the Abbot himself. He selected the fairest ofhis slaves, a well-rounded woman of great physical charm, and bribedher with a girdle of sequins. She sought out the Abbot and professeda hunger for his creed. Bound thus by secrecy to the pious man, shelured him by every means at her command. But the Abbot had room for nopassion save the love of Christ, and her wiles were powerless againstthis armor.
Abul Malek was patient; he renewed his vow to hold the false religionup to ridicule and laughter, thinking, by encompassing the downfallof a single advocate, thus to prove his contention and checkmate itsever-widening influence. He became obsessed by this idea; he schemedand he contrived; he used to the utmost the powers of his Orientalmind. From his vantage-point above the cloister he heard the monksdroning at their Latin; his somber glances followed them at theirdaily tasks. Like a spider he spun his web, and when one victim brokethrough it he craftily repaired its fabric, luring another into itsmeshes.
At times he shared his vigil with his daughter Zahra, a girl oftwelve, fast growing into womanhood; and since she had inheritedhis wit and temperament, he taught her to share his hatred of theblack-robed men.
This Moorish maiden possessed the beauty of her mother, who had diedin childbirth; and in honor of that celebrated favorite of AbderamusIII. she had been christened "Flower of the World." Nor was the titletoo immoderate, as all men who saw her vowed. Already the hot sun ofCatalonia had ripened her charms, and neighboring lords were beginningto make extravagant overtures of marriage. But seeing in her apossible weapon more powerful than any he had yet launched against themonks of San Sebastian, the father refused to consider even the bestof them. He continued to keep her at his side, pouring his hatred intoher ears until she, too, was ablaze with it.
Zahra was in her fourteenth year when Abul Malek beheld, one day, anew figure among those in the courtyard of the monastery below. Evenfrom his eminence the Saracen could see that this late-comer wasa giant man, for the fellow towered head and shoulders above hisbrethren. Inquiry taught him that the monk's name was Joseph. Nor wastheir meeting long delayed, for a sickness fell among the people ofthe valley, and Abul Malek, being skilled in medicine, went out tominister among the poor, according to his religion. At the sick-bed ofa shepherd the two men came face to face.
Joseph was not young, nor was he old, but rather he had arrived at theperfect flower of his manhood, and his placid soul shone out throughfeatures of unusual strength and sweetness. In him the crafty Moorbeheld a difference which for a time was puzzling. But eventually heanalyzed it. The other monks had once been worldly men--they showed itin their faces; the countenance of Fray Joseph, on the contrary, wasthat of a boy, and it was without track of temptation or trace ofevil. He had lived a sheltered life from his earliest youth, so ittranspired, and Abul Malek rejoiced in the discovery, it being hisbelief that all men are flesh and that within them smolder flameswhich some day must have mastery. If this monk had never let his youthrun free, if he had never met temptation and conquered it, thosepent-up forces which inhabit all of us must be gathering power, yearby year, and once the joint of this armor had been found, once itcould be pierced, he would become earthly like other men, and hisfalse religion would drop away, leaving him naked under the irksomegarb of priesthood.
Accordingly, the Moor tested Fray Joseph, as he had tested the Abbotand the others, but to no avail, and he was in despair, until one daythe secret of his failure was unexpectedly revealed.
Being busied with his accounts, he had repaired to the shade of apomegranate grove near the cliff, the better to escape the heat; whileso engaged up the path from the monastery came the good brother. Justabreast of Abul Malek's point of vantage Joseph paused to listen. Asongbird was trilling wondrously and the monk's face, raised towardthe pomegranate trees, became transfigured. He changed as if bymagic; his lips parted in a tender smile, his figure grew tense withlistening; not until the last note had died away did he move. Thena great breath stirred his lungs, and with shining eyes and raptcountenance he went on into the fields.
Abul Malek rose, his white teeth gleaming through his beard.
"Allah be praised!" he exclaimed. "It is music!" And rolling up hispapers, he went into the house.
Early on the following morning another cavalcade filed down past themonastery of San Sebastian; but this procession was in great contrastto the one that had gone by five years before. Instead of gailycaparisoned warriors, it was composed mainly of women and slaves, witha mere handful of guards to lead the way. There were bondmaidens andseamstresses, an ancient nurse and a tutor of languages; while astrideof a palfrey at her father's side rode the youthful lady of thecastle. Her veil was wet upon her cheeks, her eyes were filled withshadows; yet she rode proudly, like a princess.
