The Talbot Mundy Megapack. Talbot Mundy

      “With Your Honor’s seal. Observe; I have it.”

      “Then—then—Where is she into whose hands I gave it?”

      That was the first sign that Ali Higg had given of the slightest affection for any one. His face looked ghastly at the thought of losing that strange, half-western wife of his.

      He had called Ayisha by her name in front of strangers, out of disrespect. Jael he would not name, even when confronted by the proof that she had broken trust and lost his precious seal.

      “I took another liberty,” said Grim. “I sent word by messenger, who bore a letter sealed with that same seal, to Ibrahim ben Ah. He will neither raid El-Maan nor return to Petra.”

      “He is defeated?” asked the Lion, dumbfounded. “And she—is she a prisoner?”

      Grim did not answer either question.

      “And I met a man named Yussuf. You know him?”

      “Naam.” (Yes).

      “He has been lying to Your Honor. He has said that the British are helpless. He brought Your Honor a report from Palestine that was a skein of falsehood hung up on little pegs of truth. He told you the British are not able to defend themselves, he knowing better; for he is one of those men who say always what the hearer would like to hear.”

      “What has that to do with thee?” demanded Ali Higg.

      He was looking about him furtively, and Narayan Singh picked up his rifle off the rug and stood it against the wall. Grim turned toward Ali Baba.

      “Bring Yussuf!” he ordered.

      The ranks opened, and Yussuf was thrust forward into the cave, where he stood looking like a felon awaiting sentence.

      “Did you speak the truth, or did you lie to the Lion of Petra?” Grim demanded.

      “Who am I that should know the truth of such matters?” the man whined, his voice squeaking like a cart-wheel. “I obeyed. I looked. I asked. Perhaps I did not understand all I saw and what was told me.”

      “Is the Lion of Petra with ten-score fighting men able to stand against the British with twenty thousand?” Grim asked him.

      “Inshallah. The Lion is brave. Who knows? Yet I forgot to speak of the twenty aeroplanes at Ludd, each having ten bombs of a hundred pounds weight that could make short work in an hour or two of ten score men.”

      “Why don’t they come?” snarled Ali Higg.

      “They take no delight in slaying the women and children,” answered Grim. “Those black tents below there would be an easy mark to aim at; but who would gain? It is better that peace were kept.”

      “Throw that Yussuf over the cliff!” commanded Ali Higg.

      But once more nobody moved to obey him, and Yussuf had the indecency to smirk, for which Grim cursed him with whiplash sarcasm.

      Then Ali Higg put both hands before his face and prayed aloud:

      “O Allah, Lord of mercies and of wisdom and rebuke, if I am in the hands of enemies and she who was the mother of good plans is taken away from me, have I not, nevertheless, smitten the heretic in thy name and raised thy banner over Petra? Give me, then, wisdom, that I deal with these men and confound thy enemies. La Allah illa Allah!”

      He dropped his hands and looked up with a hard, fanatical frenzy in his eyes. But they changed almost instantly. The ranks of Ali Baba’s men opened once more; and Jael Higg stepped through, dressed like a fighting Bedouin, bandolier and all. Grim had even let her have a rifle and cartridges. As he promised, he had put her to no indignity.

      CHAPTER XIII

      “There is a Trick to Ruling!”

      Don’t you hate a story with a moral in it? I do. This is an immoral story. And, remember, I said in the beginning that it had no end, but was no more than an episode in the career of Ali Higg. I would have liked to tell it from his viewpoint setting down what he thought of this unexpected stick thrown in his wheel, omitting most of the bad language for the censor’s sake.

      His first thought was that Jael had returned from the raid with a hundred and forty men. You could tell that by the light in his eyes, even before he spoke.

      “Allah reward you; you come in time! Have Ayisha and that Yussuf thrown over the cliff. Praised be Allah, I shall be obeyed at last!”

      It was his worst shock yet when even Jael did not start at once to carry out his order. Instead, she sat down on the rug, so that she and Ali Higg and Grim formed a triangle.

      “O Lion of Petra,” she said—for it would not have been manners to call him by his right name in front of strangers—“what was written has come to pass, and my foreboding was a true one. If we had let the tribes at El-Maan be, and if you had kept those forty men instead of sending them to raid the Beni Aroun, this could not have happened. Now twenty men have cornered us, while Ibrahim ben Ah eats up provisions to no purpose, sitting idly in the desert.”

      “Then the El-Maan men were not scattered to the winds?” groaned Ali Higg. “O Allah, may shame devour you as it tortures me! Those dogs will have looted a train and will say that Ali Higg no longer dares interfere! The sun rises, but it sets at evening, since Allah wills; but is my day so short?”

      “By no means,” answered Grim. “The El-Maan men saw me and believed I was the Lion of Petra. I forbade the looting of the train, and Your Honor’s wife Ayisha went to El-Maan to enforce obedience by her presence.

      “Later they saw me start for Petra when the train had passed; and now they will learn that Ibrahim ben Ah with seven score men is bivouacking in the desert. The world is round, O Ali Higg, so that where in one place it seems dark in another they say the sun is rising.”

      “In Allah’s name, who art thou?” asked the Lion.

      “James Schuyler Grim. Men call me Jimgrim.”

“Allah! Wallahi haida fasl!47 Not he who fought under Lawrence against the Turks? Wallah! I fought on the other side, but we all feared Lawrence and admired him so that not a man would try to capture him, although Djemal Pasha put a great price on his head. And you were known far and wide as his man! There was a price on your head too—dead or alive—five thousand pounds Turkish—well I remember it. By the beard of the Prophet, you might have come here as a friend, O Jimgrim!”

      Grim laughed.

“I come here as a friend in any case,” he answered. “Khajjaltni bima’rufak!48 You brought back a woman to poison me!”

      And this is where the immorality comes in. I told a lie, and don’t regret it. Nor did Grim regret it; and he backed me up. And Narayan Singh supported both of us.

      The lie was my own idea entirely, invented on the spur of the moment; and afterward, when old Ali Baba named me The “Father of Lies” on the strength of it I felt extremely proud, as he intended that I should do. The lie worked.

      I said:

      “O Ali Higg, men said of you that you are a fierce man, swift in wrath and slow to take advice. And others said that you are sick with burning boils; yet who shall go into the Lion’s den and heal him? And Ayisha said to me:

      “‘Thou art a hakim, yet he will never listen to thee. But he is my lord, and shall I see him linger in agony? Give me a potion that will weaken him. Then in his weakness he will call for help, and thou shalt heal the boils. And afterward that which is written shall come to pass. If in great wrath because I mixed the potion in his drink he shall have me slain, nevertheless the Lion will be whole again; and who am I compared to him?’ So said the lady Ayisha.”

      I know Grim would have given a hundred dollars for leave to laugh