by Harold Lamb
Yet as the wheels rumbled over the planks of a bridge, she laughed, saying that here in this canal she had come to Africa years before, a spoiled child, in a barge with music playing and the Tricolor flying ... Her father, a division commander on Menou's staff, had sent for his two motherless daughters, from France-to live like princesses in Africa, until Napoleon vanished in a courier vessel, and the remnant of the army was left to destruction, her father dying in the plague.
"Hortense was brave, Monsieur; she protected me even as she made dresses for me out of our treasure of Oriental stuffs. You know so little of women, you would not understand the difference that comes between them when a younger sister grows up.
"When you are not voyaging in Egypt," Marie asked unexpectedly, "what do you do?"
He hesitated. "I want to be a teacher, Mademoiselle D'Aliermont."
At that she was silent, drawing into her corner of the seat, aware that he had lied, telling herself that she could not trust this young American, in spite of his honest eyes. Something within him was merciless-some secret thing. Marie Anne did not understand how that could be. Yet instinctively she understood that it was both foolish and dangerous to be so pleased when his head turned toward her, and to feel protected merely because he was within reach of her hand.
No, she told herself, he would not keep the promise he had made her. But she had nothing else to hold to.
When Orion's square shone clear overhead, she slept, her weary head hidden in its hair turned toward him. The cold of the desert night struck into his limbs. Carefully he drew off his jacket and laid it around her.
This slight girl had courage; she did not speak of the danger to herself in aiding him. And he felt that he had always been a coward.
The glare of sunrise lay upon the cracked stone walls of the Burj al Arab, and the sounds of pandemonium echoed within it, out to the tranquil blue of the sea. The Tower, once a citadel of the vanished Greeks, gave shelter to those who sought trade or loot in Alexandria.
At the well beside the Tower, Arabs were striking their pavilions, and leading out their slender nervous horses; a throng of black-tent Bedouins labored at loading strings of kneeling grunting camels. Over the uproar presided the man they called Drub-Devil.
With his red hair lifted by the wind, and the chin jutting from his florid face, he tongue-lashed the camel drivers in broken Arabic. "God! This hour is the hour for going upon the road-not for smoking pipes and milking goats."
William Eaton had the bulk of middle age, and the enthusiasm of a dreamer who wastes no time in reasoning. For all his scolding, he was happy as a child about to start a journey. He had spent his past years in the Mediterranean: and to Paul, who had not met him before, he seemed unlike any other officer-especially one with the rank of general.
"Elijah took the bread the ravens dropped," Eaton assured him, "and I have no mind to refuse a recruit who would join my force without pay." Curiously his blue eyes took stock of the tall boy. "Your appearance has indeed something miraculous about it. You understand that rations are problematical, while hardships are certain? Why do you wish to go with us?"
Paul, who had nerved himself against interrogation, warmed to the New Englander's good humor. "To help, sir, if I can to strike a blow that may free William Bainbridge and his crew."
"Hm! And it may not. How, Master Davies, did you find my encampment?"
"Through the kindness of Mademoiselle D'Aliermont."
Quizzically the adventurer glanced at the girl, who had hung back in the shadow of the wall. "A charming guide. I have no doubt my secret is known to all Alexandria, and Cairo as well."
He even bowed to her, and Marie Anne made a graceful curtsy. After the strain of the night, she almost sang with gladness to find the American Drub-Devil so amiable, even if uncouth. Apparently he did not hesitate to accept a civilian, untrained like Paul, among his soldiers.
Despite all that he had on his mind that morning and the worries he did not confess to, William Eaton noticed the grace of the young girl, and fancied Paul Davies to be fortunate in her. When he had made a hasty inspection of the loads that passed on the camels set into awkward motion, he said laughing: "At your age, Master Davies, I carried a musket for a week, to a recruiting station. In '79, it was. I do not know what use we can make of your knowledge of Plato and John Bunyan; but if my adjutant will pass you-why, be one of us, in God's name."
But when Paul asked for passage for Marie Anne, he shook his head decisively. "No, that can't be done."
When the boy urged that it was vital for her to get transport out of Alexandria, Eaton swung back to her impatiently. "It will be known in two hours. I can tell you now. We are not proceeding by sea."