Once more the train moved past the sun-baked walls of the monastery,across the plain to the mountain road that led to the land of bountyand of culture. Late that afternoon Brother Joseph learned from thelips of a herdsman that the beauteous Zahra, flower of all the Moorishrace, had gone to Cordova to study music.
II
Abul Malek once more rode home alone to his castle; but this time ashe dismounted at his door he smiled at the monastery below.
Four years crept by, during which the Saracen lord brooded over thevalley and the monk Joseph went his simple way, rendering servicewhere he could, preaching, by the example of his daily life and hisunselfish devotion, a sermon more powerful than his lips could utter.Through it all the Moor watched him carefully, safeguarding him as aprovident farmer fattens a sheep for the slaughter. Once a year thefather rode southward to Cordova, bringing news with his return thatdelighted the countryside, news that penetrated even the walls of SanSebastian and filled the good men therein with gladness. It seemedthat the maiden Zahra was becoming a great musician. She pursued herstudies in the famous school of Ali-Zeriab, and not even Moussalihimself, that most gifted of Arabian singers, could bring more tendernotes from the lute than could this fair daughter of Catalonia. Herskill transcended that of Al Farabi, for the harp, the tabor, and themandolin were wedded to her dancing fingers; and, most marvelous ofall, her soul was so filled with poetry that her verses were sung fromValencia to Cadiz. It was said that she could move men to laughter, totears, to deeds of heroism--that she could even lull them to sleep bythe potency of her magic. She had once played before the Caliph underamazing circumstances.
The Prince of True Believers, so ran the story, had quarreled withhis favorite wife, and in consequence had fallen into a state ofmelancholy so deep as to threaten his health and to alarm hisministers. Do what they would, he still declined, until in despair theHadjeb sent for Zahra, daughter of Abul Malek. She came, surrounded byher servants, and sang before El Hakkam. So cunningly did she contriveher verses, so tender were her airs, so potent were her flutteringfingers, that those within hearing were moved to tears, and theunhappy lover himself became so softened that he sped to the arms ofhis offended beauty and a reconciliation occurred. In token of hisgratitude he had despatched a present of forty thousand drachmas ofgold to the singer, and her renown went broadcast like a flame.
When Abul Malek heard of this he praised his God, and, gathering hishorsemen, he set out to bring his daughter home, for the time wasripe.
One evening in early spring, that magic season when nature is mostcharming, Fray Joseph, returning to his cell, heard from behind ascreen of verdure alongside his path a woman singing. But was thissinging? he asked himself. Could mortal lips give birth to melody likethis? It was the sighing of summer winds through rustling leaves, themusic of crystal brooks on stony courses, the full-throated worshipof birds. Joseph listened, enthralled, like a famished pilgrim in thedesert. His simple soul, attuned to harmonies of the woodland, leapedin answer; his fancy, starved by years of churchly rigor, quickenedlike a prisoner at the light of da
y. Not until the singer had ceaseddid he resume his way, and through his dreams that night ran the songof birds, the play of zephyrs, the laughter of bubbling springs.
A few evenings later he heard the voice again, and paused with lipsapart, with heart consumed by eagerness. It was some slave girl busiedamong the vines of Abul Malek, he decided, for she translated all thefragmentary airs that float through summer evenings--the songs ofsweethearts, the tender airs of motherhood, the croon of distantwaterfalls, the voice of sleepy locusts--and yet she wove them into anair that carried words. It was most wonderful.
Joseph felt a strong desire to mingle his voice with the singer's, buthe knew his throat to be harsh and stiff from chanting Latin phrases.He knew not whither the tune would lead, and yet, when she sang, hefollowed, realizing gladly that she voiced the familiar music of hissoul. He was moved to seek her out and to talk with her, until heremembered with a start that she was a woman and he a priest.
Each night he shaped his course so as to bring him past the spotwhere the mysterious singer labored, and in time he began to feel thestirring of a very earthly curiosity, the which he manfully foughtdown. Through the long, heated hours of the day he hummed her airs andrepeated her verses, longing for the twilight hour which would bringthe angel voice from out the vineyard. Eventually the girl began tosing of love, and Joseph echoed the songs in solitude, his voice asrasping and untrue as that of a frog.
Then, one evening, he heard that which froze him in his tracks. Thesinger accompanied herself upon some instrument the like of which hehad never imagined. The music filled the air with heavenly harmony,and it set him to vibrating like a tautened string; it rippledforth, softer than the breeze, more haunting than the perfume of thefrangipani. Joseph stood like a man in a trance, forgetful of allthings save these honeyed sounds, half minded to believe himselffavored by the music of the seraphim.
