The Veiled Man

“He must forsake them,” I observed, explaining to her the baneful effect the report had exercised upon our men of the Azjar.

But she shook her head. “No, he will not leave the Kel-Alkoum. He is already their ruler,” she said. “The power of Abreha is now fast waning.”

“Take me to him,” I commanded.

“But his house is a holy place. None dare enter on penalty of being cast out for ever.”

“I will risk it,” I answered. “Guide thither my footsteps.”

Reluctantly she led me through a number of narrow crooked streets, until she paused before a small mud-built hut, and pointed to it.

Without ceremony I pushed open its closed door, and, entering, discerned the great King, half-dressed, standing before a scrap of broken mirror combing his beard. His face and neck were brown, so were his hands, but his breast and arms were white! The sympathetic countenance and tapering fingers were ingeniously stained to match the colour of the men of the desert, but the remainder of his body showed him to be a European.

“How darest thou thus disturb my privacy, accursed son of Eblis?” he cried in anger, evidently recognising me as the one whom he had condemned to death on the previous day.

“I have entered in order to denounce thy profane chicanery,” I answered boldly. “Thou, the self-styled Allah, art an infidel, an impostor, and a fraud!”

He started at my fierce declaration, for the first time recollecting that parts of his chest, arms, and legs were exposed to my gaze. His face blanched beneath its artificial colouring, and his white lips trembled.

“Well!” he gasped, “and if thou hast discovered my secret – what then?”

“The people of the Kel-Alkoum shall be made aware of how completely they have been tricked,” I answered, taking up a small pot, which I smelt, and found contained a preparation of phosphorous. This he had evidently used to cause his face to be luminous in the darkness.

“No!” he cried, “anything but that. I would rather kill myself outright than face the ferocity of these people.”

“Then truthfully answer my questions,” I said firmly, when I had explained to him who I was, and the sensation caused in our camp by the report of his assistance to our enemies. “Whence comest thou?”

“I come from the land of the Roumis over the great black water,” he answered, suddenly casting off all cant and concealment. “My name is Mostyn Day, and I am an English mining prospector. Long ago, while in my own country, I read of the ease with which the fanatical Arabs may be imposed upon by fearless and unscrupulous men who desire to obtain power over them; and, truth to tell, hearing that great mineral wealth existed in the country of the Kel-Alkoum, and knowing Arabic well, I conceived a plan to come here, announce myself as Allah, and obtain over the tribe such complete authority and control that I should either become their Sheikh or obtain a concession to exploit all the mines in this rich region. My object was very nearly accomplished. To-morrow there is arranged a great rising of the people against Abreha, with the object of declaring me their ruler, but,” – and he paused sighing – “your discovery has put an end to it all.”

“But what of the miracles you have worked in various villages?”

“Mere conjuring tricks and sleight-of-hand,” he laughed. “Once, long ago, I was connected with an English travelling show, therefore I am familiar with most stage tricks. But now I have confessed to you, you will not expose me. Remember, unless you allow me to fly, these people will assuredly take my life.”

“I will preserve silence on one condition only,” I replied. “That to-night, an hour after sundown, you leave with me, journey to my encampment, and there exhibit to my people your painted face and arms, explaining to them the reason of your imposture, and showing them how you contrived to render your countenance luminous at night.”

At first he demurred, but finding me inexorable he at length submitted, and asked to be allowed to take Mezouda with him.

“She is my wife,” he explained. “I married her in Algiers two years ago, and by her aid alone have I been enabled to approach so nearly the realisation of the plot I had conceived.”

“It was truly an ingenious one,” I laughed. “Yes, Mezouda shall go with thee. Remain in silence of thine intentions, and meet me among the palms outside the town an hour after sundown.”

At first I feared that the intrepid Englishman, who had so nearly been the cause of a great Jehad through the whole Sahara, would endeavour to escape, but both he and his pretty and adventurous wife kept the appointment, and after some days we eventually arrived at our encampment.

The excitement caused by our appearance was unbounded. Taghma and his companions at once recognised the Englishman in his blood-red robe as the Allah of the Kel-Alkoum, and all fell on their knees, crying aloud in adoration.

But their supplications were quickly cut short by the few loud words of authority I uttered, and when half an hour later the reckless adventurer exhibited his stained face and hands, and then entertained them by showing the simple means by which he accomplished his tricks of magic, the air was rent by roars of laughter. The veiled warriors of the Azjar danced for joy, and held their sides when convinced how completely their enemies had been tricked, and how dejected they, no doubt, were when they knew that the Allah, in whom they trusted, had forsaken them without a single word of farewell.

For a month the ingenious impostor remained a guest within our tents; then he departed for the north, taking his wife Mezouda with him. But since that day the Kel-Alkoum, believing themselves the forgotten of Allah, have ever been a cowed and peaceful nation.

Chapter Six

The Evil of the Thousand Eyes

The camp fire was dying in the gloomy hour before the dawn. In the Great Desert the light comes early from the far-off Holy City, golden as the Prophet’s glory, to light our footsteps in those trackless waterless wastes which are shunned by man and forgotten by Allah. My tribesmen of the Azjar, still wrapped in their black veils, were sleeping soundly prior to the long march of the coming day, and all was quiet save the howling of a desert fox, and the shuffling tread of the sentries as they traversed the camp from end to end, silent and weird in their long black burnouses and veils. Alone, I was sitting gazing into the dying embers, deep in thought. I had been unable to sleep, for a strange premonition of danger oppressed me. We were in the country of the Taïtok, a tribe of pure Arabs, fierce in battle, who when united with the Kel-Rhela, their neighbours, were among our most formidable opponents. The Sheikhs of both tribes had made treaty with the French, and placed their country beneath the protection of the tricolour of the Infidels, therefore in our expedition, against their town of Azal, we knew that we must meet with considerable opposition.