"Not-" Paul bit off the words. He had seen the instructions drawn up at Syracuse for William Eaton, naval agent. They were: to embark whatever force he had raised at Alexandria in American vessels, to proceed by sea to make a landing at the nearest Barbary stronghold, which happened to be the port of Derna. "The Argus was to await you, sir."
His voice lowered, Eaton said: "By now the brig will have put to sea."
Suddenly he laughed, nodding at the medley of horsemen and caravaneers. "Faith, we'd need an ark of Noah to embark this outfit. Moreover, my friends the Turks are quite justifiably suspicious of our presence in the city. They'll be glad to see me depart harmlessly by land. Aye, with my allies."
From the cool shadow of the Tower the long line of camels was starting west. Beside the line moved a Bedouin woman, sturdy as an animal, a bundle on her head. Behind her a half-grown girl drove a herd of black goats.
Incredulously Paul watched this advance guard of an armed expedition. He thought: Eaton must have known he could not take such a train on shipboard-he is disregarding his orders.
"General Eaton," cried Marie Anne, "there is no passage to Derna by land."
The ruddy New Englander smiled down at her. "Even Mademoiselle D'Aliermont is informed of our destination which we have endeavored to keep secret."
Nodding at the baggage train already entering the haze of dust that hid the skyline, he added: "The desert can be crossed, child. What do the poets say, Master Davies-from the river Nile to the Pillars of Hercules? Aye, my expedition may look but ill on a parade ground, but its members are all hardened to desert marches."
"Then take me, General Eaton," exclaimed the girl.
While he was silent in surprise, she urged swiftly that she could speak the languages of the native peoples, she could interpret for him, she knew army routine. "And I have need-" her glance sought Paul desperately-"to leave Alexandria by any means."
For an instant Eaton hesitated. Every trace of good humor left his florid face, and his voice roughened as if with inner tension. "Mine is a difficult undertaking. To make a desert march of five hundred miles-"
"But you will rendezvous somewhere with the ships!"
"We must be prepared to meet an enemy force of Tripolitans of unknown strength, well fortified; and, I doubt not," he added bleakly, "well advised of my movements and strength. I am sorry, mademoiselle. I wish that every member of my force had your spirit."
Before Marie could speak again, they heard the swift beat of a drum.
Dark against the morning sun, two compact groups of men were marching in from the direction of Alexandria. Two horsemen led them, and the first rider was Selim, pounding the shining drum slung at his knee. Eaton shouted, and almost ran to meet the cavalcade.
Marie went back and picked up her bundle. "Paul," she said quietly, "you did not speak for me."
"Faith, I did."
She shook her head, looking up at him fleetingly. "Perhaps you think you did. If you had been willing to say we were betrothed-" Her supple lips quivered, and pressed together firmly. "Good-bye, Paul."
When he stretched out his hand to stop her, she stepped away, fumbling in her girdle. Into his hand she dropped a small silk purse with the weight of a few coins in it. "Arabaji!" she called. And to Paul: "Pay him, please. I do n
ot want to trouble you more."
She went away as she had walked down the beach, with a defiant lift of her slight shoulders. Their driver of the night must have been following them, because he hurried up at her call, begging for money. Pocketing Marie's purse, Paul extracted a gold sequin of his own and tossed it to the man, who snatched it and pressed it to his forehead.
When Paul freed himself from the Arab and looked for the girl, she had disappeared into the shifting throng. Cloaked horsemen, magnificently mounted, were racing out to greet the incoming detachment. When he rounded one of the towers of the caravanserai, searching for the small figure under the blue scarf, he almost bumped into Eaton, who was taking the salute of the officer of the infantry detachment.
This officer was Eugene, resplendent now in bottle-green tunic and black boots with the ribbon of a medal gleaming on his shoulder. "Colonel Leitensdorfer reporting, sir," he was saying crisply, "with the Greek regiment, two sous-of ficiers, thirty-eight men, and cannoneers, twenty-six."
The cannoneers were the motley rapscallions Paul had observed in the courtyard of the coffee-house.
