The Flying Legion Part 53

The streets themselves were clear of people as the cavalcade thundered on and on with many turnings; but every doorway, shop, arch, roof, terrace, and tower was packed with these silent, white-clad folk, bronze-faced and motionless, all armed with pistols, rifles, and cold steel.

What some poet has called "a joyous fear" thrilled the Legion. No, not fear, in the sense of timidity, but rather a realization of the immense perils of this situation, and an up-springing of the heart to meet those perils, to face and overcome them, and from out their very maw to s.n.a.t.c.h rewards beyond all calculation.

Even the Master himself, tempered in the fires of war's h.e.l.l, sensed this tremendous potentiality of death as the tiny handful of white men galloped on and on behind Bara Miyan. Here the Legion was, hemmed and pent by countless hordes of fanatics whom any chance word or look, construed as a religious insult, might lash to fury. Five men remained outside. The rest were now as drops of water in a hostile ocean. In the Master's breast-pocket still lay Kaukab el Durri--and might not that possession, itself, be enough to start a jihad of extermination?

Was not the fact of unbelieving dogs now for the first time being in the Sacred City--was not this, alone, cause for a ma.s.sacre? What, in sober reason, stood between the Legion and death? Only two factors: first, the potential destruction of the Myzab and the Black Stone in case of treachery; and second, two tiny pinches of salt exchanged between the Master and old Bara Miyan!

The situation, calmly reviewed, was one probably never paralleled in the history of adventure--more like the dream of a hashish-smoking addict than cold reality.

Very contending emotions possessed the hearts of the Legionaries, in different reactions to their diverse temperaments. Only a vast wonder mirrored itself in some faces, a kind of numb groping after comprehension, a failure to believe such a thing possible as a city of pure and solid gold.

Others showed more critical interest, appreciation of the wonderful artistic effects of the carven gold in all its architectural developments under the skilled chisels of the Jannati Shahr folk.

Still others manifested only greed. The eyes of such, feverishly devouring walls, cornices, pillars, seemed to say:

"G.o.d! If we only had the smallest of these things, what a fortune that would mean! What an incredible fortune!"

Each man, reacting under the overwhelming stimulus of this wonder city, in his own expression betrayed the heart and soul within him.

And thus, each absorbed in his own thoughts and dreams, silently the Legionaries pondered as they galloped through the enchanted streets.

Some fifteen minutes' riding, with no slackening of the pace and always on an upward grade toward what seemed the central citadel of Jannati Shahr, brought the party to an inner wall, forty feet high and pierced by a triple-arched gate surmounted by a minaret of golden lacery.

Through the center arch rode Bara Miyan, now reining into a canter.

The _imams_ and the Legionaries followed, and with them about fifty of the Arabs, of superior rank. The rest drew rein outside, still in complete silence.

The lessened cavalcade now found itself in what at first glance seemed an enchanted garden. Not even a feeling of anxiety caused by the silent closing of the hugely ma.s.sive golden gates that, as they pa.s.sed through, immediately blocked the triple exit, could divert the Legionaries' minds from the wondrous park confronting them.

Date and cocoa-palms with shadowy paths beneath them; clear rills with bamboo thickets along their banks and with tangles of white myrtle, red clouds of oleanders that diffused an almond perfume, delicate hybiscus, and unknown flowers combined to weave a magic woof of beauty, using the sifted sunlight for gold threads of warp.

Unseen water-wheels splashed coolly; vivid b.u.t.terflies flickered through ma.s.ses of greenery among the acacia, mimosa, lote and mulberry trees. And there were color-flashing parrots, too, a-wing and noisy in the high branches; and apes that swung and chattered; and round the high, golden walls of the citadel, half visible through the cloud of green and party-colored foliage, whirls of pigeons, white as snow, flicked against the gold.

The Legionaries were hard put to it to obey the Master's order never to express surprise or admiration. But they kept silence, though their eyes were busy; and presently through another smaller gate they all clattered into a _hosh_, or court, facing what obviously must have been the central citadel of Jannati Shahr.

Bara Miyan pulled sharply on the red, silver-broidered reins and cut back the frothing lip of his barb. With a slide almost on its haunches, along the soft, golden pavement, the horse came to a quivering stand. All halted. And for a moment, the stamping of the high-nerved horses' hoofs echoed up along the tall citadel with its latticed windows and its machicolated parapet a hundred and fifty feet in air.

"Well ridden, O Frank! Well ridden by thee and by all thy men of Feringistan!" exclaimed Bara Miyan, with what seemed real friendliness, as he sat there on his high saddle, gravely stroking his beard. "It was a test for thee and thine, to see, by Allah! if the men of the unbelieving nations be also men like us of Araby!

"We of the Empty Abodes are 'born on horseback.' But ye, white as the white hand of Musa (Moses) have houses that, so I have heard, move on iron roads. And I see now ye have flying houses. Wherefore horses are not dear to you, as to us. But I see that ye can ride like men. Well done! _Salaam_!"

The Master returned a "_Bk.u.m!_" of thanks. He would have been glad to wipe his forehead, streaming with sweat; and so, too, would the others. But pride restrained them. Not for them such weakness as the use of a handkerchief, in presence of these half-hundred grave-eyed, silently observing men of Jannati Shahr.

"Faith, though," the major whispered to "Captain Alden," close behind him, "of all ways to take a walk, my favorite way _not_ to is on an Arab horse with a saddle like the Inquisition! Tomorrow, oh, my poor bones, tomorrow!"