Never had he dreamed of such an intoxication. And then, as if tointensify his wild exultation, the maiden sang a yearning strain ofpassion and desire.
The priest began to tremble. His heart-beats quickened, his sensesbecame unbridled; something new and mighty awoke within him, and hewas filled with fever. His huge thews tightened, his muscles swelledas if for battle, yet miracle of miracles, he was melting like a childin tears! With his breath tugging at his throat, he turned off thepath and parted the verdure, going as soundlessly as an animal; andall the while his head was whirling, his eyes took note of nothing. Hewas drawn as by a thousand invisible strings, which wound him towardthe hidden singer.
But suddenly the music ended in a peal of rippling laughter and therecame the rustle of silken garments. Fray Joseph found himself in alittle open glade, so recently vacated that a faint perfume stilllingered to aggravate his nostrils. Beyond stretched the vineyard ofthe Moor, a tangle of purpling vines into the baffling mazes of whichthe singer had evidently fled.
So she had known of his presence all along, the monk reflected,dizzily. It followed, therefore, that she must have waited everyevening for his coming, and that her songs had been sung for him. Anecstasy swept over him. Regaining the path, he went downward to themonastery, his brain afire, his body tingling.
Joseph was far too simple for self-analysis, and he was too enchantedby those liquid strains to know what all this soul confusion foretold;he merely realized that he had made the most amazing of discoveries,that the music of the spheres had been translated for his privilegedears, that a door had opened allowing him to glimpse a glory hiddenfrom other mortals. It was not the existence of the singer, but of themusic, that excited him to adoration. He longed to possess it, to takeit with him, and to cherish it like a thing of substance, to worshipit in his solitude.
The song had been of love; but, after all, love was the burden of hisreligion. Love filled the universe, it kept the worlds a-swinging, itwas the thing that dominated all nature and made sweet even the rigidlife of an anchorite. It was doubtless love which awoke this fierceyet tender yearning in him now, this ecstasy that threatened tosmother him. Love was a holy and an impersonal thing, nevertheless itblazed and melted in his every vein, and it made him very human.
Through all that night Fray Joseph lay upon his couch, rapt, thankful,wondering. But in the morning he had changed. His thoughts becameunruly, and he recalled again that tantalizing perfume, the shy tonesof that mischief laughter. He began to long intensely to behold theauthor of this music-magic, to behold her just once, for imaginationgraced her with a thousand witching forms. He wished ardently, also,to speak with her about this miracle, this hidden thing called melody,for the which he had starved his life, unknowingly.
As the afternoon aged he began to fear that he had frightened her,and therefore when he came to tread his homeward path it was with astrange commingling of eagerness and of dread. But while still at adistance, he heard her singing as usual, and, nearing the spot, hestopped to drink in her message. Again the maiden sang of love; againthe monk felt his spirit leaping as she fed his starving soul evenmore adroitly than she fingered the vibrant strings. At last her wild,romantic verses became more unrestrained; the music quickened until,regardless of all things, Fray Joseph burst the thicket asunder andstood before her, huge, exalted, palpitant.
"I, too, have sung those songs," he panted, hoarsely. "That melody haslived in me since time began; but I am mute. And you? Who are you?What miracle bestowed this gift--?"
He paused, for with the ending of the song his frenzy was dying andhis eyes were clearing. There, casting back his curious gaze, was abewitching Moorish maid whose physical perfection seemed to cause thevery place to glow. The slanting sunbeams shimmered upon her silkengarments; from her careless hand drooped an instrument of gold and oftortoise-shell, an instrument strange to the eyes of the monk. Herfeet were cased in tiny slippers of soft Moroccan leather; her limbs,rounded and supple and smooth as ivory, were outlined beneath wideflowing trousers which were gathered at the ankles. A tunic of finestfabric was flung back, displaying a figure of delicate proportions,half recumbent now upon the sward.
The loveliness of Moorish women has been heralded to the world; it isnot strange that this maid, renowned even among her own people, shouldhave struck the rustic priest to dumbness. He stood transfixed; andyet he wondered not, for it was seemly that such heavenly music shouldhave sprung from the rarest of mortals. He saw that her hair, blackerthan the night, rippled in a glorious cascade below her waist, andthat her teeth embellished with the whiteness of alabaster thevermilion lips which smiled at him.
That same intoxicating scent, sweeter than the musk of Hadramaut,enveloped her; her fingers were jeweled with nails which flashed inrivalry with their burden of precious stones as she toyed with thewhispering strings.