"Only give them cannon, General," said Eugene in a lower tone, "and you will see how old hands they are. Where do you have the guns?"
"Over there."
Glancing where Eaton pointed, Paul sighted a half-dozen figures in the blue-faced-with-buff of American Marines, engaged tranquilly in roping a pair of yoked bullocks to the trail of a single brass nine-pounder.
For a second Eugene's expressive face went blank. Evidently he had expected more than that. "So," he grunted.
"There will be more-in time," Eaton assured him. "Fall out your men. Let them eat. Tell Mr. Farquhar to see that they have transport for their belongings."
In another moment the quick eye of the Tyrolese had picked out Paul. "By Salbal and Bathbal-the schoolteacher! Is it that my lodging was not good enough? How did you find the rendezvous?"
Paul explained, and Eugene muttered irritably in German: "Like a lord, in a carriage! After I hide my command by gravestones and Roman baths, and bring them here at night, far from the road. And what then do you do, Herr Davies? Here, in a carriage, you bring a woman who is a Spanish spy."
"She's not that-now."
"Das Junge!"
As if speechless at such Yankee credulity, the Tyrolese strode off, leaving Paul to pursue his stubborn search. In half an hour he had found no trace of Marie Anne, but he felt that he had stumbled into a stage set for an insane play.
Accustomed to the orderly movement of shipboard, to the shelter of his own narrow quarters, and the quick give-and-take of familiar commands, the uproar of the Tower bewildered him. The seedy Englishman, the admirer of Hercules, accosted him with a smile-introducing himself as Percival Farquhar, and asking if he had a bag to be loaded. A lanky lieutenant of Marines, watching the stowing of the loads on the camels, observed in the slurring drawl of Kentuckians: "They-uns will steal the buckles from your belts."
In the corridor that ran through the massive walls of the ancient fort, Paul glimpsed another familiar face. The man who passed him aimlessly had an animal's ease of stride, and no more than the slits of eyes showing under a striped headcloth. But as he passed, there was a flicker of recognition in the eyes, a quick turn of the head away. After a moment Paul remembered him-Hadjali, the renegade. Yet when he swung back, hurrying to catch up with the man, Hadjali was not to be seen. The teeming Tower seemed to have the power to render fugitives invisible.
Then he realized that Hadjali, who drew pay from Spanish agents, would also be looking for Marie Anne. With her purse in his pocket, he feared that she had no more money, and certainly she had no friend to aid her in the Tower. She had not driven back in the chaise, which departed heavily loaded with portly Moslems.
At noon he made his way out of the gate, convinced that Marie could not possibly be within the serai walls. Glancing at the faint trail that led straight to the west, he stopped short.
Far out on that track gleamed the brass cannon, followed by the squad of Marines, with four riders coming after. This tiny nucleus of a military force was followed in turn by all the hundred-odd armed Arabs who had appeared to greet Leitensdorfer. Behind them trailed the two detachments of infantry, with a queue of natives driving cattle, and women bearing loads, and a few children.
This line of tiny human forms moving out over the gray plain danced oddly in the heat haze.
"Eh bien," observed a harsh voice, "you see your American expedition has started without you."
In the last patch of shadow Eugene sat at ease against the wall, his tunic unbuttoned, a porcelain pipe smoking in his hand. Behind him two horses were tethered-one a powerful gray with silver-worked saddle, the other a thin sorrel with a quilt roped on him.
"Or you, Colonel." Paul was too weary to endure more of the Tyro- lese's jeering.
Drawing a measured puff from his pipe, Eugene nodded. "I make das Rechnen. I count nine Americans, and you, younker. Three hundred and eighty-one outlanders, and mineself, Eugene Leitensdorfer. What total does that make, of good men? Ten. The nine Americans and mineself." His summing up seemed to please him, because he went on mildly: "Also, an adjutant has many duties, such as watching for deserters and picking out the spies."
"An hour ago," observed Paul, "I sighted Hadjali here."
This stirred the placid Eugene more than Paul had hoped. Hastily he started to pull on a boot he had been rubbing with a candle-end. "Hadjali, that viper-where?"