Bara Miyan was speaking again, while the Master, Leclair, and his orderly, Lebon--who alone of the Legionaries understood Arabic--listened closely.

"Now that we have eaten salt and are _akhawat_ brethren," said he, "we must break bread together. Let thyself and all thy men partake of food with us, O Frank! Then we will speak of the present, we shall bestow on thee. _Bismllah!_ Dismount, White Sheik, and enter!"

The Master bowed, and swung himself from his horse. All did the same, Legionaries and Arabs alike. And for a moment they stood there in the sunlight before the long colonnade that occupied the lower story of the citadel; while from beneath that colonnade issued a dozen or fifteen of the black, muscular Maghrabi men, two of whom--in the role of official stranglers--they had already seen. These powerful half-savages took the horses away, the hoofs clacking hollowly on the golden pavement.

Bara Miyan led the way in under the colonnade, which, though of gold like all else in this, wonder city, still offered grateful shade.

The perpetual glare of the golden roadways, houses, towers, balconies--even covered as many were with floating curtains of muslin or silk--had been trying to eyes and nerves. Infinitely preferable would stone or wood have been, for dwellings; but as Jannati Shahr was, so the Legion had to take it. And doubtless long generations of familiarity with it had made it wholly normal, pleasant, and innocuous to these super-Arabs.

The Jannati Shahr men began kicking off their _babooshes_ and sliding their naked feet into light slippers, rows upon rows of which stood under the portico. The Master and Leclair quickly put off their shoes and took slippers; the others followed suit. But not without unwillingness did the Master make the change.

"This will put us at a very serious disadvantage," thought he, "in case it comes to fighting. These people are used to going almost barefooted. We are not. Still, there's no help for it. But I'd like infernally well to keep my shoes!"

All he said was:

"Remember now, men, no women and no wine! If this city is like the usual Arab towns, there will be neither in sight. But if not, and temptations arise, remember my orders! No drop of any kind of liquor--and no flirtation. I'll deal summarily with any man who forgets himself. There's everything at stake now, in the next hour or two. We can't jeopardize it all for any nonsense!"

The major groaned, inwardly. Thirsts were on his Celtic soul that longed for dalliance with the Orient; but he well knew that tone of voice, and sadly resigned himself to abstinence.

"Keep your revolvers loose in the holsters, men," the Master added, as Bara Miyan gestured toward the slowly opening entrance of the citadel--a ma.s.sive door as all doors seemed in Jannati Shahr; a door of gold reinforced with huge teak beams. "Watch for any sign of treachery, but don't shoot until I give the order. Then, shoot to kill! And whatever you do, stick together. Don't separate, no matter what the provocation! Now, follow me!"

A strange feeling of anxiety, almost of fear, had taken hold on the Master's heart. This fear was not in the least for himself or any of the men. Hard-bitted adventurers all, they had gone into this expedition with their eyes open, well knowing that some must inevitably die before its close. They had gambled at dice with Fate; and, losing, could have no complaint.

It was all for "Captain Alden" that the Master's anxiety was now awakened. Here was a woman, not only exposed to risks of death, but also of capture by Orientals--and what it might mean to a white woman to be seized for some hidden harem in Jannati Shahr the Master knew only too well. He found a moment's pause to speak in a low tone to the "captain," unheard by any of the others.

"Remember the mercy-bullet!" said he. "If anything happens and there's any risk of capture--remember, the last one for yourself!"

"If the worst comes," she whispered, "we can at least share death together!"

He gazed at her a moment, not quite fathoming her words, but with an inexplicable tightening round the heart.

"We can at least share death together!"

Why should those words so powerfully affect him? What were these uncomprehended, new emotions stirring in his hard soul, tempered by war and by unnumbered stern adventurings?

The Master had no skill in self-a.n.a.lysis, to tell him. Leader of others, himself he did not understand. But as that night aboard Nssr, when he had laid a hand on the woman's cabin door, something unknown to him seemed drawing him to her, making her welfare and her life a.s.sume a strange import.

"Come, O Frank!" Bara Miyan was saying. The Olema's words recalled the Master to himself with a start. "Such food and drink as we men of El Barr have, gladly we share with thee and thine!"

The old man entered the dark doorway of the citadel, noiselessly in soft sandals. Beside him walked the Master; and, well grouped and flanked and followed by the Arabs in their white robes--all silent, grave, watchful--the Legion also entered.

Behind them once more closed the ma.s.sive doors, silently.

The eighteen Legionaries were pent in solid walls of metal, there in the heart of a vast city of fighting-men whose G.o.d was Allah and to whom all unbelievers were as outcasts and as pariah dogs--anathema.

CHAPTER XLI

THE MASTER'S PRICE

A dim and subtly perfumed corridor opened out before them, its walls hung with tapestries, between which, by the light of sandal-oil _mash'als_, or cressets, the glimmer of the dull-gold walls could be distinguished.

Pillars rose to the roof, and these were all inlaid with mother-of-pearl, with fine copper and silver arabesques of amazing complexity. Every minutest architectural detail had been carved out of the solid gold d.y.k.e that had formed the city; nothing had been added to fill out any portion. The imagination was staggered at thought of the infinite skill and labor required for such a task. The creation of this city of El Barr seemed far beyond the possible; yet here it was, all the result of the graver's chisel.[1]