Khaled, F. Marion Crawford [pdf ebook reader txt] 📗

I am very sorry for you. You would have been happy with Abdul Kerim.”

“I mourn for him,” Almasta said, not raising her eyes.

“It is natural and right. Doubtless you loved him as soon as you saw him.”

Almasta glanced quickly at Zehowah, as though suspecting a hidden meaning in the words, and for a moment each of the women looked into the other’s eyes, but Zehowah saw nothing. For a wise man has truly said that one may see into the depths of black eyes as into a deep well, but that blue eyes are like the sea of Oman in winter, sparkling in the sun as a plain of blue sand, but underneath more unfathomable than the desert.

Almasta was too wise and deceitful to let the silence last. So when she had looked at Zehowah and understood, she smiled somewhat sorrowfully and spoke.

“I could have loved him,” she said. “I desire no husband now.”

“That is not true,” Zehowah answered quickly. “You wish to marry Khaled, and that is the reason why you killed Abdul Kerim.”

Almasta started as a camel struck by a flight of locusts.

“What is this lie?” she cried out with indignation. “Who has told you this lie?” But her face was as grey as a stone, and her lips trembled.

“You probably killed him by magic arts learned in your own country,” said Zehowah quietly. “Do not be afraid. We are alone, and no one can hear us. Tell me how you killed him. Truly it was very skilful of you, since the physician, who is the wisest man in Arabia, could not tell how it was done.”

But Almasta began to beat her breast and to make oaths and asseverations in her own language, which Zehowah could not understand.

“If you will tell me how you did it, I will give you a rich gift,” Zehowah continued.

But so much the more Almasta cried out, stretching her hands upwards and speaking incomprehensible words. So Zehowah waited until she became quiet again.

“It may be that Khaled will marry you, if you will tell me your secret,” Zehowah said, after a time.

Then Almasta’s cheek burned and she bent down her eyes.

“Will you tell me how to kill a man and leave no trace?” asked Zehowah, still pressing her. “Look at this pearl. Is it not beautiful? See how well it looks upon your hair. It is as the leaf of a white rose upon a river of red gold. And on your neck⁠—you cannot see it yourself⁠—it is like the full moon hanging upon a milky cloud. Khaled would give you many pearls like this, if he married you. Will you not tell me?”

“Whom do you wish to kill?” Almasta asked, very suddenly. But Zehowah was unmoved.

“It may be that I have a private enemy,” she said. “Perhaps there is one who disturbs me, against whom I plot in the night, but can find no way of ridding myself of him. A woman might give much to destroy such a one.”

“Khaled will kill your enemies. He loves you. He will kill all whom you hate.”

“You make progress. You speak our language better,” said Zehowah, laughing a little. “You will soon be able to tell the Sultan that you love him, as well as I could myself.”

“But you do not love him,” Almasta answered boldly.

Zehowah bent her brows so that they met between her eyes as the grip of a bow. Then Khaled’s heart leaped in his breast, for he saw that she was angry with the woman, and he supposed it was because she secretly loved him. But he held his breath lest even his breathing should betray him.

“The portion of fools is fire,” said Zehowah, not deigning to give any other answer. For she was a king’s daughter and Almasta a bought slave, though Khaled had taken her in war.

“Be merciful!” exclaimed Almasta, in humble tones. “I am your handmaid, and I speak Arabic badly.”

“You speak with exceeding clearness when it pleases you.”

“Indeed I cannot talk in your language, for it is not long since I came into Arabia.”

“We will have you taught, for we will give you a husband who will teach you with sticks. There is a certain hunchback, having one eye and marked with the smallpox, whose fists are as the feet of an old camel. He will be a good husband for you and will teach you the Arabic language, and your skin shall be dissolved but your mind will be enlightened thereby.”

“Be merciful! I desire no husband.”

“It is good that a woman should marry, even though the bridegroom be a hunchback. But if you will tell me your secret I will give you a better husband and forgive you.”

“There is no secret! I have killed no one!” cried Almasta. “Who has told you the lie?”

“And moreover,” continued Zehowah, not regarding her protestations, “there are other ways of learning secrets, besides by kindness; such, for instance, as sticks, and hot irons, and hunger and thirst in a prison where there are reptiles and poisonous spiders, besides many other things with which I have no doubt the slaves of the palace are acquainted. It is better that you should tell your secret and be happy.”

“There is no secret,” Almasta repeated, and she would say nothing else, for she did not trust Zehowah and feared a cruel death if she told the truth.

But Zehowah wearied of the contest at last, being by no means sure that the woman had really done any evil, and having no intention of using any violent means such as she had suggested. For she was as just as she was wise and would have no one suffer wrongly. Khaled, indeed, cared little for the pain of others, having seen much blood shed in war, and would have caused Almasta to be tortured if Zehowah had desired it. But she did not, preferring to wait and see whether she could not entrap the slave into a confession.

Khaled now came out of his hiding-place into the room