However, the new words awakened a new thought in the man’s mind. He had learned the names of many things that day, but there was one as yet who remained nameless. He pointed to the girl, saying, “Nakhla” and then he pointed to himself, questioningly.
Nakhla laughed, a puzzled expression contracting her finely penciled brows. In her mind he was “The Man,” but that was no name for him. She must find another. For a moment the girl racked her brain for a suitable cognomen. Then as one swept into her mind she flushed and hesitated, scarce daring to voice it aloud.
But the youth was insistent. He kept pointing to himself. Asking with his eyes as clearly as though his lips had spoke for a word whereby he might be called.
At last, leaning from her saddle, Nakhla placed a cool palm upon his forehead with a tenderness that was unmistakably a caress. Close to his ear came her lips, and a sudden flush mantled her cheeks.
“Azîz,” she whispered. “Thou art Nakhla’s Azîz,” and then she was away as fast as El Djebel could bear her.
Enveloped in a little cloud of sand, he saw her disappear within the douar, but not before she had turned to wave him an adieu.
“Azîz!” repeated the youth aloud. “Azîz!” And he thought it a fine name. Had he guessed its meaning he would have liked it no less.
For a long time he stood gazing at the tents of her people. He wondered why it was that he alone of all the other creatures of his kind should have been doomed to solitude. He heard the hum of human voices and an occasional laugh and, after the moon had risen, strains of melody from the primitive musical instruments of the tribe. He tried to discover the sweet notes of Nakhla’s voice among the others, and when he thought that he had succeeded the lure of it drew him closer to the tents, until at last he stood close within their shadow — a silent statue of untutored savagery, whose fallow heart and soul, ready for the seeding of good or evil which contact with humanity must bring, lay wholly in the keeping of a half-savage maid.
As he stood listening without the douar, the talking and the music within gradually diminished until at last silence fell upon the camp, and with the release of his faculties from the enchantment that the hope of hearing her voice had cast upon them, he became aware of the scent of goats and camels, and with it he felt the gnawing of hunger at his belly.
Slowly and cautiously he moved around the tents that he might come close to the barrier that penned the flocks.
At the same moment Nakhla, sleepless from much thinking of her Azîz, came out into the moonlight before her father’s tent. As she stood idly gazing through half-closed eyes, recalling the face and figure of her savage giant, she saw a sudden apparition appear for an instant as it leaped the wall of the corral in among the animals of her tribe.
Instantly she knew who it must be, and running swiftly she came to the gate that let into the enclosure where the herd was kept. Even as she pushed through the gate she heard the frightened bleat of a kid, and then she was within and close before her saw the man of her dreams with his strong fingers about the neck of one of the flock.
He saw her at the instant that she entered, and forgetful of his hunger dropped his prey and came quickly to her side. Gently Nakhla laid her hand upon his arm, and pointing to the kid upon the ground and to the other animals within the enclosure she tried to tell him that he must not harm them. Waving a hand back toward the tents she imitated the position of a man firing a gun, pointing the imaginary weapon at him. He understood this last, but he only laughed and shrugged his shoulders. She saw that he was not one to be influenced by threat of personal danger.
Then she tried a new plan, and indicating herself attempted to make him understand that for her sake he must not tamper with the animals of her people. And this he comprehended, for love is not so blind as some would have us believe. He was very hungry; and for a moment he looked ruefully toward the kid that by now had struggled to its feet and was wobbling back into the herd, but a new force had come into his life — it was no longer to be his belly that dominated all his acts, and thus he took a great stride toward humanness as he turned silently away and with an agile bound cleared the barrier to disappear from Nakhla’s sight.
After he had gone she would have recalled him, for she thought that he was hurt; and then she wondered if he had not really been hungry! The idea filled her with dismay. She had driven her Azîz out into the desert when he had come friendless and hungry in search of food.
