CHAPTER X
"I AM THE MASTER'S!"
The arrival of Simonds, with the spare window-pane, and ofBrodeur--one of the boldest flyers out of Saloniki in the last monthsof the war--broke in upon the Master's reveries. Only a few minuteswere required to mend the window. During this time, the Masterexplained some unusual features of control to the Frenchman, then lethim take charge of _Nissr_.
"She's wonderful," said he, as Brodeur settled himself at the wheel."With her almost unlimited power, her impeccable controls and herautomatic stabilizers, I hardly see what could happen to her."
"Fire, of course, _m'sieur_," the ace replied, "always has to beguarded against."
"Hardly on an all-metal liner. Now, here you see--and here--"
He finished his explanations, and, satisfied that all was safe, passedinto his own cabin. Rrisa, he found, had already unpacked his kit, andhad arranged it to perfection. Even a copper bowl of khat, the "flowerof paradise," was awaiting him.
The Master sat down, chewed a few leaves and indulged in a littletime of what the Arabs call _kayf_, or complete relaxation and innercontemplation--a restful trick he had learned many years ago on thecoast of Yemen. The ticking of the aluminum-cased chronometer, nowmarking a little past 2 a.m., soothed him, as did the droning hum ofthe propellers, the piping whistle of the ship-made hurricane roundthe fuselage, the cradling swing and rock of the air-liner hurlingherself almost due east.
After some quarter-hour of absolute rest, he rang for his Araborderly. Rrisa appeared at once. Already he had got himself into hismilitary uniform, the one he had worn at Gallipoli when the Master hadsaved his life. As he stood there in the doorway, he swung his leftfoot out and back, with clicking heels, and made a smart salute.
"What does _M'alme_ desire?" asked he, in Arabic.
"I desire to know thy opinion of all this, Rrisa. Tell me, did thygreat prophet, M'hamed, ever ride in such state through the air? WasAl Burak, his magic horse, on which he traveled to the paradise of thehouris, more swift or mighty than this steed of mine?"
The Master speaking Arabic, weighted every word with its full meaning.
"Tell me, Rrisa, what of all this?"
"Your steed is very swift and very mighty. Your flying ship is verygreat," the Arab admitted. "But Allah and his Prophet are greater!_Allahu akbar!_" (Allah is greatest!)
"Of course. But tell thou me, Rrisa, if I were to appear at Mecca inmy _Nissr Arrib ela Sema_--my Eagle of the Sky--would not thy peoplegive me great honors?"
"My head is at your feet, _M'alme_, and I am yours to do with asyou will, even to the death, but I implore you, by the beard of theProphet, do not do this thing!"
"And why not, Rrisa?"
"You and I, Master, are _akhawat_.[1] Therefore I can speak truewords. You must not go to Mecca. No man of the _Nasara_ may gothere--and live."
[Footnote 1: _Akhawat_ signifies in Arabic the tie of swornbrotherhood between an Arab and one of different blood.]
"Thou meanest that if we go to Mecca and they capture us, they willkill us all?"
"Yea, Master. And I too shall die, for being with you, though I countthat as less than nothing."
The Master kept a moment's silence, pondering; while, without, thevoices of empty heaven whistled by, from strut and wire, braceand stay. The wild mystery of that outer night, excluded by theclose-drawn curtains, contrasted strongly with the light and the warmcomfort of the cabin with its snug berth, its aluminum furniture, itsshining walls where were affixed charts and maps, rules, photographs.
Under the clear, white light, Rrisa anxiously studied his master'sface. Great anxiety had begun to make itself manifest in the Arab'svoice and in his eyes. Another troubled look came, too, as he glancedat the chronometer.
It struck, sharply. The Arab, contrary to all his habits and training,spoke first, without being spoken to.
"Master," said he, timorously, "excuse the speech I offer withoutwaiting. But I must ask. This is my hour of night prayer, and I mustbow to Mecca. Whither, from here, lieth The City?"
The Master raised a hand, glanced at a compass set like a wrist-watch,peered a moment at one of the charts, and then nodded toward the doorthat led into the pilot-house.
Without delay, Rrisa faced that door and prostrated himself. Theancient cry: "_La Illaha illa Allah! M'hamed rasul Allah!_" wasraised there in the cabin of the rushing Eagle of the Sky--surely thestrangest place where Moslem prayer was ever offered since first theProphet's green banner unfurled itself upon the desert air of Araby.
Devoutly Rrisa prayed, then with a "_Bismillah_!" (In the name ofAllah!) arose and faced his master. The latter, wise in Eastern ways,remained gravely unsmiling. Never in all his dealings with the sonof the East had he by word or look offended against Islam. There was,however, iron determination in his eyes as he demanded:
"Is it indeed true that in Mecca stands a building called the Ka'aba,also called _Bayt Ullah_, or Allah's House?"
