Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara

A sudden shout caused me to try and look up. Several men were running towards me, their white burnouses flowing behind them. One of them carried in his hand a little stick with a noose on the end, and in the noose there writhed a large black asp, one of the deadly denizens of the rocks.

The sight froze my blood. I knew that they meant to kill me.

Amid the wild excitement of the crowd, who had now gone half mad at the prospect of seeing an Infidel done to death, two long thin thongs of mule-skin were placed through the skin and muscles of the snake, close to its tail. The serpent squirmed under the pain, but his head was held fast in the loop.

Within four feet of my face another stake was driven into the ground, and to this the loose ends of the thongs were fastened. The Arabs sprang back. The snake was free from the noose, but bound fast by the thong through its tail.

My face was directly before it; yet I could not move! In an instant the snake was in a half coil, with its bead-like eyes fixed upon mine.

As I held my breath in that brief second, the warning of Ali Ben Hafiz again flashed through my mind. The sweat stood upon my brow. The crowd pressing around me became hushed in expectancy. To have been murdered with my fellow-travellers would have been far preferable to this torture.

The horror of that moment was awful.

The serpent, enraged by pain, raised its flat head ready to strike. I set my teeth and closed my eyes, waiting to feel its deadly fangs upon my cheek.

Another instant, and its venom would be coursing through my veins!

Chapter Four.

A Veiled Face

But my cruel captors intended to torture me; to delay my death as long as possible.

Like a flash the head of the gliding serpent shot out. The thong withstood its spring. It fell two inches short of my face. A tiny drop of liquid spurted upon my temple and ran down my cheek. It was the venom from the fangs that failed to reach! The Arabs roared with laughter.

But they were wasting time. From their conversation I gathered that a squadron of Spahis were in search of them to punish them for the many robberies and murders they had committed, and that they were moving at dawn towards the Tanezrouft, a waterless desert that has never been wholly explored by Europeans. They had to examine the packs of Ali Ben Hafiz’s camels, so, after laughing and jeering at me for some time, they teased the asp, and then returned to their encampment.

Through the long brilliant evening I lay there alone, the snake’s head playing before my eyes, more of the venom being spat into my face.

The sun at last disappeared in a blaze of crimson, and the clouds covered the heavens.

The snake had learned that it could not reach my face. It lay coiled at the foot of the stake watching. For a while longer it struck each time I moved my head, but presently it lay again in its sullen coil. The strain of holding my head back, back, until the cords fairly cracked, was awful. How long, I wondered, would it be before my mind would give way and madness relieve me from this deadly terror?

Darkness crept on. Above the low Iraouen hills the moon rose, and shone full upon my face. The beating of derboukas, the playing of kánoons, and sounds of singing and dancing made it plain that the marauders had discovered the great value of the merchandise they had stolen, and were making merry. Slowly the moments dragged. Time after time I struggled to get free, but in vain. The outlaws had bound me in such a manner that the more I struggled the deeper sank the cords into my flesh. Presently I heard shuffling footsteps, and, looking up, saw approaching two of the villainous men who had assisted to bind me. One of them carried a pitcher of water he had procured from the well.

“Take thy knife and kill me,” I cried. “Death is better than this horrible torment.”

They both laughed derisively, and, bending, poured water upon the rope that held me and upon the serpent’s thongs.

“Thou wilt be claimed by Eblis soon enough,” one of the men replied, grimly.

“My throat is dry. Give me a drop of water – one mouthful – that I may quench this terrible thirst consuming me,” I implored.

But again they only laughed, and, flinging the water from the battered copper pitcher upon the sand, the man said, “Thou art accursed of Allah, and our father hath decreed that thou shalt die.”

“Then kill me! kill me!” I cried in agony. “I am going mad.”

“That is part of thy punishment,” replied the other man, unconcernedly shrugging his shoulders and walking away, followed by his laughing companion. My heart sank within me.

The cool wind that had sprung up revived me, and I felt the pangs of hunger. Still before me I saw those coils and that flat head. In the white moonlight I could distinguish the snake’s tongue darting out; he was preparing for another spring.

He struck, but still he could not reach. An inch more, and his venomous fangs would have buried themselves in my cheek!

I rubbed my face in the sand to clear it of the horrible poison now thickening upon it.

