Chapter XXII: A Triumphal Procession

Much as Cecil was troubled on Charlie’s account, her worries were not all to be laid to his charge, for the near approach of the journey seemed to have unsettled Azim Bey, and during his last day of lessons he contrived to test his governess’s patience sorely.

“I don’t think we need do lessons to-day, mademoiselle,” he said that morning.

“Why not?” said Cecil. “Come, Bey, here is this new book on Ethics. We will read it together, and I will set you questions on each chapter.”

“I am lazy this morning, mademoiselle, I do not want to work. That _fête_ yesterday was so unutterably tiresome that I went to sleep. I know I did, because the gold-lace on the sleeve of Said Bey’s uniform left a mark upon my face. When I was there, I longed to be in this room reading, yet now that my desire is granted, I don’t wish to read.”

“There is not much use in reading only when you care to do it,” said Cecil, severely. “It will be a useful mental discipline for you to do a good morning’s work.”

“Do you think that kind of discipline is good, mademoiselle?--doing things one does not like, I mean. Because, if it is, one ought to see that other people have plenty of it.”

“They will generally have plenty of it without your providing it for them,” said Cecil, sighing to think how much discipline of the kind her pupil had provided for her already. “You had much better try to make people happier, and leave such discipline alone, except in your own case.”

Azim Bey shook his head. “That would not suit me, mademoiselle. For me, I wish to make people better, and I consider myself peculiarly fitted to see that they undergo the necessary discipline.”

“I consider you peculiarly conceited,” said Cecil, “and I am afraid a great deal of mental discipline will be needed in your case, Bey. But we are wasting time in this discussion. Let us begin.”

Azim Bey took the book and settled down to a quarter of an hour’s steady reading, then looked up, yawned, and showed a disposition to enter on an argument with regard to a point which he and Cecil had often discussed before. Cecil declined rather sharply to begin a fresh controversy, and her pupil returned to his book, only to leave it again in a minute or two. Thus things went on all the morning, affording practical proof that yesterday’s dissipation had not agreed with Azim Bey; and it was the same in the afternoon, when it was time to go to the Howard Whites’. The house they had occupied was already beginning to look dismantled, but the little drawing-room in which the hostess received her guests was still gay with native embroideries and decorated with quaint pieces of pottery and odds and ends of Assyrian sculpture. The usual sitting-room, however, was the vine-shaded terrace, and here Mrs Howard White retired with Cecil, despatching Azim Bey to the study to enjoy himself.

But, unfortunately, Professor Howard White had been obliged to ride out to the mounds with Said Bey, on account of an accusation which had been brought against him of desecrating a native cemetery in their vicinity in the course of his observations, and Azim Bey, disdaining the services of the meek Syrian assistant who offered to show him the instruments, came and sat down on the terrace with Cecil and her hostess and interrupted their talk. It was impossible to speak of Charlie and of Whitcliffe in his presence, and an awkward silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation, fell on the three. It was a relief when one of the servants appeared and told Mrs Howard White that there was a man selling European cutlery and needles in the courtyard, asking whether she would like to have him brought in.

“Oh, if you please, madame, let him come in,” entreated Azim Bey, his usual vivacity returning. “Mademoiselle lost her scissors yesterday, and I have broken my knife, and I want a new one. May the pedlar come in?”

“Oh, certainly. Bring the man in, Habib,” said Mrs Howard White to the servant, and she moved towards the verandah, where there was a table. Presently the pedlar entered, escorted in by two or three of the servants, and by an assistant of his own, who helped to carry his boxes. The two men were in Armenian costume, with high black caps, which marked them as coming from Persia, and they spoke Arabic with the peculiar Persian intonation. When their boxes were opened, the stock-in-trade displayed was so extensive that Azim Bey went into raptures, and his delight even blinded him to the combination of the two obnoxious nationalities, the hated Persian and the despised Armenian, in the persons of the traders. Not less attracted were Um Yusuf and the rest of the women, and while Azim Bey chatted eagerly to the pedlar’s servant over the array of pocket-knives, they gathered round the other box and coveted endless pairs of scissors.

“See, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, taking up a fanciful little needlecase in the shape of a butterfly, “this is a pretty thing. Why not Azim Bey buy it for Basmeh Kalfa? Look, it open, like this.”

“Stay, O my mistress,” interrupted the pedlar; “why shouldest thou spoil my wares? Let thy lady hold it, and I will show her how to open it.”

