Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  Grim nodded again, and Ayisha went on with her story. “Ali Higg was unwilling to be urged into action, because his neck is sore; and besides, he is ever opposed to Jael’s plans at first although always yielding to her finally. He said: ‘Let him go against the Avenger. Who am I that should complain when Allah sends me aid? Can I overcome the Avenger without help? This Jimgrim, as you say, is cunning, and I shall reap the fruit of his cunning, and all will be well.’ But she answered: ‘Fool! Not thou, but he will reap. Who labors for other than his own reward? Hast thou ruled in Petra all these months, to believe yet that men risk their lives for the love of it, or for the love of thee? Consider now: there are three parties to this — thou, this Jimgrim, and the Avenger. Whose is the advantage to begin with? The Avenger’s! And whose is the disadvantage? Thine! But this Jimgrim has taken on himself thy part. Take thou then his part. Jimgrim is the Lion. Let the Lion be Jimgrim. A sheep in the skin of a lion; a lion pretending to be a sheep! He has twenty men in all. Go thou abroad with twenty.’”

  Ayisha paused dramatically to give her revelation time to take effect. In lands where almost no men, and even fewer women, can read, the art of reporting verbally maintains a high plane. She waited for Grim to nod once more before resuming.

  “Ali Higg was doubtful and afraid. He complained about his neck. He feared to leave Petra ungoverned. But she told him to cover up his neck with bandages and to hide the bandages beneath the kuffiyi. He said he knew no English, and therefore could not pretend to be Jimgrim. But she said: ‘Neither does the Avenger or any of his men know English; and is not Jimgrim pretending to be an Arab? Cannot an Arab pretend to be an Arab likewise?’ So he said again that if Petra were left ungoverned there would be no knowing what might happen. And she said: ‘Then I myself will return and govern Petra. I will go with this Jimgrim, and make believe to fall in with his plans, displaying reluctance for the sake of being all the more convincing when I yield; but I will seize the first chance to escape and return to Petra, and occupy thy place until thou come again.’ So spake Jael, and the Lion finally agreed.” [ Headdress]

  She paused, and Grim spoke at last.

  “Do she and the Lion still propose to let me deal with the Avenger?”

  “Surely. And to defeat you afterwards.”

  “Then who do they think will make Ibrahim ben Ah and his hundred and forty men obey me, seeing that Jael was to have contrived that part?”

  “The Lion thought of that at once,” Ayisha answered. “But Jael said: ‘Malaish! This Jimgrim thinks himself so clever. Let him puzzle out that problem after I have left him. If he finds a way, well and good. If not, we shall be no worse off, and an intruder will have burned his fingers. If Ibrahim ben Ah should suspect him, and lay hands on him, and kill him, let that be the judgement of Allah, and we will find another way to deal with the Avenger.’” [ No matter]

  “And has Ali Higg left Petra?”

  “Surely.”

  “And that camel yonder, whose head appeared just now from behind the rock?”

  “There were three camels. This man came with two others to bring word to me. Jael knew nothing of that, but she will know now. That is why this man is afraid. But as the other two came to protect this one, and knew nothing, it maybe they will tell her nothing; and this man, who is a father of lies always, can tell Jael that the Lion sent him to help her escape. So he has no need to feel so very much afraid, although he is a great coward.”

  Grim raised his eyebrows comically. It was a predicament all right.

  CHAPTER VI. “I will stick that pig Yussuf when I find him!”

  The news spread through our camp in a twinkling, for the two men whom I had sent up to Grim with the prisoner while I looked into Jael’s tent had been listening to Ayisha’s story, and one of them ran down below to tell his brothers.

  From their viewpoint it was a wonder of a tale, full of enchanting possibilities and side-issues, and especially gratifying because it would oblige Grim to display his genius for counter-intrigue. Their faith in him was measureless, and why not? Had he not outwitted Ali Baba, grandsire of the gang, and bound the whole lot by good will to his chariot wheels? The man who could accomplish that was capable of anything. We could hear them down in the dark fiumara exclaiming “Allah!” “Mashallah!” “Wallahi!”as the tale unfolded and its ramifications dawned on their appreciative minds.