For a time she regarded the monk silently.
"I am Zahra," she said at length, and Joseph thrilled at the tones ofher voice. "To me, all things are music."
"Zahra! 'Flower of the World,'" he repeated, wonderingly. After aninstant he continued, harshly, "Then you are the daughter of theMoor?"
"Yes. Abul Malek. You have heard of me?"
"Who has not? Aye, you were rightly called 'Flower of the World.'But--this music! It brought me here against my will; it pulls at melike straining horses. Why is that? What wizardry do you possess? Whatstrange chemistry?"
She laughed lightly. "I possess no magic art. We are akin, you and I.That is all. You, of all men, are attuned to me."
"No," he said, heavily. "You are an Infidel, I am a Christian. Thereis no bond between us."
"So?" she mocked. "And yet, when I sing, you can hear the nightingalesof Aden; I can take you with me to the fields of battle, or to theinnermost halls of the Alhambra. I have watched you many times,Brother Joseph, and I have never failed to play upon your soul as Iplay upon my own. Are we not, then, attuned?"
"Your veil!" he cried, accusingly. "I have never beheld a Moorishwoman's face until now."
Her lids drooped, as if to hide the fire behind them, and she replied,without heeding his w
ords: "Sit here, beside me. I will play for you."
"Yes, yes!" he cried, eagerly. "Play! Play on for me! But--I willstand."
Accordingly she resumed her instrument; and o'er its strings herrosy fingers twinkled, while with witchery of voice and beauty sheenthralled him. Again she sang of love, reclinging there like an_houri_ fit to grace the paradise of her Prophet; and the giant monkbecame a puppet in her hands. Now, although she sang of love, it was adifferent love from that which Joseph knew and worshiped; and as shetoyed with him his hot blood warred with his priestly devotion untilhe was racked with the tortures of the pit. But she would not let himgo. She lured him with her eyes, her lips, her luscious beauty, untilhe heard no song whatever, until he no longer saw visions of spiritualbeatitude, but flesh, ripe flesh, aquiver and awake to him.
A cry burst from him. Turning, he tore himself away and went crashingblindly through the thicket like a bull pursued. On, on he fled, downto the monastery and into the coolness of his cell, where, upon thesmooth, worn flags, he knelt and struggled with this evil thing whichaccursed his soul.
For many days Joseph avoided the spot which had witnessed histemptation; but of nights, when he lay spent and weary with hisbattle, through the grating of his window came the song of the Saracenmaid and the whisper of her golden lute. He knew she was calling tohim, therefore he beat his breast and scourged himself to cure hislonging. But night after night she sang from the heights above, andthe burden of her song was ever the same, of one who waited and of onewho came.
Bit by bit she wore down the man's resistance, then drew him upthrough the groves of citron and pomegrante, into the grape fields;time and again he fled. Closer and closer she lured him, until one dayhe touched her flesh--woman's flesh--and forgot all else. But now itwas her turn to flee.
She poised like a sunbeam just beyond his reach, her bosom heaving,her lips as ripe and full as the grapes above, her eyes afire withinvitation. In answer to his cry she made a glowing promise, subtle,yet warm and soft, as of the flesh.
"To-night, when the moon hangs over yonder pass, I shall play on thebalcony outside my window. Beneath is a door, unbarred. Come, for Ishall be alone in all the castle, and there you will find music madeflesh, and flesh made music." Then she was gone.
The soul of the priest had been in torment heretofore, but chaosengulfed it during the hours that followed. He was like a man bereftof reason; he burned with fever, yet his whole frame shook as from awintry wind. He prayed, or tried to, but his eyes beheld no visionsave a waiting Moorish maid with hair like night, his stammeringtongue gave forth no Latin, but repeated o'er and o'er her partingpromise:
"There you will find music made flesh and flesh made music."
He realized that the foul fiend had him by the throat, and undertookto cast him off; but all the time he knew that when the moon came,bringing with it the cadence of a song, he would go, even though hisgoing led to perdition. And go he did, groveling in his misery. Hissandals spurned the rocky path when he heard the voice of Zahrasighing through the branches; then, when he had reached the castlewall, he saw her bending toward him from the balcony above.
"I come to you," she whispered; and an instant later her form showedwhite against the blackness of the low stone door in front of him.There, in the gloom, for one brief instant, her yielding body met his,her hands reached upward and drew his face down to her own; then outfrom his hungry arms she glided, and with rippling laughter fled intothe blackness.
"Zahra!" he cried.