Um Yusuf put the case into Cecil’s hands, and the vendor raised the flap to show the needles inside. As he did so, his hands met Cecil’s with a peculiar pressure. Startled, she looked into his eyes, and in spite of dyed skin, shaven hair and moustache, recognised Charlie in the Armenian pedlar. The shock was overpowering, and she dropped helplessly on the divan, too much astonished even to cry out. A deadly faintness was stealing over her, the figures around seemed to be whirling in a rainbow-coloured mist, but two words from Charlie brought her back to her senses.

“Don’t faint,” he said, sternly, yet in such a low voice that she alone heard it, and she recalled her wandering wits and rose slowly from the seat where she had sunk down. With trembling hands she turned over the pedlar’s stock, and commented on it with lips quivering with agitation. It was a tremendous effort, but she was nerved to it by the sound of Azim Bey’s voice at the other end of the verandah.

“You see I remembered what you said, and came as a Christian this time,” said Charlie, in a hurried whisper, while he held up a pair of scissors for her inspection. Cecil gave him a look of agony. She dared not speak to him, dared not even let him touch her hand again, and it was misery that they should be so close and yet so widely separated. It was almost a relief when Azim Bey came to complete his purchases by buying a pair of scissors for old Ayesha, for even Charlie would not venture to address her when her pupil was so near. Again the thought of his danger made her turn sick and faint, and she sat down on the divan and listened to the details of the bargaining as though in a dream. At last Azim Bey had chosen all he wanted, the money was paid down, and Mrs Howard White told the servant to show the pedlar out. Cecil breathed freely once more. She had not heard the words which Azim Bey whispered to the negro lad who was officially known as his slipper-bearer.

“Keep those men in sight, and bring me word of whatever they do. If they leave the town without my hearing of it, it shall be upon thy head.”

“Upon my head be it, O my lord,” said the boy, and departed; while Cecil, unsuspecting, though sick at heart and racked with anxiety, accompanied her pupil back to the house of Said Bey.

* * * * * * *

“O, my mistress, here is the Christian pedlar again,” said Habib to Mrs Howard White early the next morning.

“Bring him in,” said the lady, with evident displeasure; and as soon as the order had been obeyed, and Habib was gone, she turned on Charlie.

“Well, Dr Egerton, I hope you are satisfied. You have given poor Miss Anstruther a terrible fright, and probably made her miserable for weeks; and you ought to be now on your way to Baghdad, where, you assured me, you would go as soon as you had caught a glimpse of her.”

“But I am not going to Baghdad,” said Charlie.

“Then I shall simply write to Sir Dugald Haigh and tell him everything,” said Mrs Howard White, angrily.

“Listen to me a moment,” said Charlie. “I was fully intending to start at sunrise this very morning; but last night I was talking to some of Said Bey’s servants, and I hear that the Pasha is to be accompanied on this journey by Karalampi, the Greek of whom I have told you. I cannot, and will not, leave Miss Anstruther exposed to his machinations.”

“This is absurd,” said Mrs Howard White. “Miss Anstruther has succeeded in taking very good care of herself since you left Baghdad, and I should say that she was quite able to do so still. I call it arrant selfishness to keep her tormented with anxiety about you by following the Pasha’s camp, where you can do no good, and may get yourself and her into great trouble. As for saying that it is done on her account, you know that it is simply for an adventure--a lark.”

“It isn’t really, on my word of honour,” said Charlie, quickly. “I promise you, Mrs Howard White, Cecil shan’t see anything of me, and, unless she is in danger, shall never even know that I am near her. I have got permission to follow the Pasha’s caravan--it is quite natural; lots of traders and people are going to do it--for the sake of protection through the mountains, and I shall be among the riffraff at the very end of the procession, while she is among the grandees in front. She will never even hear of me.”

“Then what good can you do?” asked Mrs Howard White.

“I don’t know--just be near in case she needs help, I suppose.”

“You are a very foolish young man,” said the lady, with severity; “and why you should want to help her when she doesn’t need any help, I don’t know. I suppose you will go, since you are set upon it; but remember that I disapprove entirely of the whole thing, and that I would never have helped you to meet her here if I had guessed what you would do.”

Charlie laughed, and took leave of his hostess to prepare his mules for the journey, all unconscious of the fact that at that moment he was the subject of a conversation between Azim Bey and M. Karalampi--the latter having just arrived in the train of the Pasha.