"Yea, Master, that is true," answered the Arab, with strange eyes.
"And is it indeed covered with a wondrous silken and gold cloth, everyyear renewed, known as the _kiswah_?"
"Those words are true."
"All Moslems greatly revere the Ka'aba?"
"It is the center of our mighty faith, Master."
"And thou hast seen it with thine own eyes?"
"With my own eyes, Master, for I am a _Hadji_.[1]" Attentively theArab was now watching the Master. Slowly he continued: "Prayer, withface to Mecca, alms-giving, the keeping of the fast of Ramadan, andthe pilgrimage to the Ka'aba, these are our law. Yea, Master, I havemyself seen the Ka'aba, and more than once!"
[Footnote 1: Title among the Arabs and Moslems in general for onewho has performed the pilgrimage to Mecca, a journey which every goodMoslem considers necessary for salvation.]
A certain trouble had now grown manifest in Rrisa's eyes. His lipsmoved silently, as if still praying; but no words were audible. TheMaster pondered a moment more, then demanded:
"Is it true there is a sacred Black Stone in the walls of the Ka'aba,precious to all followers of the Prophet, from Africa to China and tothe farthest isles? Revered by all the two hundred and thirty millionof your faith?"
"That is true, _M'alme_. I myself have touched and kissed the BlackStone."
"Mecca, the Ka'aba, and the Black Stone are forbidden to allheretics?" relentlessly pursued the Master.
"_Wallah_! Yea, so they are to--all who are not of Islam," Rrisa triedto soften the answer.
"They tell me," persisted the Master, "the Black Stone is in thewestern wall of the Ka'aba, about seven feet from the pavement."
"That is a lie!" flared Rrisa, with indignation. "It is in thenortheast corner, at the very corner, Master. It is between fourfeet and five from the ground. That, and no other, is the true place,Master, the place of _Hajar el Aswad!_" (Black Stone.)
"Ah, yes, yes, the books lie," agreed the Master. "And they say, too,that certain of the Feringi have indeed touched and even kissed theBlack Stone, and still lived."
Rrisa's face clouded. It burned coppery, with a flush of hot bloodunder that dark skin. By the clear white light in the cabin, theMaster closely observed him. Idly he broke off a leaf of the khat, andnibbled at it.
"Is that the truth?" he inquired, pitilessly.
"I must speak truth to you, Master," confessed the Arab, with bittershame. "Two of the Feringi--_Nasara_ men like yourself--have indeedtouched and kissed it. Two that we know of. _Shaytan el Kabir_ (theGreat Satan) may have permitted others to do that, but we know of onlytwo who have done it--and lived."
"Thou meanest one named Burckhardt, and Sir Richard Burton?"
The Arab shuddered at sound of those names, and silently nodded. Thenhe burst out:
"Those were their names, _M'alme!_ Those two, disguised as _Hujjaj_,defiled the Black Stone, which was given by Allah to the first Arabs;and they both escaped. But many others who have tried--"
"Have died at the hands of thy people?"
/> "_Bismillah_! Yea!" A flash of pride irradiated the dark faceof Rrisa. His figure drew itself erect. Beneath the veneer ofcivilization with which life among the Feringi had overlaid him, theMaster sensed the wild, fierce, free soul of the desert man, to whomthe death of the unbelieving dog is sweet.
"It is well," nodded the Master. Then, suddenly he stood up, faced theArab, and bent on him a sternly penetrant look.
"Rrisa," said he, impressively, his voice slow, grave, sonorous, "onlyfor me thy bones would today be moldering in the trenches at Gallipolior maybe rotting in a Turkish grave. The life that is in thee belongsto me! That is thy ancient law. Is it not true?"
"It is true, Master. _Nahnu malihin._" (We have eaten salt together.)
"And the salt is still in thy stomach?[1]"
[Footnote 1: Some Arab tribes hold that the salt binds protection foronly twenty-four hours and at the end of that time must be renewed,otherwise it is "not in their stomachs."]
"Aye, Master. You are still _dakhil_ (protected) to me."
"Thou art mine to do with as I will?"
"I am the Master's!"
"Treason to me, Rrisa, is treason to thy holy laws. Surely, suchtreason would plunge thy soul far into the depths of Eblis. When thytime cometh to walk across the burning pit, on the bridge as fine andsharp as the edge of a simitar, if it be laden with treachery to onewho hath saved thy life and whose salt thou hast eaten, surely itshall not pass over, but shall fall. Far into the deeps of Jehannum itshall fall, where the Prophet says: 'Stones and men shall be the fuelof the everlasting flame!'"
"I am the Master's," repeated Rrisa, with trembling mouth. He raisedhis hand to forehead, lips, and heart. "My head is at the Master'sfeet!"
"Forget that not, thou!" cried the Master, dominantly. "_Ru'c'hhalla!_" (Go!)
Flying Legion Page 10