Nakhla did not sleep much that night for the self reproach that gnawed at her heart; but she might have saved herself her misery, for the object of her solicitude felt only happiness that he had found a way to please the girl who had come into his lonely life. Never again, he told himself, would he or the lion despoil the flocks of her people.
Across the lonely desert he made his way toward the distant hills where the lair was, and all the long way his heart sang within his breast so loudly that it drowned the demands of hunger. Nor did he again think of eating until he had come almost to the entrance of his den when the reek of blood filled his nostrils; and suddenly in the moonlight upon the ledge he saw a fresh-killed antelope and upon it a strange lioness that arose, growling horribly, at his approach.
CHAPTER 13
The Princess Maria’s father was one of the richest monarchs in Europe, in his own right. His kingdom was prosperous, too; but his people were not particularly warlike. They seemed to prefer hoes in their hands to bayonets in their bellies. Some people are like that, and it is always a matter of embarrassment to their rulers. Ferdinand’s father, on the other hand, was poor; and his country in debt. His people were overtaxed; but they liked to goosestep and salute; and while they didn’t particularly relish having bayonets poked into them, they were willing to take a chance for the sake of having an opportunity of poking their bayonets into other people. An alliance of the two houses, therefore, would give each what it lacked and wished.
In the capital of the Princess Maria’s father, Ferdinand was wined and dined and banqueted and feted for a week. His entertainment was lavish and expensive. Nothing was left undone that might impress upon him the prosperity and wealth of his host and his host’s country, and Ferdinand was impressed. For the first time he commenced to see the possibilities of the alliance. There were royal yachts and royal trains and royal other things that were far more royal than anything Ferdinand had ever seen before. He tried to forget that Maria was horse-faced and bucktoothed. He also tried to forget a certain promise he had made to Hilda de Groot.
The night before he was to leave for home, he found himself alone with Maria on a moon-bathed terrace. She didn’t look quite so badly by moonlight, but he couldn’t help thinking that she would have looked less badly had there been no moon. She was a difficult person to whom to make love — she was rather ugly, she was three years older than he, and she was all bones. However, it had to be done. Ferdinand took a deep breath and steeled himself, as one who is about to dive into very cold water. Finally he took the plunge.
“I have the honor,” he said, “to ask your hand in marriage.”
* * * * *
King Otto was far more contented than he had been for years. His son was to marry the daughter of his very rich neighbor. Otto was almost happy, for the world looked quite bright.
“The treaty,” he said to Sarnya; “it should be signed at once.”
“They will not sign it until after the marriage has taken place,” replied Sarnya.
“And the loan?” asked Otto.
“That must wait, too.”
“But why?” demanded the King.
“If they made the loan, it would strengthen us materially, for they know that most of it is to be spent on armament. They want Maria’s influence with Ferdinand as assurance that we won’t use that armament against them. Their attitude is quite correct. We should do the same under like circumstances. You must remember that in the last one hundred years we have made war on them twenty times and broken every treaty that we have signed. You can’t bla
me them. They are banking heavily on Maria.”
“Too heavily, I am afraid,” said Otto.
“Why do you say that?” asked Sarnya.
“She will exercise no influence over Ferdinand. The chances are that she won’t see him much more than once a month after they are married. There is still the Dutch girl.”
“She can be gotten rid of,” suggested Sarnya. “Give her a little money and send her out of the country.”
“It wouldn’t work,” said Otto. “The fool is in love with her. He’d follow her. Why, he even wanted to marry her.”
“There are other ways of getting rid of her — permanently,” said Sarnya.
Otto shook his head. “Only as a last resort,” he said. “It will be better if Ferdinand has her for diversion. I can imagine that a man might get rather desperate if he had to depend solely on Maria for entertainment.”
* * * * *
“You have been back three whole days, and this is the first time you have come to see me.”
“I have been very busy,” explained Ferdinand.
“That is not the reason. You did not come to see me because you are ashamed. The papers say that you are to marry Maria next month. I know now that you are; otherwise you would not have been ashamed to come and see me.”