"Come!" she whispered, and when he hesitated, "Do you fear to follow?"
"Zahra!" he repeated; but his voice was strange, and he tore at thecloth that bound his throat, stumbling after her, guided only by hervoice.
Always she was just beyond his reach; always she eluded him; yet neverdid he lose the perfume of her presence nor the rustle of her silkengarments. Over and over he cried her name, until at last he realizedfrom the echo of his calling that he had come into a room of greatdimensions and that the girl was gone.
For an instant he was in despair, until her voice reached him fromabove:
"I do but test you, Christian priest. I am waiting."
"'Flower of the World,'" he stammered, hoarsely. "Whence lead thestairs?"
"And do you love me, then?" she queried, in a tone that set him allablaze.
"Zahra," he repeated, "I shall perish for want of you."
"How do you measure this devotion?" she insisted, softly. "Will itcool with the dawn, or are you mine in truth forever and all time?"
"I have no thought save that of you. Come, Light of my Soul, or Ishall die."
"Do you then adore me above all things, earthly and heavenly, that youforsake your vows? Answer, that my arms may enfold you."
He groaned like a man upon a rack, and the agony of that cry was proofconclusive of his abject surrender.
Then, through the dead, black silence of the place there came astartling sound. It was a peal of laughter, loud, evil, triumphant;and, as if it had been a signal, other mocking voices took it up,until the great vault rang to a fiendish din.
"Ho! Hassam! Elzemah! Close the doors!" cried the voice of Abul Malek."Bring the lights."
There followed a ponderous clanging and the rattle of chains, thewhile Fray Joseph stood reeling in his tracks. Then suddenly fromevery side burst forth the radiance of many lamps. Torches sprang intoflame, braziers of resin wood began to smoke, flambeaux were lit, and,half blinded by the glare, the Christian monk stood revealed in thehall of Abul Malek.
He cast his eyes about, but on every side he beheld grinning men ofswarthy countenance, and at sight of his terror the hellish merrimentbroke forth anew, until the whole place thundered with it. Facinghim, upon an ornamental balcony, stood the Moor, and beside him, withelbows on the balustrade and face alight with sinister enjoyment,stood his daughter.
Stunned by his betrayal, Joseph imploringly pronounced her name, atwhich a fresh guffaw resounded. Then above the clamor she inquired,with biting malice:
"Dost thou any longer doubt, oh, Christian, that I adore thee?"At this her father and her brothers rocked back and forth, as ifsuffocated by the humor of this jest.
The lone man turned, in mind to flee, but every entrance to the hallwas closed, and at each portal stood a grinning Saracen. He bowed hisshaven head, and his shame fell slowly upon him.
"You have me trapped," he said. "What shall my punishment be?"
"This," answered the Moorish lord; "to acknowledge once again, beforeus all, the falseness of your faith."
"That I have never done; that I can never do," said Joseph.
"Nay! But a moment ago you confessed that you adored my daughter aboveall things, earthly or heavenly. You forswore your vows for her.Repeat it, then."
"I have sinned before God; but I still acknowledge Him and crave Hismercy," said the wretched priest.
"Hark you, Joseph. You are the best of monks. Have you ever done evilbefore this night?"
"My life has been clean, but the flesh is weak. It was the witchcraftof Satan in that woman's music. I prayed for strength, but I waspowerless. My soul shall pay the penalty."
"What sort of God is this who snares His holiest disciple, with thelusts of the flesh?" mocked Abul Malek. "Did not your prayers mountup so high? Or is His power insufficient to forestall the devil? Bah!There is but one true God, and Mohammed is His Prophet. These manyyears have I labored to rend your veil of holiness asunder andto expose your faith to ridicule and laughter. This have I doneto-night."
"Stop!" cried the tortured monk. "Bring forth a lance."
"Nay! Nay! You shall hear me through," gloated Abul Malek; and againJoseph bowed his tonsured head, murmuring:
"It is my punishment."
Ringed about thus by his enemies, the priest stood meekly, while thesweat came out upon his face; as the Saracen mocked and jeered at himhe made no answer, except to move his lips in whispered grayer. Had itnot been for this sign they might have thought him changed to stone,so motionless
and so patient did he stand. How long the baiting lastedno one knew; it may have been an hour, then Joseph's passive silenceroused the anger of the overlord, who became demoniac in his rage.His followers joined in harrying the victim, until the place became ababel. Finally Elzemah stepped forward, torch in hand, and spat uponthe giant black-robed figure.
