Tales of the Caravan, Inn, and Palace. Вильгельм Гауф

his silent escort had ridden on for about an hour, when they turned into a side valley, which was shut in by high trees. A soft, dark-green sod, and a brook rushing swiftly through the middle of the valley, invited them to rest. Scattered over the green were from fifteen to twenty tents. Camels and fine horses were tied to the tent stakes, while from one of the tents sounded the pleasing melody of a guitar, accompanied by two fine male voices.

      To my brother it seemed that people who had displayed such good taste in the selection of their camping ground could entertain no sinister designs on him, and he, therefore, cheerfully obeyed the command of his guides to dismount as soon as they had unloosed his bonds. He was led into a tent much larger than the others, the interior of which was fitted up neatly, even elegantly. Gold embroidered cushions, woven carpets and gold plated censors would have indicated elsewhere the wealth and respectability of their owner; but here they were plainly the fruits of robbery. On one of the cushions sat a little old man of repulsive appearance. His skin was tanned and shiny, and a disagreeable expression of Turkish slyness lurked about his eyes and mouth. Although this man attempted to appear dignified, it did not take Mustapha long to decide that this tent had not been furnished so richly for him, while the conversation of his guards seemed to confirm his observation.

      "Where is the Strong One?" they inquired of the little old man.

      "On the chase," answered he. "But he bade me fill his place while he was gone."

      "He didn't display much sense, then," replied one of the robbers, "as it ought to be decided at once whether this dog shall die or be held for ransom, and the Strong One could decide that much better than you."

      The old man arose with an assumption of dignity, and reached out as if to grasp his opponent's ear, or to revenge himself by a blow; but when he saw that his effort was fruitless, he began to curse and swear. Nor did the others remain long in his debt, but replied in kind, until the tent resounded with their quarrel.

      All at once the door of the tent was opened, and a tall, stately man, young and handsome as a Persian prince, entered. His clothes and weapons were plain and simple, with the exception of a richly jeweled dagger and a gleaming sword; but his steady eye and whole appearance commanded attention, without inspiring distrust.

      "Who is it that dares to make such a disturbance in my tent?" demanded he of the frightened participants.

      For a little time there was deep silence; until finally, one of the men who had brought Mustapha in told him how the quarrel had originated. The face of the Strong One, as they called him, flushed with anger at this recital.

      "When did I ever put you in my place, Hassan?" cried he, in a fearful voice, to the little old man, who, shrinking with fear, stole towards the door, looking smaller than ever. The Strong One lifted his foot, and Hassan went flying through the doorway with some remarkable leaps.

      When Hassan had disappeared, the three men led Mustapha up to the master of the tent, who was now reclining on the cushions, saying: "We have brought you the man whom you ordered us to capture." The Strong One looked for some time at the prisoner, and then said: "Pasha of Sulieika, your own conscience will tell you why your are the prisoner of Orbasan."

      When my brother heard this, he threw himself down before Orbasan, and answered "Oh, Master, you have made a mistake. I am only a poor unfortunate man, and not the Pasha whom you seek."

      All in the tent were surprised at these words. But the master of the tent replied--

      "It will not help you much to deny your identity, as I will produce people who know you well." He then commanded Zuleima to be brought. An old woman was led in, who, in response to the question whether she did not recognize in my brother the Pasha of Sulieika, said--

      "Certainly! I swear by the graves of the prophets that he is the Pasha and no other."

      "Do you see, poor fool, how your stratagem is frustrated?" sneered Orbasan. "You are so miserable a creature that I will not soil my dagger with your blood; but when to-morrow's sun rises, I will tie you to my horse's tail and chase through the forests with you until the sun sets behind the hills of Sulieika."

      At this announcement my brother's courage entirely deserted him. "This is the result of my cruel father's curse that is driving me to an ignominious death!" exclaimed he, in tears. "And thou, too, sweet sister, and thou, Zoraide, art lost!"

      "Your dissimulation will avail you nothing," said one of the robbers, who was engaged in tying Mustapha's hands behind his back. "Get out of the tent quickly, for the Strong One is biting his lips and glancing at his dagger. If you would live another night, come quickly!"

      As the robbers were leading my brother out of the tent, they encountered three others, who were pushing in a prisoner before them. "We have brought you the Pasha as you commanded us," said they, and led the prisoner up to the cushions where Orbasan reclined. While the prisoner was being led forward, my brother had an opportunity to observe him closely, and he was forced to acknowledge the striking resemblance which this man bore to him, only the stranger's complexion was darker and he wore a black beard.

      Orbasan seemed much astonished over the appearance of the second prisoner. "Which of you, then, is the right one?" asked he, looking from one to the other.

      "If you mean the Pasha of Sulieika," answered the prisoner, in a proud tone, "I am he."

      Orbasan gazed at him some time with a stern, hard expression, and then silently beckoned the men to lead him away. When they had done so, Orbasan went up to my brother, cut his bonds with his dagger, and motioned to him to sit down with him on the cushions. "I am sorry, young stranger," said he, "that I mistook you for that monster. It was, indeed, a singular dispensation of fate which led you into the hands of my comrades at the same hour that was destined to see the fall of that traitor." My brother begged of him but one favor: that he might be allowed to continue on his journey at once, as the least delay would prove fatal to his purpose. Orbasan inquired what the nature of the affair was that required such haste, and when Mustapha had told him every thing, Orbasan persuaded him to remain in his tent over night, as he and his horse were in need of rest, and promised that in the morning he would show him a way by which he could reach Balsora in a day and a half.

      My brother remained, was hospitably entertained, and slept soundly until morning in the tent of the robber chief. When he awakened he found himself all alone, but before the curtain of the tent he heard several voices, one of which belonged to Orbasan and another to Hassan. He listened, and heard, to his horror, that the little old man was urging upon Orbasan the necessity of killing him, lest he should betray them when he had regained his liberty. Mustapha felt sure that Hassan hated him, because he had been the cause of the little fellow's being handled so roughly the night before. Orbasan remained silent for some moments, and then replied: "No, he is my guest, and the laws of hospitality are sacred with me; neither does he look like an informer."

      Thus saying, Orbasan flung aside the curtain and entered. "Peace be with you, Mustapha," said he. "Let us take our morning draught, and then prepare yourself to start." He handed my brother a glass of sherbet, and when they had drunk, they saddled their horses, and with a lighter heart than he had entered the camp, Mustapha swung himself into his seat.

      They had soon left the tents far behind, and followed a broad path that led into the forest. Orbasan told my brother that the Pasha who had been captured had promised that he would permit them to remain undisturbed in his territory; yet but a few weeks after he took one of their bravest men prisoner, and hanged him with the most horrible torture. Orbasan had had spies on his track for a long time, and now he must die. Mustapha did not venture to oppose his purpose, as he was thankful to get away with a whole skin himself.

      At the end of the forest Orbasan stopped his horse, described the way to my brother, offered him his hand at parting, and said: "Mustapha, you became the guest of the robber Orbasan under singular circumstances. I will not require you to promise that you will not betray what you have seen and heard. You were unjustly forced to suffer the fear of death, and I am, therefore, in your debt. Take this dagger as a keepsake, and if you are ever in need of help, send it to me, and I will hasten to your assistance. This purse you may be able to use on your journey."