I must have lapsed into unconsciousness for a long time, but on awaking, all was silent as the grave. The nomads of the Ennitra, who had long been hunted in vain by the Algerian soldiers, were asleep. I felt the strain of the rope growing more painful. I had been pulling back on it with all my force, but now I felt a counter-pull that was slowly drawing me towards the asp and death.

Why did I not push my face towards the serpent and end the torture? I had a presentiment that I should die from the moment I had fallen into the hands of these robbers. I knew that I must succumb to hunger and thirst, even if the asp did not reach me. But life is always sweet. I could not bring myself to die. My mad brain refused to order the muscles to meet the reptile.

The rope pulled harder. Then I knew. The water those brutes had poured upon it was shrinking it! The distance between my face and the fangs of my black enemy was gradually being lessened. An inch more would mean death!

I dug my toes into the ground. I pulled back until the rope cut deeply into my flesh and the blood flowed. The cords that bound me were shortening!

Water had also been poured upon the thongs that held the snake. The mule-hide swelled and stretched, while the hempen rope shrank.

The snake tried to crawl away. The strings in its flesh held it back. The pain enraged it, and its head shot forth once again. Its tongue came within half an inch of my forehead!

Closing my eyes, I must have once more lapsed into a state of half-consciousness, knowing that the thongs which held the reptile were stretching, and that in a few minutes death would release me from the torture.

Suddenly the frou-frou of silk greeted my ears, and a second later I became aware of someone leaning over me.

“Hist! Peace be upon thee!” exclaimed a soft voice in tuneful Arabic. “Lissa fih wákt!” (“There is yet time.”) The face bending over me was closely veiled, but above the adjar a pair of bright sparkling eyes peered into mine, while across the white forehead hung rows of golden sequins. I was amazed. Whether my strange visitant were young or old I could not tell, but her splendid eyes had a curious fascination in them such as I had never before experienced.

Her arm, bare to the shoulder, was white and well rounded; on her slim wrists were heavy Arab bracelets of gold and silver, studded with jacinths and turquoises, and in her hand was a long thin knife, the blade of which flashed in the moonlight.

“What art thou?” I gasped. “Who art thou?”

“Thy friend,” she replied, quietly. “Make not a sound, for my life as well as thine is at stake. See! I cut the cords that bind thee!” and so saying, she severed my bonds quickly and deftly with her curved dagger, the jewelled scabbard of which hung upon her girdle.

Half dazed, but finding both hands and feet free, I jumped up, and, stepping aside from the spot where the serpent darted forth, stood before my mysterious deliverer.

She was of medium height, slim and graceful. The hideous haick and baggy white trousers which always shroud the women of the Arabs when out of doors were absent, for apparently she had stolen from her tent, and, with the exception of the flimsy veil across her face, she was still in her harem dress. Set jauntily upon her head she wore the usual dainty little skull-cap of velvet thick with gold and seed pearls, her serroual of pale blue China silk were drawn tight midway between the knee and ankle, her rich velvet zouave was heavily trimmed with gold, and her bare feet were thrust into tiny velvet slippers. A wide sash of silk encircled her waist, and the profusion of gold bangles on her ankles had been tied together so that they should not jingle as she walked.

“Al’hamdu lillâh dâki lakom!” she exclaimed solemnly, which translated meant, “Praise be unto Allah, praying for thee.”

“Allah be praised!” I responded fervently. “Thou art my deliverer. How can I ever sufficiently thank thee?”

Shrugging her shoulders with infinite grace, she replied, “Thanks are not necessary. The knowledge that thou hast escaped a horrible death is all the reward I require.” She spoke in low musical tones, and her accents were those of a town-dweller rather than of a nomad of the Sahara.

“But why dost thou run such risks in order to deliver me – an Infidel?” I asked, recollecting that if detected, little mercy would be shown her by that barbarous fanatical band.

“I watched thee brought before the Sheikh, and I heard him condemn thee to the torture. For hours I have been awake thinking, and at last determined to save thee. Come, make no noise, but follow.”

Cautiously she moved away, taking care to keep in the shadow of the rocks. So graceful was her carriage, so supple was her figure, that, as I walked behind her, I felt convinced that she must be young. Once she halted, and, turning her splendid eyes upon me, said —

“Thou wilt forgive my people, wilt thou not? I make no excuse for their barbarities, I only ask thee to forgive.”

“Thou hast saved my life,” I replied. “How can I refuse any request thou makest?”