by John Keay
(1826–88)
A scholar and a soldier, a Jesuit and a Jew, a French spy and a British ambassador – Palgrave was a man of contradictions, all of them highly compromising when in 1862–3, fortified by Pius IX’s blessing and Napoleon III’s cash, he attempted the first west–east crossing of the Arabian peninsula. To steely nerves and a genius for disguise he owed his eventual success; but not before both were sorely tested when, as a Syrian doctor, he became the first European to enter Riyadh. The desert capital of the fanatical Wahabis, dangerous for an infidel at the best of times, was then doubly so as the sons of the ageing King Feisal intrigued for power.
We now prepared to start eastwards, but the day of our departure from Nejed was yet to fix, when a sudden explosion of royal ill-will put an end to our indecision, and necessitated more promptitude than we had hitherto intended for our movements.
In one of my medical cases, the nature of the malady had led me to try that powerful though dangerous therapeutic agent strychnia; and its employment had been followed by prompt and unequivocal amelioration. Not that the amendment was, I should think, of a permanent character, but of this point the Nejdeans, who saw no farther than the present effect, were and could be no judges, while the high rank of the patient himself, an old town chief, drew special attention to the fact. Everybody talked about it, and the news reached the palace.
’Abd-Allah had just paid his compulsory visit to Sa’ood, and the mutual rivalry of the brothers, now the more exasperated by vicinity, was very thinly concealed, or rather not concealed, under the formalities of social politeness. Intrigues, treasons, violence itself, were hatching beneath the palace walls, and assassination, whether by the dagger or the bowl, I had better said the coffee-cup, would have been quite in keeping, nor likely to cause the smallest surprise to any one. Mahboob, too, always odious to ’Abd-Allah, was at this moment more so than ever, and the minister himself could not fail to foresee his own personal peril when time should place undivided and autocratic power in the hands of one whom he had so often browbeaten and kept in abeyance. Hence he sided with Sa’ood, and by so doing heated the furnace of ’Abd-Allah’s evil passions one seven times more than it was wont to be heated. The nobles of the town, the very strangers, all sided with the one or the other of the half-brothers, and though Feysul’s life, like the silken thread round the monsters in Triermain’s “Hall of Fear,” yet held the tigers back, it might not suffice to restrain some sudden and especially some secret spring.
Now ’Abd-Allah in the course of his amateur lectures had learnt enough to know the poisonous qualities of various drugs, and of strychnine in particular; and though probably unacquainted with the exploits of European criminals, was fully capable of giving them a rival in the East. The cure, or at least the relief, just alluded to, had occurred about the 16th of November, exactly at the time when I had given him to understand our definite refusal of his offers, and when he was in consequence somewhat uncertain what course next to follow. A day or two after he sent for me, expressed his regret at our resolution to quit the capital, and begged that we would at least leave behind us in his keeping some useful medicines for the public benefit, and above all that we would entrust him with that powerful drug whose sanitary effects were now the subject of general admiration.
All that I could say about the uselessness, nay, the great danger, of pharmacy in unlearned hands, was rejected as a mere and insufficient pretext. At last, after much urging, the prince ended by saying that for the other ingredients I might omit them if I chose, but that the strychnine he must have, and that though at the highest price I might fancy to name.
His real object was perfectly clear, nor could I dream of lending a hand, however indirect, to his diabolical designs, nor did I see any way open before me but that of a firm though polite denial. In pursuance, I affected not to suspect his projects, and insisted on the dangerous character of the alkaloid, till he gave up the charge for the moment, and I left the palace.
Next day he renewed his demands, but to no purpose. A third meeting took place; it was the 19th or 20th of the month. Beckoning me to his side, he insisted in the most absolute manner on having the poison in his possession, and at last, laying aside all pretences, made clear the reasons, though not the person for whom he desired it, and declared that he would admit of no excuse, conscientious or otherwise.
He was at the moment sitting in the further end of the Ķ’hwah, and I was close by him; while between us and the attendants there present, enough space remained to prevent their catching our conversation, if held in an undertone. I looked round to assure myself that we could not be overheard, and when a flat denial on my part had been met by an equally flat rejection and a fresh demand, I turned right towards him, lifted up the edge of his head-dress, and said in his ear, “’Abd-Allah, I know well what you want the poison for, and I have no mind to be an accomplice in your crimes. You shall never have it.”
