CHAPTER XXI
THE ELEVENTH HOUR
When Max, at the head of his small caravan, came in sight of the Agha's_douar_, it was almost noon, and the desert, shimmering with heat, wasmotionless, as if under enchantment. They had travelled through thenight, after learning that Ben Raana and his family had gone fromDjazerta, with intervals of rest no longer than those allowed to theLegion on march. What they saw was a giant tent as large as a circustent in a village of America or Europe surrounded at a distance by anarmy of little tents, black and dirty brown, so flat and low that theywere like huge bats with outstretched wings resting on the sand. Thegreat tent of the chief with its high roof, its vast spread of white,red, and amber striped cloth of close-woven camel's hair, rose noblyabove all the others, as a mosque rises above a crowd of prostrateworshippers at prayer. For background, there was a clump of trees; forhere, in the far southern desert, just outside a waving welter of dunes,lay a region of _dayas_, where a wilderness of sand and tumbled stoneswas brightened by green hollows half full of gurgling water.
Never before had Max seen a _douar_ of importance, the desert dwellingof a desert chief. But Manoeel had been here before; and thecamel-drivers, if they had not visited this _douar_, were familiar withothers. Max alone wondered at the great tent, whose many differentcompartments sheltered the Agha, his whole family, and servants broughtfrom Djazerta. As the caravan wound nearer to watching eyes, anothertent, not so big, but new and brilliant of colour, separated itself fromthe vast bulk of the _tente sultane_.
"What is that?" Max asked Manoeel, who rode beside him as interpreter,his dark-stained face almost covered by the white folds of his woollenhood, the fire of his young eyes dimmed and aged by a pair of cheap,silver-rimmed spectacles such as elderly Arabs wear.
"The Agha must have ordered that new tent to be set up for Tahar,"Manoeel answered gruffly; and Max guessed from the sharpening of his toneand the brevity of his explanation that this was the desert dwellingappointed for the bridegroom when he should take his bride.
In the boldness of their plan lay its hope of success; for though BenRaana's suspicions were on the alert he would not expect the banishedlover to ride brazenly up to his tent, side by side with a soldiermessenger from Colonel DeLisle. There was an instant of suspense afterthe corporal on leave and his Arab interpreter were received by the Aghain a reception-room whose walls were red woollen draperies; but it wasscarcely longer than a heartbeat. Ben Raana had just come out fromanother room beyond, where, the curtains falling apart, several guestsin the high turbans of desert dignitaries could be seen seated oncushions and waited upon by Soudanese men who were serving a meal.
The Agha scarcely glanced at Max's companion, the dark, spectacled Arab,but announcing in French that no interpreter would be needed, he clappedhis hands to summon a servant. One of the black men lifted the redcurtains higher and came in, received instructions as to theinterpreter's entertainment, and led him away. Max could hardly keepback a sigh of relief, for that had been a bad moment. Now it was over,and with it his personal responsibility in his friend's adventure. Ithad been agreed between them that Colonel DeLisle's messenger to BenRaana should have no further hand in the plot against the Agha. The restwas for Manoeel alone, unless at the end help should be necessary (andpossible) for Ourieda's rescue.
Max delivered a letter from DeLisle, and the Agha read it slowlythrough. Then he raised his eyes and fixed them upon the Legionnaire asif wondering how far he might be in his colonel's confidence.
"My friend has sent thee to escort his daughter to Sidi-bel-Abbes," BenRaana said thoughtfully. "Although he cannot be there himself, hebelieves the northern climate will be better for her health at this timeof year. Perhaps he is right; though my daughter, whom she has visited,would have been delighted as a married woman to keep MademoiselleDeLisle with her. However, my friend's will is as Allah's will. It mustbe done. The day after to-morrow my daughter's wedding feast will beover and she will go to her husband's tent. Remain here quietly tillthen as my guest. Thy interpreter and the persons of thy caravan shallbe well cared for, I promise thee, by my household. When my daughterleaves me the daughter of my friend shall go in peace at the same hour,in thy charge."
As he spoke his eyes remained on the messenger's face, watching for anychange of expression, and noting the flush that mounted through thesoldier-tan.
"I am very sorry," said Max, "but Colonel DeLisle has given me onlyshort leave. There was just enough time to get me to Djazerta, fromTouggourt, and to do the journey comfortably to Sidi-bel-Abbes. He is aprompt man, as you know. He thinks and acts quickly. It didn't occur tohim that there need be any great delay. Already there has been a daylost returning from Djazerta, where I heard that you were at your_douar_. A day and a half here, much as I should like to be your guest,would mean overstaying my leave. That, you will see, is impossible."
"If it is impossible, I fear that thou must go from here with thymission unfulfilled and without Mademoiselle," replied the Agha,irritatingly calm. "For on my side it is impossible to let her go beforemy daughter is--_safely_ married."
He smiled as he spoke, but the pause and the emphasis on a certain wordwere deliberate. Max was meant to understand it, in case DeLisle hadconfided in him. If not, it did not matter; he would realize that he hadhad his ultimatum. Max did realize this, and, after a stunned second,accepted the inevitable.
"I'll write to Sidi-bel-Abbes and explain. It's all I can do," was thethought which ran through his head as he politely informed the Agha thathe would, at any cost, wait for Mademoiselle DeLisle.
"May I see her and deliver in person a letter I have from her father?"he asked.