“It is not my fault, Hilda. If I were king, it would be different; but I am not king.”
“You went there, and you found that you loved her. If you didn’t love her, you wouldn’t be in such a hurry to marry her.”
“I am in no hurry to marry her. I do not want to marry her at all. You do not understand. The marriage is a matter of State. There is a treaty to be signed that will be very advantageous to our country, but it will not be signed until after I have married Maria.”
“Then you are going to marry her?” “I can’t help it. I have to.” “You told me you would never marry anyone but me.” “I don’t want to marry anyone but you, Hilda. I am doing this for my country. Later, I can divorce her and marry you.” “Another one of your promises. I shall go away and enter a convent. You shall never see me again.” Hilda began to cry.
“Don’t do that,” he snapped, irritably. “How much do you think I can stand? It is bad enough to have to marry a clotheshorse with buckteeth, without having you reproach me and make a scene.”
“I am not making a scene. When one’s heart is broken, can one help crying? I shall probably die. I want to die.”
“You will not die; and if you will be patient, maybe something will happen: so that I shall not have to marry Maria.”
“What could happen?” demanded Hilda.
“Oh, one never knows,” said Ferdinand.
* * * * *
The great day arrived, and nothing happened. Maria’s father had come and her mother and a horde of other relatives in addition to the King’s entourage. The capital was gay with flags and bunting, the avenues were lined with soldiers, the air was filled with military planes.
The escort included cavalry, infantry, tanks, anti-aircraft guns, armored cars, and even heavy field pieces; for Otto was trying to impress Ferdinand’s future father-in-law with his wealth of men and armament, just as the latter had sought to impress Ferdinand with his display of wealth.
Crowds lined the avenue to the cathedral. They waved flags and cheered dutifully. William Wesl and the cobbler’s pretty daughter were among them. William did not wave a flag or cheer. He wore a heavy scowl. That was because he was a revolutionary, and revolutionaries always scowl. The cobbler’s daughter, however, was very enthusiastic. She waved her little flag and shouted and clapped her little hands, which caused her to drop the flag; and when William stooped to retrieve it, someone bumped him in the seat, so that he nearly sprawled on his face, which did nothing toward improving William’s disposition. That was so bad this bright and sunny morning that William almost felt that he should like to be a Terrorist. He was trying to compute, roughly, what all this was going to cost the taxpayers; and that didn’t make him feel any better, either; for he could see that it was going to cost a great deal. Maria would cost them a lot, too; and then there would be children, and there would be further demands on the taxpayers. The future looked black to William.
Hilda de Groot did not watch the procession; she lay face down on her bed, sobbing.
Andresy watched the procession; but, notwithstanding the fact that he also was a revolutionary, he smiled; for he knew that The Day was approaching. A young lieutenant sitting on his horse in front of his troop, his sword at salute, watched Ferdinand roll past in a gilded coach. It was as well for Ferdinand’s peace of mind that he did not know what was in this young lieutenant’s mind. In Switzerland, Count Maximilian Lomsk listened to the broadcast of all the ceremonies attendant upon the marriage of a crown price to a princess. A little blonde from Germany sat beside him.
“When Ferdinand is king and recalls me from exile,” he told her, “I shall send for you. I shall be a very great man, then; and you shall live as befits the friend of a great man.” Once he had told the cobbler’s pretty daughter something along the same general line, but he had forgotten that, along with the cobbler’s pretty daughter.
Resplendent in his Guard uniform, Captain Carlyn watched King Otto pass; and licked his dry lips.
* * * * *
Hilda de Groot was writing in her diary a few days after the marriage of Ferdinand and Maria, when a man burst into her boudoir without being announced or without knocking. That is, he had not knocked on her door; but he had knocked her butler down, and had run upstairs so fast that he had almost knocked her maid off the landing as he brushed past her.
“Where is he?” he demanded, as he burst into the room, a drawn revolver in his hand.
“Hans!” cried Hilda. “What is the matter? Have you gone mad?”