His face became literally black and swelled with rage; I never saw so perfect a demon before or after. A moment he hesitated in silence, then mastered himself, and suddenly changing voice and tone began to talk gaily about indifferent subjects. After a few minutes he rose, and I returned home.
There Aboo-’Eysa, Barakt, and myself immediately held council to consider what was now to be done. That an outbreak must shortly take place seemed certain; to await it was dangerous, yet we could not safely leave the town in an overprecipitate manner, nor without some kind of permission. We resolved together to go on in quiet and caution a few days more, to sound the court, make our adieus at Feysul's palace, get a good word from Mahboob (no difficult matter), and then slip off without attracting too much notice. But our destiny was not to run so smoothly.
On the evening of the 21st we were sitting up late, talking over the needful preparations of the journey, and drinking coffee with a few good-natured townsmen, who had no objection to a contraband smoke; a practice for which our dwelling had long since become famous or infamous, when a rap at the door announced ’Abd-Allah – not the prince, but his namesake and confidential retainer. “What brings you here at this hour of the night?” said we, not overpleased at the honour of his visit.
“The king” (for such is in common Ri’ad parlance the title given to the heir-apparent) “sends for you; come with me at once,” was his short and sharp answer. “Shall Barakt come with me?” said I, looking towards my companion. “The king wants you alone,” replied the messenger. “Shall I bring one of my books along with me?” “There is no need.” “Wait a few minutes while we get a cup of coffee ready for you.”
This last offer could not in common decency be refused. While the ceremony was in performance, I found time to exchange a few words with Aboo-’Eysa and Barakt. They agreed to dismiss the guests, and to remain on the alert for the result of this nocturnal embassy, easily foreseen to be a threatening one, perhaps dangerous. Yet the fact of my companion’s not being also sent for, seemed to me a guarantee against immediate peril.
The royal messenger and myself then left the house, and proceeded in silence and darkness through the winding streets to the palace of ’Abd-Allah. Arrived there, a short parley ensued between my conductor and the guards, who then resumed their post, while the former passed on to give the prince notice, leaving me to cool myself for a minute or two in the night air of the courtyard. A negro then came out, and beckoned me to enter.
The room was dark, there was no other light than that afforded by the flickering gleams of the firewood burning on the hearth. At the further end sat ’Abd-Allah, silent and gloomy; opposite to him on the other side was ’Abd-el-Lateef, the successor of the Wahhbee, and a few others, Zelators, or belonging to their party. Mahboob was seated by ’Abd-el-Lateef, and his presence was the only favourable circumstance discernible at a first glance. But he too looked unusually serious. At the other end of the long hall were a dozen armed attendants, Nejdeans or negroes.
When I entered, all remained without movement or return of greeting.
I saluted ’Abd-Allah, who replied in an undertone and gave me a signal to sit down at a little distance from him but on the same side of the divan. My readers may suppose that I was not at the moment ambitious of too intimate a vicinity.
After an interval of silence, ’Abd-Allah turned half round towards me, and with his blackest look and a deep voice said, “I now know perfectly well what you are; you are no doctors, you are Christians, spies, and revolutionists (‘mufsideen’) come hither to ruin our religion and state on behalf of those who sent you. The penalty for such as you is death, that you know, and I am determined to inflict it without delay.”
“Threatened folks live long,” thought I, and had no difficulty in showing the calm which I really felt. So looking him coolly in the face, I replied, “Istaghfir Allah,” literally, “Ask pardon of God.” This is the phrase commonly addressed to one who has said something extremely out of place.
The answer was unexpected; he started, and said, “Why so?”
“Because,” I rejoined, “you have just now uttered a sheer absurdity. ‘Christians,’ be it so; but ‘spies,’ ‘revolutionists,’ – as if we were not known by everybody in your town for quiet doctors, neither more nor less! And then to talk about putting me to death! You cannot, and you dare not.”
“But I can and dare,” answered ’Abd-Allah, “and who shall prevent me? you shall soon learn that to your cost.”