“I tell you, monsieur, he is here!” cried the boy in a frenzy. “I saw him myself, and mademoiselle recognised him. He and his servant are disguised as Armenians from Julfa, and they are selling knives and scissors. I have set the boy Ishak to watch them, and he tells me that they have gained permission to attach themselves to our caravan in traversing the mountains.”

“Ah! With the knowledge of mademoiselle?” asked M. Karalampi.

“No; I am convinced she knows nothing of this. I believe she imagines that he is returning at once to Baghdad.”

“So much the better. And what are your wishes, Bey Effendi?”

“I should like,” said Azim Bey, slowly, as though gloating over each word--“I should like him to be carried off secretly and kept a prisoner until after mademoiselle’s five years here are over, and she has entered into a new agreement to remain. If she heard nothing of him, she might forget him and be willing to stay with us.”

“Excellent, Bey Effendi! May I suggest that this time Dr Egerton should not be intrusted to your friends the Hajar, with whose language and customs he is well acquainted? If I am right, you do not wish that this imprisonment should be made too pleasant for him. You desire something more than mere safekeeping?”

Azim Bey nodded. M. Karalampi went on, watching his face keenly.

“The Kurds would suit your purpose much better, Bey Effendi. They have hiding-places and strongholds in the hills which the Padishah’s whole army could not discover, and they do not love Christians. They might be relied upon to keep Dr Egerton so safely that even the Balio Bey should never hear of him.”

“That is what I want,” cried Azim Bey, eagerly. “Let him disappear, and not be heard of until he is wanted, which will not be for a very long time.”

“And you do not wish to make any stipulation as to the treatment he is to receive, Bey Effendi? The Kurds may make a slave of him if they like?”

“Anything, so long as they keep him safely,” said Azim Bey.

M. Karalampi went away well pleased. The news he had just heard, and his conversation with Azim Bey, had opened up vistas of endless possibilities of revenge on several of the people against whom he cherished grudges, besides affording a prospect of gratifying the wishes of the Um-ul-Pasha and Jamileh Khanum. As for Azim Bey, he returned to his governess with a quiet mind. He had put matters in train, and left them in the charge of a safe person, and was able to enjoy the spectacle of Cecil’s anxiety. In all the bustle of starting on their further journey, her mind was occupied with other matters than boxes and bundles. She could not rid herself of the haunting impression of Charlie’s fatal imprudence. How could he risk death in this way just for the sake of seeing her? It was foolish, it was criminal. If only she could have some assurance that he was safely on his way to Baghdad before Azim Bey’s suspicions were roused! What was to be done? Could she send Um Yusuf out to make inquiries about him, and to warn him, if he were still in Hillah, to leave at once? No; such a step could only serve to awaken suspicion. There was nothing to be done but to try and let everything take its usual course. In this belief, she nerved herself to give due attention to her packing, and at last to don her blue wrapper and mount her mule, although she felt as though she could not leave the place while Charlie might still be in it. The appearance of an Armenian, as they passed through the town, made her start and tremble, but nowhere did her eyes light upon the face which was now so strange and yet so familiar. She did her best to assure herself that this showed that Charlie had safely departed, never guessing that among the miscellaneous throng that closed the Pasha’s long procession were the two Armenians from Julfa with their mules and their packs, watched closely by little Ishak.

The march went on, and still Cecil heard and saw nothing. Across the desert, up the lower hills, over the sandy tablelands, wound the long cavalcade, headed by banners and guards, kettledrums and led horses, and escorted by bands of irregular horsemen belonging to the tribes whose country was traversed. From pleasant villages in fertile valleys the people came forth with professions of obedience to the Pasha, and gifts of provisions for his followers. They were a much finer set of men than the inhabitants of the plains, strapping Kurds in pink and black striped garments and preposterous turbans, and sturdy Nestorian Christians in pointed felt caps, the women nearly all well-dressed, and often very beautiful. At night a site for the camp was chosen close to some village, and the richer inhabitants gave up their houses to the Pasha and his immediate following, while the motley crowd of hangers-on bivouacked outside. The journey through these districts was very pleasant, but it did not last long. The lower hills, with their orchards and vineyards, their rose-thickets and fruit-gardens, were soon left behind, and the way now lay through the mountains, dark and steep and rugged, which form the outermost of the natural fortifications of Kurdistan.