We had exercised every caution in our advance, travelling by various ancient dried-up watercourses known only to us, “The Breath of the Wind,” approaching in secret the town we intended to loot and burn as a reprisal for an attack made upon us a month before. But the report of a spy, who had gone forward to Azal, was exceedingly discouraging. The French had occupied the Kasbah, the red-burnoused Spahis were swaggering about the streets and market-places, while the tricolour floated over the city gate, and the fierce fighting men of the Taïtok were now fearless of any invader. It was this report which caused me considerable uneasiness, and I was calmly reflecting whether to turn off to the east into the barren Ahaggar, or to push forward and measure our strength with our enemies, the Infidels, when suddenly my eyes, sharpened by a lifetime of desert wandering, detected a dark crouching figure moving in the gloom at a little distance from me. In an instant I snatched up my rifle and covered it. Unconscious of how near death was, the mysterious stranger still moved slowly across, lying upon his stomach and dragging himself along the sand in the direction of my tent. As I looked, a slight flash caught my eye. It was the gleam of the flickering flame upon burnished steel. The man held a knife, and at the door of my tent raised himself before entering, then disappeared within.

Quick as thought I jumped up, drew my keen double-edged jambiyah from my girdle, and noiselessly sped towards my tent, drawing aside the flap, and dashing in to capture the intruder.

The dark figure was bending over a portfolio wherein I keep certain writings belonging to the tribe, the compacts of friends and the threats of foes.

“Thou art my prisoner!” I cried fiercely, halting inside, casting aside my knife and raising my rifle.

The figure turned quickly with a slight scream, and by the feeble light of my hanging-lamp I was amazed to detect the features of a woman, young, beautiful, with a face almost as white as those of the Roumi women who sit at cafés in Algiers.

“Mercy, O Ahamadou!” she implored, next second casting herself upon her knees before me. “True, I have fallen prisoner into thine hands, but the Book of Everlasting Will declares that thou shalt neither hold in slavery nor kill those who art thy friends. I crave thy mercy, for indeed I am thy friend.”

“Yet thou seekest my life with that knife in thine hand!” I cried in anger. “Whence comest thou?” I demanded, for her Arabic was a dialect entirely strange to me.

“From a country afar – a region which no man knoweth,” she answered.

“The country of the Azjar is the whole of the Great Desert,” I answered, with pride. “Every rock and every wady is known unto them.”

“Not every wady,” she replied, smiling mysteriously. “They know not the Land of Akkar, nor the City of the Golden Tombs.”

“The Land of Akkar!” I gasped, for Akkar was a region which only existed in the legendary lore of the Bedouins, and was supposed to be a fabulous country, wherein lived a mysterious race of white people, and where was concealed the enormous treasure captured during the Mussulman Conquest. “Knowest thou actually the position of the wondrous Land of Akkar?”

“It is my home,” she answered in soft sibillation, as stretching forth my hand I motioned her to rise. I saw that her beauty and grace were perfect. She wore no veil, but her dark robe was dusty and stained by long travel, while her striking beauty was enhanced by a string of cut emeralds of great size and lustre across her brow, in place of the sequins with which our women decorate themselves. She wore no other jewels, save a single diamond upon the index-finger of the right hand, a stone of wondrous size and brilliancy. It seemed to gleam like some monster eye as she sank upon the divan near, a slight sigh of fatigue escaping her.

“And thy name?” I enquired.

“Nara, daughter of Kiagor,” she answered. “And thou art the great Ahamadou, whom all men fear from Lake Tsâd, even unto the confines of Algeria, the leader of the dreaded Breath of the Wind. In our secret land reports of thy prowess and ferocity in the fight, of thy leniency towards the women and children of thine enemies, have already reached us, therefore I travelled alone to seek thee.”

And she looked up into my face, her full red lips parted in a smile.

“Why?” I enquired, puzzled.

“Because I crave the protection of thine host of black-veiled warriors,” she answered. “Our land of Akkar is threatened by an invasion of the Infidel English, who have sent two spies northward from the Niger. May Allah burn their vitals! They succeeded in penetrating into our mountain fastness, and were captured by our scouts. One was killed, but the other escaped. He has, undoubtedly, gone back to his own people; and they will advance upon us, for they are a nation the most powerful and most fearless in all the world.”

“Of a verity thy lips utter truth,” I observed, “for we once fought in the Dervish ranks against the English on the Nile bank, and were cut down like sun-dried grass before the scythe. But who hath sent thee as messenger to me?”

“I come on my own behalf,” she responded. “I am ruler of the Akkar.”

It was strange, sitting there in conversation with the ruler of a mysterious region, the existence of which every Arab in the Soudan and the Sahara firmly believed, yet no man had ever set foot in the legendary country, the fabulous wealth and strange sights of which were related by every story-teller from Khartoum even unto Timbuktu. And yet Nara, the Queen of Akkar, was a guest within my camp, and had fallen upon her knees before me in supplication. Ambition was fired within me to visit her wondrous land of the silent dead, and I announced my readiness to effect a treaty with her, first accompanying her alone to see the wonders of her mystic realm. As I spoke, however, a curious change appeared to come over her. Her face flushed slightly, her eyes gleamed with a fiery glance, and there was a hardness about her mouth, which, for one brief moment, caused me suspicion.

“Thou art welcome, O Ahamadou!” she answered, smiling bewitchingly, next instant. “We will start even now, if thou wilt, for no time must be lost ere thine armed men unite with the guards of my kingdom to resist the accursed English, that white-faced tribe whom Eblis hath marked as his own. Let us speed on the wings of haste, and within a week thou mayest be back here within thine own camp.”

And she rose in readiness to go forth.