“Neither can nor dare,” repeated I. “We are here your father’s guests and yours for a month and more, known as such, received as such. What have we done to justify a breach of the laws of hospitality in Nejed? It is impossible for you to do what you say,” continued I, thinking the while that it was a great deal too possible after all; “the obloquy of the deed would be too much for you.”
He remained a moment thoughtful, then said, “As if any one need know who did it. I have the means, and can dispose of you without talk or rumour. Those who are at my bidding can take a suitable time and place for that, without my name being ever mentioned in the affair.”
The advantage was now evidently on my side; I followed it up, and said with a quiet laugh, “Neither is that within your power. Am I not known to your father, to all in his palace? to your own brother Sa’ood among the rest? Is not the fact of this my actual visit to you known without your gates? Or is there no one here?” added I, with a glance at Mahboob, “who can report elsewhere what you have just now said? Better for you to leave off this nonsense; do you take me for a child of four days old?”
He muttered a repetition of his threat. “Bear witness, all here present,” said I, raising my voice so as to be heard from one end of the room to the other, “that if any mishap befalls my companion or myself from Ri’ad to the shores of the Persian Gulf, it is all ’Abd-Allah’s doing. And the consequences shall be on his head, worse consequences than he expects or dreams.”
The prince made no reply. All were silent; Mahboob kept his eyes steadily fixed on the fireplace; ’Abd-el-Lateef looked much and said nothing.
“Bring coffee,” called out ’Abd-Allah to the servants. Before a minute had elapsed, a black slave approached with one and only one coffee-cup in his hand. At a second sign from his master he came before me and presented it.
Of course the worst might be conjectured of so unusual and solitary a draught. But I thought it highly improbable that matters should have been so accurately prepared; besides, his main cause of anger was precisely the refusal of poisons, a fact which implied that he had none by him ready for use. So I said, “Bismillah,” took the cup, looked very hard at ’Abd-Allah, drank it off, and then said to the slave, “Pour me out a second.” This he did; I swallowed it, and said, “Now you may take the cup away.”
The desired effect was fully attained. ’Abd-Allah’s face announced defeat, while the rest of the assembly whispered together. The prince turned to ’Abd-el-Lateef and began talking about the dangers to which the land was exposed from spies, and the wicked designs of infidels for ruining the kingdom of the Muslims. The Kadee and his companions chimed in, and the story of a pseudo-darweesh traveller killed at Derey’eeyah, and of another (but who he was I cannot fancy; perhaps a Persian, who had, said ’Abd-Allah, been also recognized for an intriguer, but had escaped to Mascat, and thus baffled the penalty due to his crimes), were now brought forward and commented on. Mahboob now at last spoke, but it was to ridicule such apprehensions. “The thing is in itself unlikely,” said he, “and were it so, what harm could they do?” alluding to my companion and myself.
On this I took up the word, and a general conversation ensued, in which I did my best to explode the idea of spies and spymanship, appealed to our own quiet and inoffensive conduct, got into a virtuous indignation against such a requital of evil for good after all the services which we had rendered court and town, and quoted verses of the Coran regarding the wickedness of ungrounded suspicion, and the obligation of not judging ill without clear evidence. ’Abd-Allah made no direct answer, and the others, whatever they may have thought, could not support a charge abandoned by their master.
What amused me not a little was that the Wahhbee prince had after all very nearly hit the right nail on the head, and that I was snubbing him only for having guessed too well. But there was no help for it, and I had the pleasure of seeing, that though at heart unchanged in his opinion about us, he was yet sufficiently cowed to render a respite certain, and our escape thereby practicable.
This kind of talk continued awhile, and I purposely kept my seat, to show the unconcern of innocence, till Mahboob made me a sign that I might safely retire. On this I took leave of ’Abd-Allah and quitted the palace unaccompanied. It was now near midnight, not a light to be seen in the houses, not a sound to be heard in the streets, the sky too was dark and overcast, till, for the first time, a feeling of lonely dread came over me, and I confess that more than once I turned my head to look and see if no one was following with “evil,” as Arabs say, in his hand. But there was none, and I reached the quiet alley and low door where a gleam through the chinks announced the anxious watch of my companions, who now opened the entrance, overjoyed at seeing me back sound and safe from so critical a parley.