The Pasha’s tour was not intended solely as a pleasure-trip. It was meant to combine with this the functions of a triumphal march, for in the district which was now to be traversed there had lately been “troubles,” both with the Kurds and the Yezidis, and the Pasha was making this progress as a kind of outward sign of the restoration of order, now that the Mutesalim or lieutenant-governor had put down the disturbances by force. The Mutesalim came to meet his overlord on the borders of his district, bringing with him a large body of troops, and the march through the newly pacified regions began. The Mutesalim was not altogether happy in his mind, for he was conscious that his own exactions and bad treatment of the people, Moslems and Christians alike (to ill-treat the heathen, as the Yezidis were called, was a matter of course), had caused the disturbances. He was further afraid that they might prove not to have entirely ceased even now, when, by his glowing reports of the successes he had won, and the peaceful and prosperous state of the country, he had, quite unintentionally, tempted the Pasha into paying it a visit. His uneasiness was only too well grounded. As soon as the caravan was once embarked on the difficult mountain-paths, it began to be beset by bands of Yezidis, the survivors of the communities which the Mutesalim had broken up. He had carried off the children as slaves and murdered all the adults he could find, but the young and active men had escaped into the fastnesses of the hills, and were preparing a welcome for their oppressor. With them were a few Kurds, whose wrath against the Mutesalim had been sufficiently strong to join them with the devil-worshippers in opposing him, and they followed out a policy of harassing the caravan constantly at inconvenient times. They beset it in difficult places, and were gone before the troops could be brought up, and they kept up continual alarms in the night, organising a series of small surprises on the outskirts of the camp. It was very evident that the disturbances had not been put down, and the Pasha represented this to the Mutesalim in forcible language. It was plain that he was absolutely incapable, and insolent as well, since he had brought his Excellency out from Baghdad to see a conquered country which was not conquered at all, and the only thing to be done was for the Pasha himself to take the business seriously in hand.

When this decision became known, there was loud lamentation and great dismay in the harem. It was one thing to come on a pleasure-trip, and quite another to find it turned into a military promenade through a country swarming with enemies. It was not reassuring to hear, on camping for the night, that the mountaineers had swept off into slavery during the march some twenty of the non-combatants in the rear, nor to find in the morning that two or three guards had been murdered in the darkness close to one’s tent. Nor was it pleasant, in the course of the day, just when a particularly nasty place in a steep descending path had been reached, with a precipice on one side and a perpendicular wall of rock on the other, to be assailed suddenly by tremendous stones, which came crashing down across the path, frightening the mules and almost unseating their riders, while a brisk fusillade from the summit of the cliffs showed that it was no avalanche which thus interrupted the march, and caused the ladies to scream frantically to the guards and soldiers to save them and take them out of this horrible place. To do the soldiers justice, they were no more anxious for the ladies’ presence at such a juncture than they were themselves, declaring that what with the rocks crashing down, the mules capering, and the women screaming, it was impossible to take aim or to do anything quietly. Under these circumstances the Pasha thought it advisable to bestow his household in some safe place before beginning military operations in earnest, and the caravan moved on as fast as possible towards the fort and town of Sardiyeh, the seat of the Mutesalim’s government, where Jamileh Khanum, with her attendants, was to be left under a strong guard.

The Mutesalim was to accompany his Excellency into the field, to see how a little war of this kind ought to be conducted, with the prospect of almost certain disgrace and probable death if any disaster occurred to the Pasha’s arms, or any mishap ruffled the Pasha’s temper. Although in the course of his eventful life Ahmed Khémi had been under fire more than once, he was not a soldier, and the Mutesalim thought the outlook sufficiently dreary to send on a message to his household telling them to leave Sardiyeh and go into hiding before the Pasha’s arrival, that they might not be exposed to his vengeance. When the arrival of the caravan at the fort disclosed the fact that the ladies’ apartments were untenanted, the Mutesalim explained that he had sent away his family in order that there might be more room for his Excellency’s household, and the Pasha was graciously pleased to accept the excuse. The rooms vacated proved, however, insufficient to meet the needs of the party, and for Cecil and her pupil, with their attendants, accommodation was found in the best house in the little town by the simple process of turning the inhabitants out to make room for them. Whether the rightful owners quartered themselves in turn upon their neighbours, or whether they retired to the stables or the kitchen, Cecil could not discover, but she was inexpressibly thankful to have once more a little domain which she could call her own.