  It was no use my trying to suggest anything. I’m no diplomatist, and even strategy is a thing I can appreciate far better than invent. I suppose if we all were strategists it would take a man from Mars with something new, like “relativity,” to lead us anywhere; and if we were all just plain Merry Andrews with a pound or two of muscle on our arms and legs, we’d reduce the world to a fine mess of hash. Each man to his profession, then, and let the man whose job is thinking have a chance to think.

  Narayan Singh stood like a statue, making no sign. Grim sat looking at Ayisha, and the prisoner still trembled against my leg, although not so violently. Suddenly Grim pointed a finger at him.

  “Go!” he ordered. “Give him back his weapons, somebody.”

  A startled cat would have taken longer to obey that order. Inside a minute the fellow was scrambling up the far bank of the fiumara, pursued by volleys of ridicule from our men. He wasted no time taking cover as he ran, but raced his own shadow across the open to the place where he had left his camel.

  Ayisha, with her placid brow and burning eyes, had been doing some thinking, meanwhile, on her own account. She spoke at last — to Grim, of course; Narayan Singh and I hardly figured any longer in her consciousness.

  “So now I have told all the truth. Am I unworthy of my lord’s favour? I am as one who had a fortune and has given all of it. Shall I be cast off like a broken shoe?”

  Grim seemed to come out of a brown study suddenly, and Narayan Singh heaved an enormous sight of relief. I believe he has been praying to all the gods of the Hindu pantheon to give his leader wisdom; for he forgets his Sikhism in times of stress and falls from orthodoxy, speculating that there might be virtue in the old gods after all.

  “There is no way, is there, by which Ibrahim ben Ah could have learned of your divorce?” Grim asked suddenly.

  “Not unless old Ali Baba has told him,” Ayisha answered.

  “When that old fox parts with information he isn’t paid for it will be time for Gabriel to sound the last trump,” Grim said, smiling. “Have you ever given orders to Ibrahim ben Ah, Ayisha?”

  “A hundred times. I was the Lion’s second wife. Once, when Jael was away with the Lion on a raid against the men of El-Kerak, I was left in sole command in Petra, with Ibrahim ben Ah and fifty men to do my bidding. I am a Sheikh’s oldest daughter,” she added proudly. “I am used to be obeyed.”

  “And will you help me now?” Grim asked her.

  “Even unto the end of the world,” she answered, in a voice that would have melted icebergs.

  Her promise was likely more reliable than Jael Higg’s, but she made it clear she would demand her price. It was difficult to guess whether she was really in love with Grim; not because he wasn’t lovable from a woman’s viewpoint, for at least a score of women of his own speech, and several from his own country, have made small secret of their regard for him. But the customs of the country entered into it. Where women are practically bought and sold — occasionally given by their parents — and very often plundered like raided cattle, the sex acquires a viewpoint that the West can’t grasp. The famous advice of the American Quaker to his son, not to love money, but to love where money is, has its adaptation in Arabia; and it might be that Grim’s peculiar genius pointed the way to her ambition. Whether she would be really heartbroken in our sense of the word, when the inevitable truth should dawn that Grim lived in another world, as it were, and never would dream of making her his wife, was a conundrum. Of one thing, though, I was certain: he would never be able to explain his reason to her. She was a Sheikh’s daughter — a princess of the pathless desert, fit to
marry anyone. The fact that her father lived in a goat-hair tent with several wives had nothing at all to do with it. However, that was Grim’s problem, or perhaps Narayan Singh’s; certainly not mine.

  Grim told her to go to her tent, and she obeyed him as meekly as Ruth obeyed Boaz. I thought he was going to talk things over with the Sikh and me, but after another minute’s silence he dismissed us as well.

  “I’ve had all the sleep I need,” he said. “I think I’ll keep watch up here and puzzle out the workings of this mix-up. Suppose you fellows turn in down below there and make up for lost time. I guess I’ll maybe need all your faculties when daylight comes.”