“Where is he?” repeated Hans, looking about the boudoir.
“Where is who?”
“You know — that rat, that pig-Ferdinand.” “He is not here. I have not seen him since — since he was married.” She was staring at the revolver, horrified.
“Hans! What did you intend doing? You must have gone crazy even to think of such a thing. What good would it do? What is done, is done; and why should you want to kill the man I love? Do you think I am not unhappy enough as it is? Would you make it worse? They would shoot you, Hans; and I love you, too. Think what it would do to Mamma and Papa. It might kill them.”
He sank into a chair. “Yes,” he said, “I guess I have gone a little crazy. But who wouldn’t? I have thought of nothing else for more than five years. Every night of my life I have killed him — sometimes one way, sometimes another. We used to be so happy, Hilda, you and I and Michael; and then he came along, and everything was spoiled. Why shouldn’t I hate him? Why shouldn’t I want to kill him?”
“Because I love him.”
He shook his head, as though to clear something from his brain; then he rose slowly to his feet. “I am glad I did not find him here,” he said. “Perhaps you are right. I shall try to remember; but sometimes this hate engulfs me like a great wave, and then I can think only of one thing — to kill, to kill him and you.”
“Hans!” she cried, horrified.
“I cannot help it,” he said. “I do not want to kill you. I do not want to want to kill you. Oh, I wish that I were dead.”
He walked slowly from the room, then. Hilda noticed that he walked almost like an old man; then she threw herself face down upon the floor, and sobbed.
CHAPTER 14
The growling of the lioness brought the youth to a sudden halt, and it also brought another actor into the little drama — the black-maned beauty, who after his savage fashion loved them both.
As the Lioness rose to charge the youth the lion leaped quickly in front of her, and approaching his human friend rubbed his muzzle against him, purring an affectionate greeting. Then he turned back toward the lioness as though to say: “You see, do you not, that this is my friend? I do not harm him, nor must you.”
The lioness looked her puzzlement, and with much grumbling resumed her repast; but the youth was hungry, and though he knew that he took his life in his hands he pushed forward to the kill. Again the lioness came to her feet, mouthing her hideous warning with upcurled lips and bared fangs. The youth ignored her. The lion stood almost between them. The man drew his knife and cut a strip from the kill. The lioness took a step toward him, but her mate shoved his mighty shoulder between them. Then the lioness turned away and fell to eating, while the youth squatted upon his haunches at the opposite end of the carcass and filled his belly.
When the meal was done he crawled into the den, and a moment later the two great beasts crawled in beside him and lay down. It was very dark within the den. The youth could not see the forms of his companions; but he heard their breathing, and his last waking memory was of the two blazing eyes of the lioness glaring at him through the darkness. Then he slept.
The next morning the lioness seemed to accept the presence of the youth as a matter of no moment. He moved about with the two as though he had been a third lion, and when he brushed against the great female she paid no more attention to him than she did to her savage mate.
But with all that he was in no danger from the great beasts he no longer felt as he had when he and the lion had been the sole possessors of each other’s friendship. Now he was an outsider, and the longer he thought upon it the more he craved the companionship of the girl of the tented village.
He went, now, daily down into the desert; and Nakhla came daily to meet him. His education proceeded rapidly, for he was as anxious to learn as she was to teach; and as he grasped sufficient of the rudiments of her language to enable him to ask questions he made progress that was astonishing.
Thus a month passed, the youth lairing with the two lions, feeding upon their kills and assisting them in their hunting. The lioness had grown attached to him, coming to his side for caresses as did the great lion; so that it was no uncommon sight for the beasts of the hills to see the three basking in the sun by the riverside; the youth lying with an arm about the neck of the great 1ion, while the lioness lay with her chin across the man’s breast or rubbed her cool muzzle against his bronzed neck and cheek.
Delphi Collected Works of Edgar Rice Burroughs (Illustrated) (Series Four Book 26) Page 491