The monk's face whitened, it grew ghastly; but he made no movement.Then in a body the infidels rushed forth to follow the example ofAbul Malek's son. They swarmed about the Christian, jeering, cursing,spitting, snatching at his garments, until their master cried:
"Enough! The knave has water in his veins. His blood has soured.Deserted by his God, his frame has withered and his vigor fled."
"Yes," echoed his daughter. "He is great only in bulk. Had he been aMan I might have loved him; but the evil has fled out of him, leavingnothing but his cassock. Off with his robe, Elzemah. Let us see ifaught remains."
With swift movement her brother tore at the monk's habit, baring hisgreat bosom. At this insult to his cloth a frightful change swept overthe victim. He upheaved his massive shoulders, his gleaming head rosehigh, and in the glaring light they saw that his face had lost allsweetness and humility; it was now the visage of a madman. All fleshlypassion stored through thirty years of cloister life blazed forth,consuming reason and intelligence; with a sweep of his mighty arms hecleared a space about him, hurling his enemies aside as if they weremade of straw. He raised his voice above the din, cursing God and menand Moors. As they closed in upon him he snatched from the hands of alusty slave a massive wrought-iron brazier, and whirling it high abovehis head, he sent its glowing coals flying into the farthest cornersof the room. Then with this weapon he laid about him right and left,while men fell like grain before the reaper.
"At him!" shouted Abul Malek, from his balcony. "Pull down the weaponsfrom the walls! The fool is mad!"
Zahra clutched at her father's sleeve and pointed to a distant corner,where a tongue of flame was licking the dry woodwork and hangings.Her eyes were flashing and her lips were parted; she bent forward,following the priest with eagerness.
"Allah be praised!" she breathed. "He is a Man!"
Elzemah strove to sheathe his poinard in the monk's bare breast, butthe brazier crushed him down. Across the wide floor raged the contest,but the mighty priest was irresistible. Hassam, seeing that the priestwas fighting toward the balcony, flung himself upon the stairs, cryingto his father and his sister to be gone. By now the castle echoed witha frightful din through which arose a sinister crackling. The lightincreased moment by moment, and there came the acrid smell of smoke.
Men left the maniac to give battle to the other fury. Some fled to thedoors and fought with their clumsy fastenings, but as they flungthem back a draught sucked through, changing the place into a ragingfurnace.
With his back against the stairs, Hassam hewed at the monk with hisscimitar; he had done as well had he essayed to fell an oak with asingle blow. Up over him rushed the giant, to the balcony above, whereAbul Malek and his daughter stood at bay in the trap of their ownmanufacture. There, in the glare of the mounting flames, Fray Josephsank his mighty fingers through the Moor's black beard.
The place by now was suffocating, and the roar of the conflagrationhad drowned all other sounds. Men wrapped their robes about theirheads and hurled themselves blindly at the doors, fighting with oneanother, with the licking flames, with the dead that clogged theslippery flags. But the maid remained. She tore at the tatteredcassock of the priest, crying into his ear:
"Come, Joseph! We may yet escape."
He let the writhing Abul Malek slip from out his grasp and peered ather through the smother.
"Thou knowest me not?" she queried. "I am Zahra." Her arms entwinedhis neck for a second time that night, but with a furious cry heraised his hands and smote her down at his feet, then he fled back tothe stairs and plunged down into the billows that raged ahead of thefresh night wind.
The bells of San Sebastian were clanging the alarm, the good monkswere toiling up the path toward the inferno which lit the heavens,when, black against the glare, they saw a giant figure approaching. Itcame reeling toward them, vast, mighty, misshapen. Not until it was intheir very midst did they recognize their brother, Joseph. He wasbent and broken, he was singed of body and of raiment, he gibberedfoolishly; he passed them by and went staggering to his cell. Long erethey reached the castle it was but a seething mountain of flame; andin the morning naught remained of Abul Malek's house but heated ruins.
Strange tales were rife concerning the end of the Moor and of hisimmediate kin, but the monks could make little out of them, for theywere garbled and too ridiculous for belief. No Mussulman who survivedthe fire could speak coherently of what had happened in the greathall, nor could Fray Joseph tell his story, for he lay stricken with amalady which did not leave him for many weeks. Even when he recoveredhe did not talk; for although his mind was clear on most matters, nay,although he was as simple and as devout as ever, a kind Providence hadblotted out all memory of Zahra, of his sin, and of the temptationthat had beset his flesh.
So it is that even to this day "The Teeth of the Moor" remains a termof mystery to most of the monks of San Sebastian.