  So off we went, and turned in. It’s mortifying in a way to be sent to bed like a small boy when your own life as likely as not hangs on the issue of deliberation. But there’s nothing to be gained by intruding either your opinions or curiosity on a man who does his thinking best when undisturbed. I had a sort of nettled feeling that I’m not sure I wasn’t entitled to, and that kept me from falling asleep for an hour. After that, Narayan Singh’s snores made sleep impossible, until I put the heel of a tent-peg in his mouth. And even then, the intermittent roars of laughter of our gang, who would wake one another to discuss some fresh angle of the situation, kept me from little more than dozing until nearly dawn. They seemed to consider that Ali Higg’s turning the tables by masquerading as Jimgrim was the most prodigious joke that had ever been sprung on an amusing world.

  When I left the tent at daybreak Grim was still sitting up there on the island, motionless, not even smoking. I went up at once, to find out whether he had formed a plan.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “I think all’s well. I’d like to pull up stakes and get a move on, but we’ve got to consider the camels; the silly fools have lain there all night long with good corn on mats beside them and haven’t touched a mouthful. We’ve got to wait and let them eat.”

  “What after that?”

  “I want you and Narayan Singh to scout ahead and get in touch with Ibrahim ben Ah. The best bet would be to find Ali Baba first, but that’s too much like luck to happen. He’s a shrewd old fox, and if he gets first sight of you he’s dead sure to try to give Ibrahim ben Ah the slip and give you the news out of earshot. Next best after that would be for you to take his place with Ibrahim ben Ah, and let the old man come to me with information. Somehow or other I’ve got to know the exact state of mind of that army of Ali Higg’s before we try the long chance.”

  “Which is?”

  “To send Ayisha to command them.”

  I laughed. “She’ll be a safer bet than Jael ever was,” said I, “as long as she thinks there’s a chance of her becoming Mrs. Jimgrim.”

  But he smiled back like a chess-player who can see about nine moves ahead.

  “Jael kids herself she’s dangerous,” he said. “But I allow she’ll watch her step on account of her fifty thousand pounds. And the Lion will watch his for the same reason. Besides, I’m counting on that sore neck to take the pep out of him. Prospects aren’t so gloomy. What do you say to our setting those camels an example? Is breakfast ready?”

  “See here, James Schuyler Grim,” I answered. “You’re a darned good man, and I like you, and all that. But suppose you come across for once! Narayan Singh is a soldier; he’ll obey orders and ask no questions, but I’m neither built nor trained that way. Doesn’t it seem to you like good sense to take me into confidence?”

  “Haven’t I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in obviously genuine surprise. “Seems to me I’ve trusted you till it’s become a kind of habit.”

  “Have I failed you,” I retorted, “that you can’t give me at least an outline of your plan now?”

  “Oh, is that the trouble?” He seemed suddenly relieved. “Why, no; that doesn’t seem like sense to me. My plan might be no good. If that’s so, I can change it. But if I tell it to you now, you’re going to bear it in mind, and if any unforeseen contingency crops up you’re going to be governed by the plan I outlined and maybe act in some way so that I shall have to follow up — which might be mighty inconvenient. But as long as you don’t know what I’m contemplating you’re not limited by it, any more than I’m limited by having to consult you before making a sudden change. We’d be like two fellows trying to play one poker hand.”

  “I should think you could give me a general idea.”

  “The general idea is to get in touch with the Avenger now, and bluff him.”

  “I know that, of course. But along what line? What general principle?”

  “I wonder if you’d mind not pressing that?” he answered. “Let’s have this clear. It isn’t you I don’t trust, it’s myself. The thought that I wasn’t absolutely free at any minute to turn my whole plan bottom-side up, or discard it and try another one, would rattle me so I’d make mistakes. I haven’t a secret you can’t know; but I hate to tell a man something I don’t know for sure; I’d feel sort of weak and helpless afterwards. It’s my fault, not yours; I’m built that way. If it isn’t doing right by you, I beg your pardon and ask you to be tolerant.”