But when Paul explained, the big Tyrolese sat back, swearing. "If you see a stag, younker, when you are hunting, do you then run after him? No. Hadjali, like your mademoiselle, is not stupid. Yah! By now he is very damned safe."
"How?"
Leisurely Eugene rose and stretched his arms, his thumbs cracking. Seemingly he turned to inspect the horses. His glance swept the ring of watching natives, probed the haze of the plain, and passed to the edge of the sea below. His knotty hand stabbed out and down. "By now-he goes there."
Close in to the white ripple of the wash, a slender xebec loafed, her lateen yard lowered. Paul had seen scores like her-fleet and able as gulls-off the shore of Tripoli. Lying as she was, a man could have waded out to her in a moment's time.
"Yes." Eugene nodded thoughtfully. "He will have an easier voyage than we-"
Abruptly Paul caught his hand. On the little finger a ring had been wedged, an opalescent moonstone cut into the shape of a flying bird-the one piece of jewelry Marie had worn. "How did you get that?" he cried.
"From the blind witch of Tanteval, a gift, certainly." Freeing his hand, Eugene slipped off the ring and pocketed it. "In the full of the moon it brings good fortune-"
"Good fortune like the gems and the gold of Cleopatra Selene!" The tale the glib Eugene had told him, to beguile him in the coffeehouse! The man had a magpie's eye for loot. Marie must have given him the ring as a bribe; and if she had-
He stared out at the thin column of marchers, sinking deeper into the great plain. If the elusive Hadjali had managed to slip away in the xebec, Marie might have gone with the column somehow, with Eugene's connivance.
He went to the sorrel horse-having no least doubt which of the two mounts was meant for him-and swung himself up by grip of the mane, starting after the marchers at the best pace of the reluctant horse.
In a moment Eugene was beside him, riding like a centaur. The Tyrolese did everything with ease, from calling to prayer to play-acting as adjutant of a skeleton army. "Younker," he said, "I do not think you are stupid. No. Only, you are not accustomed. Perhaps it is that you live still within the walls of your honorable home where nobody starves and thieves do not break in ... No, listen to me. I have still two minds about you, but about Mademoiselle I am certain if she comes with us she will not report back as a spy to Alexandria."
"General Eaton would not allow her to make this journey."
"No? If she makes one march with us, can General Eaton send her away? Where?" Putting spur to
his horse, Eugene said over his shoulder: "Inform the officers about her now, and she will be sent away."
As he passed the group of women at the rear of the column, Eugene turned in the saddle and pulled at his waxed mustache, his elbow lifted high.
Paul reined in his horse as he came abreast of them, searching among the blue-wrapped figures until he found one in the lead that carried a familiar bundle. The Arab woman, unveiled, stared at him with frank curiosity. Marie had her head covered, but she had recognized him.
She said softly: "If you stop, they will see you. I ask you not to speak to me, ever."
In some way she had got herself a pair of native sandals. Her feet slipped in them at each step, already cut by the particles of stone in the sand. After a moment he rode on, feeling for the first time the impact of heat rising from the baked ground.
With sunset the earth changed, magically. Their campfires touched with flame the high ridge of the coast, the ridge of stones between the motionless sea and the tawny uplifted waves of the sand. Ahead of them the sun flamed and sank.
At Eaton's fire the sheiks of the camelmen quarreled with him, grasping at him, demanding pay for the journey before they would make another march. He shouted scorn at them and drove them away, until they came back, quieted, to claim their portion of the bread and the coffee of the Americans. In return the Arab women brought dates and baked bread to the Marines. Among those who carried the woven trays of food Paul made out Marie. Silent as the others, she slipped away into the shadows.
Lieutenant Presley O'Bannon of the Marines, observing them, parted with frugal words: "These savages have not read the Articles of War."
When he was free of his guests, Eaton came to throw himself down by Paul. Wiping his face with his sleeve, he said bluntly as was his manner: "When my pockets are empty, I wonder how many followers I shall have. I meant to tell you, Mr. Davies-my adjutant doubts if you will stand this journey. Frankly, he argues that our inexperience may cause us difficulty." He hesitated. "Some of the escort will be turning back tomorrow; and you could accompany them safely, I think, to Alexandria. If you-"