But Ben Raana regretted that this might not be until all was ready forthe start, which must be made in the evening after the end of themarriage feast, unless Corporal St. George preferred to wait till themorning after. The customs of a country must be respected by thosesojourning in that country; and the Arab ladies visiting the _douar_would be scandalized if a young girl were allowed to speak with astrange man. There was nothing for it but submission, and Max submitted,inwardly raging. He wrote explanations to the officer left in charge atSidi-bel-Abbes, the man to whom he must report; but no letter couldreach DeLisle for many weeks.
He was entertained as the Agha's guest, being introduced to Tahar BenHadj and several caids invited for the bridegroom's part of thefestivities. There was much feasting, with music and strange dances inTahar's tent at night, and outside, fantasia for the _douar_ in honourof the wedding; sheep roasted whole, and "powder play." What was goingon in the bride's half of her father's great tent Max did not know, buthe fancied that, above the beating of Tahar's tomtoms and the wildsinging of an imported Arab tenor, he could hear soft, distant wailingsof the ghesbah and the shrill "You--you--you!" of excited women. Hewondered if Sanda knew that he had come to take her away, and whetherManoeel had contrived to send a message to the bride.
* * * * *
That same night Khadra Bent Djellab, the woman who had travelled fromTouggourt to return as Sanda's attendant, came from the camp of thecaravan asking if she might see her new mistress. All was hurry andconfusion in the women's part of the _tente sultane_, for a great feastwas going on which would last through most of the night. The excitedservants told Khadra that she must go, and come again to the tent in themorning; but just then the music for a dance of love began, and Khadrabegged so hard to stay that she was allowed to stand with the servants.She had never seen Sanda DeLisle, but she had been told by theinterpreter ("an order from the master," said he, slipping a five-francpiece into her hand) that there would be no other Roumia in the company.When Khadra caught sight of a golden-brown head, uncovered among theheads wrapped in coloured silks or gauze, she cautiously edged nearerit, behind the double rank of serving-women. All were absorbed instaring at the dancing-girl, a celebrity who had been brought from anoasis town farther south. She had arrived at Djazerta and had travelledto the _douar_ when the family ha
stily flitted; but this was the nightof her best dance. Nobody remembered Khadra. When she was close behindSanda she pretended to drop a big silk handkerchief, such as Arab womenlove. Squatting down to pick it up, she contrived to thrust into a smallwhite hand hanging over an edge of the divan a ball of crumpled paper,and gently shut the fingers over it. A few months, or even weeks, agoSanda would have started at the touch and looked round. But her longstay among Arab women, and the drama of the last eight days, hadschooled her to self-control. Instantly she realized that some new plotwas on, and that she was to be mixed up in it. She was deadly sick ofplotting, but she loved Ourieda, and had advised her not to give up hopeuntil the last minute. Perhaps something unexpected might come to pass.With that soft, secret touch on her hand, and the feel of the paper inher palm, she knew that her prophecy was being fulfilled.
Not far away sat the bride, raised high above the rest of the company ona kind of throne made of carved wood, painted red and thickly gilded. Ithad served generations of brides in the Agha's family, and had beenbrought out from Djazerta. Sanda glanced up from the divan of cushionson which she and the other women guests reclined to see if Ourieda waslooking her way. But the girl's great eyes were fixed and introspective.
When Sanda was sure that Lella Mabrouka and Taous, her spy, were bothintent on the figure posturing in the cleared space in the centre of theroom, she cautiously unfolded the ball of paper. Holding it on her lap,half hidden by the frame of her hands, she saw a fine, clear blackwriting, a writing new to her. The words--French words--seemed to springto her eyes:
"Tell Ourieda that I am here. She will know who. Perhaps you know also. There is only one thing to do. She must go, when the time comes, to Tahar's tent, but let her have no fear. At night, when her bridegroom should come to her, I will come instead and take her away. No one will know till the morning after, so we shall have a long start. For a while I will hide her in a house at Djazerta, where I have friends who will keep us safe until the search is over. No one will think of the town. All will believe that we have joined you and the caravan which your father has sent in charge of Corporal St. George. It is with him I have come, for I, too, am a Legionnaire. I hope to see St. George and explain my latest plans, but already he knows that I shall try and reach Spain or Italy. There I can make myself known without fear of capture and imprisonment. I can get engagements and money. If anything prevents my seeing St. George again, after I have started, show him this, or let him know what I have said.
M.V."
Sanda's cheeks, which had been pale, brightened to carnation as sheread; but the dancer held all eyes. The girl crumpled up the letter andpalmed it again, wondering how to show it to Ourieda, for they had notonce been allowed a moment alone in each other's company since the scenewith _la hennena_. Not that Sanda was suspected of a hand in thataffair, but she might have a hand in another plot. The thing was,politely and kindly, to keep her a prisoner until after Ourieda had goneto her husband. Then Tahar could protect his property; and once an Arabgirl is married, she is seldom asked to elope, even by the bravest andmost enterprising of lovers. Some pretext must be thought of for thegiving of Manoeel's letter. But what--what?
The answer was not long in coming. After the dance all the women, withthe exception of the throned, bejewelled bride, sprang or scrambled upfrom their cushions to congratulate the celebrity. Some of themtestified their admiration by offering her rings, anklets, or littlegilded bottles of attar-of-rose which they had been holding in theirhandkerchiefs; and even Aunt Mabrouka's sharp eyes did not see Sandaslip the ball of paper into Ourieda's hand when passing the throne togive a gold brooch to the favourite.
The bride herself was forgotten for a few minutes. Every one wascaressing the dancer, patting her much-ringed hands, or touching herbracelets and counting the almost countless gold coins of her headornaments and necklace. When Sanda dared glance across the crowd towardOurieda she saw by the look in her eyes that the girl had read theletter.
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