  Well, I don’t know that I liked it any better at the time, but I saw his point. I have got so since that I never think of pinning him down to an outline since his plan in any undertaking; and the method works well although — and perhaps because — it calls for every ounce of zeal. You’re on the jump the whole time. Not knowing what he’s going to do next, you’re like an infielder with three on bases. But he has to choose his men discreetly. There are plenty of men more useful than myself, for instance, who wouldn’t stand his reticence for a day. On the other hand, I never knew a man less prone to find fault than he is, or one more superbly tolerant of others’ shortcomings.

  A little more than an hour after dawn, while the desert was still cool, Narayan Singh and I set off together on the two best camels. I don’t doubt I was still humping a grouch, and Narayan Singh divined the reason of it.

  “By the bones in these hills,” he laughed, “this is better sport than serving with the Army, sahib! A soldier in the ranks such as I have ever been, and such as I am like to be again unless our fate overtakes us all on this adventure, is told nothing — knows nothing — is nothing. He obeys. If a fool of an officer marches him face-first into hell, there is not even the satisfaction of a sort of explanation. Scouting for the Army is rather better fun; but it is very little that a man finds out, and oftener than not that little is ignored; at the best, that one little scrap of information is but added to the mass like a grain of sand into a bushel of the stuff. Neither may a man scout as he would like to, but only as another wills. Whereas with Jimgrim—”

  “Oh, shut up!” I growled. “I’m not here to be preached at.”

  “In an army, sahib, there would be much damning and very little preaching,” he answered. “Whereas with Jimgrim, though he tells us precious little, we are free like hounds to draw the coverts for him, and there is neither leash nor whip. Il hamdul’illah!as these heathen say; that Jimgrim is a prince of huntsmen, who knows when a good hound bays on a true scent. But an army has too many huntsmen, who talk among themselves, saying: ‘Yes, sir, no sir,’ and then command the pack with a ‘Lo! the General Staff decrees that the scent lies yonder in that direction; therefore make haste to find it and bark aloud!’ This Jimgrim would have been a king if his mother had borne him on this side of the Atlantic. Are there others like him in America?”

  Well, I grew good-tempered gradually, if for no other reason than because it was absurd to find fault with a man who could arouse such enthusiasm in a follower. Besides, I like Grim; and it’s one of my fundamental articles of marrow-bone religion that if I’m a man’s friend he may get away with anything except black treason.

  But leaving all that out of the reckoning, I defy any man to start off in the morning on a camel alongside Narayan Singh, with friends behind and the unknown just beyond the shimmering horizon, and retain a grouch for twenty minutes.

  The hot
wind wasn’t due for an hour or two. The wound made by Ayisha’s dagger in my leg didn’t hurt more than was tolerable. The camels were feeling the effects of good corn and thorn-twigs, and went swinging along as if their legs were hung on springs. As long as you haven’t got to spend your whole life in the desert, it’s about the easiest of all earth’s wonders to admire; and the secret of contentment lies in everlastingly admiring something — or so I’ve found it.

  The Sikh began singing a sort of hymn set to minor music; and though singing in the Jat-Punjabi dialect is one of those accomplishments that were omitted when my kit was tossed out of the Great Quartermaster’s store, I’ve always found a curious satisfaction, akin to inspiration, in listening to songs in the vernacular of other lands. Indian lyrics always seem to lose the note of plaintiveness when you translate them, just as Homer’s verses lose their roll done into English, and the Odes of Horace forced into another tongue come through without their humor.

  In the hot night my mother bore me,

  Knowing not who I am!

  Into the dawn I came, a man-child

  Knowing not the life before me,

  Stranger to the folk about me.

  None knew who I am!

  Out of the book of signs and wonders,

  Knowing not who I am,

  Soothsayers read this and that thing.

  There is lightning when it thunders;

  Do they know the lightning’s karma?

  None knew who I am!

  Out of her heart my mother taught me

  (Stranger, nevertheless!)

  Fear and faith and law and legend,

  Weeping when my karma caught me

  Willing yet unwilling tore me

  Loose from her caress.

  Smiled the Powers then at the stripling

  Facing first duress,