Our plan for the future was soon formed. A day or two we were yet to remain in Ri’ad, lest haste should seem to imply fear, and thereby encourage pursuit. But during that period we would avoid the palace, out-walks in gardens or after nightfall, and keep at home as much as possible. Meanwhile Aboo-’Eysa was to get his dromedaries ready, and put them in a courtyard immediately adjoining the house, to be laden at a moment’s notice.
A band of travellers was to leave Ri’ad for Hasa a few days later. Aboo-’Eysa gave out publicly that he would accompany them to Hofhoof, while we were supposed to intend following the northern or Sedeyr track, by which the N’ib, after many reciprocal farewells and assurances of lasting friendship, should we ever meet again, had lately departed. Mobeyreek, a black servant in Aboo-’Eysa’s pay, occupied himself diligently in feeding up the camels for their long march with clover and vetches, both abundant here; and we continued our medical avocations, but quietly, and without much leaving the house. At the palace all were busy about the departure of the Hareek contingent, which now set out on its ’Oneyzah way by Shakra’, but marched, contrary to expectation, without ’Abd-Allah, that prince reserving himself for the arrival of the artillery, which was daily expected from Hasa, under the charge of Mohammed es-Sedeyree. Amid all this movement and bustle no particular enquiry was made after us; the tempest had been followed by a lull, and it was ours to take advantage of this interval before a new and a worse outburst.
During the afternoon of the 24th we brought three of Aboo-’Eysa’s camels into our courtyard, shut the outer door, packed and laded. We then awaited the moment of evening prayer; it came, and the voice of the Mu’eddineen summoned all good Wahhbees, the men of the town-guard not excepted, to the different mosques. When about ten minutes had gone by, and all might be supposed at their prayers, we opened our do
or. Mobeyreek gave a glance up and down the street to ascertain that no one was in sight, and we led out the camels. Aboo-’Eysa accompanied us. Avoiding the larger thoroughfares, we took our way by bye-lanes and side passages towards a small town-gate, the nearest to our house, and opening on the north. A late comer fell in with us on his way to the Mesjid, and as he passed summoned us also to the public service. But Aboo-’Eysa unhesitatingly replied, “We have this moment come from prayers,” and our interlocutor, fearing to be himself too late, and thus to fall under reprehension and punishment, rushed off to the nearest oratory, leaving the road clear. Nobody was in watch at the gate. We crossed its threshold, turned south-east, and under the rapid twilight reached a range of small hillocks, behind which we sheltered ourselves till the stars came out, and the “wing of night,” to quote Arab poets, spread black over town and country.
We drew a long breath, like men just let out of a dungeon, and thanked heaven that this much was over. Then, after the first hour of night had gone over, and chance passers-by had ceased, and left us free from challenge and answer, we lighted our camp-fire, drank a most refreshing cup of coffee, set our pipes to work, and laughed in our turn at ’Abd-Allah and Feysul.
So far so good. But further difficulties remained before us. It was now more than ever absolutely essential to get clear of Nejed unobserved, to put the desert between us and the Wahhbee court and capital; and no less necessary was it that Aboo-’Eysa, so closely connected as he was with Ri’ad and its government, should seem nohow implicated in our unceremonious departure, nor any way concerned with our onward movements. In a word, an apparent separation of paths between him and us was necessary, before we could again come together and complete the remainder of our explorations.
In order to manage this, and while ensuring our own safety to throw a little dust in Wahhbee eyes, it was agreed that before next morning’s sunrise Aboo-’Eysa should return to the town, and to his dwelling, as though nothing had occurred, and should there await the departure of the great merchant caravan, mentioned previously, and composed mainly of men from Hasa and Kateef, now bound for Hofhoof under the guidance of Aboo-Dahir-el-Ghannm. This assemblage was expected to start within three days at latest. Meanwhile our friend should take care to show himself openly in the palaces of Feysul and ’Abd-Allah, and if asked about us should answer vaguely, with the off-hand air of one who had no further care regarding us. We ourselves should in the interim make the best of our way, with Mobeyreek for guide, to Wadi Soley’, and there remain concealed in a given spot, till Aboo-’Eysa should come and pick us up.