RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
RGL e-Book Cover 2018©
Blue Book, January 1947, with "The Justice of Amru"
Fanatic followers of Mohammed stormed out of Arabia in the seventh century to slaughter the Greek troops of the Great Eastern Empire and conquer Egypt... and again the strange Sphinx Emerald came to the scene to play its part in the unrolling historic drama.
THE young man was robbing a corpse, with perfect composure and efficiency. From the bearded shape lying in the shallows he stripped a fine camel-hair burnous and linen garments, spreading them to dry in the hot Egyptian sun. A purse, fat with gold, a saber of quality, a silver-sheathed knife, followed. A lump, wrapped in cloth and sealed with resin, was laid aside for future examination. The young man, who wore only a native white cotton gown, dirty and tattered, then removed excellent sandals from the feet of the corpse, eyed them with complacent approval, and set them also to dry. This done, he shoved the dead man out into the Nile current and sat down, wearily.
He was thin, hard, but had scant strength. The open neck of his robe revealed the start of a half-healed scar on his left chest. Another showed on his arm. A ring showed on his hand. His features were regular, unshaven for days and blurred with brownish beard; yet his gray eyes sparkled and there was a whimsical humor in his look. He had an air of cool, deft efficiency as he sat looking at the water of the Nile and the opposite shores.
"So our elegant sub-prefect of the Memphis nome now robs dead men!" said a voice.
The young man scarcely seemed to move; yet the knife on the sand beside him vanished. His whimsical look became a wary glint. He glanced around; no one was in sight. The desolate desert hills, the rocks and sand dunes, stretched emptily.
"A dead Arab," he observed, "may preserve the life of Gregory, the sub-governor who has lost his district, his army and everything else. If you know me, come into sight."
A movement stirred. From the sand close behind him rose a woman. In this waste of naked sand and rock she seemed a dream- figure: white-clad, jeweled, golden hair knotted behind her head, exhaling a delicious scent of perfumes. Gregory saw her and stared.
"Impossible! Claris—or her ghost! Do ghosts appear in full sunlight?"
"This one does," said she, coming forward. "Did you come to save me?"
"Save you? I can't save myself," said he. "The world's gone to pieces. I was left for dead—those Arabs smashed our troops at the first charge. Some natives took care of me afterward. I floated down the Nile last night on a log, crawled ashore here, and saw this dead Arab—"
"We can get to Memphis?" she queried.
"As slaves, yes. Those Arabs came straight across the desert from Arabia. They struck us at Memphis, took the city, and now they're marching downriver for Babylon and Alexandria. Nor is that the worst. But I'm famished—have you anything to eat?"
"All you want, at the villa," said she. "I've been there, ill, for two weeks. Everyone's gone now. I came to the river hoping to find a boat going downstream."
"Too late," said he. "Where's the villa?"
"A mile away, back from the river. I walked." Her tone was petulant.
"And you complain? Look, then."
He ripped away his robe, baring himself to the waist. Her lovely eyes saw the great wound-scar in front, the others about his ribs; those eyes lost their fixed blankness—they became human. She seemed to waken from a dream. He saw she had been in a stupor of fright.
"Come. I'll take you," she said, turning. "There are no boats."
"None," he agreed dryly. "I can save you—perhaps. It's a gamble."
She struck out, led the way, spoke no word. He followed, unsteadily gathering up the Arab garments and sword; he was shaky, but clear mentally; she was physically well but cloudy and confused in mind, a person who had run slap into the world's end. Gregory knew her father must be dead with the Greek troops—few had escaped the Arab steel. Byzantium, the great Eastern Empire, had ruled Egypt; now, in this April of 640 A.D., the Arabs were taking it.
A QUEER situation, thought Gregory. Except for scattered up-
country garrisons, the Greeks ruled from beautiful, impregnable
Alexandria. The Egyptian country people, the Copts, were
oppressed serfs. Then, a bolt from the blue, appeared Amru and
his horde of desert Arabs—leaping suddenly out of the
desert and capturing Memphis, nominal capital of the country.
Strange men, these Arabs, fiery zealots of a new religion,
enemies to the Greeks but not to Christians. The Greeks fled to
Babylon or Alexandria, or were slain; the Copts fraternized with
the invaders. And then—
Makokas, imperial prefect or governor of central Egypt, struck a bargain with Amru. Upon payment of one dinar per head, the Copts, who regarded the Arabs as saviors, were to be left unmolested. Grim Amru wanted converts to Mohammedanism or else a money payment. The bargain was struck; the Copts became friends; and down the Nile like a swarm of flies went the Greeks in wild panic—or else died. Babylon, an old fortress on the Mokattam hills across the Nile from the Pyramids and Great Sphinx, and Alexandria alone remained to the Greeks; and Amru was now marching upon them.
"And we happen to be in between," said Gregory, explaining the situation as he plodded along through the sand. "Parties of Arabs have gone ahead. Amru follows with his main army—I hoped to get through, but could not make it. Any hour now, they'll be upon us."
"I can always die," she said—her only comment.
He spat out an oath. "Bosh! These Arabs are ignorant fellows, plain desert rats. They'll kill Gregory the sub-prefect like a dog. Illas the Magician they'll revere. I know their customs; I can talk their lingo—wait and see! And without a fleet they'll never take Alexandria. A fleet with aid and supplies will come from Byzantium, and they'll be helpless. Jackals baiting the moon—you'll see."
She said nothing. She appeared to be frozen inside.
They followed a road up along a wadi and came abruptly upon a house, a villa with some trees. It had water, obviously from a spring. Everything was wide open; when the slaves departed, they had looted it. Several horses showed in the stables, however Gregory fed and watered them while she looked on; then they went indoors.
"Now, Claris—wake up, move," he said abruptly. "Off with those fine clothes; put on the roughest you have. Gold? Jewels?" He shrugged. "Get what you have. I must eat, so must you."
She came to him, touched him, looked into his eyes.
"Is there hope? Can you save us?"
"Yes," he lied. "Of course. You must be my female slave, say my wife. And we've no time to lose. Eat first. Then clothes, then horses and get away from here."
"Come and look. The villa's been plundered."
The dishes, delicate glassware—everything was smashed and littered. They found food in plenty, and wine. Gregory made her eat, and did likewise. He had known her father well, and her too, in the days before the world's end. For the world had ended in Egypt, and the desert had come in.
The meal over, she disappeared. Gregory changed into his new garments. Curious, he cut open the wrappings of the hard object taken from the Arab. Green caught his eye, stopped his breath. An emerald? Undoubtedly. Hastily he wrapped it up again. Jewels were of no value now, but might come in very handy.
He roamed about the house, finding nothing other persons would value, yet upon which he seized with avidity—bits of parchment, a reed pen, glass trinkets, odds and ends such as sewing materials. He knew the desert people and their ways—simple, direct, incredibly wrapped up in their new religion. These tribes had come out of Arabia with a fierce and consuming belief, a disdain of death, which swept away the finest legions of the Empire like water. Nothing could stand before them. Amru had only four thousand men, yet had already won Egypt. If Heraclius the feeble emperor sent no help, then Amru would win Alexandria as well.
"As for me," reflected Gregory, "I may escape—and there's only one way. I don't pine to be a martyr. If I can use my head, well and good. One error will get it sliced off."
Claris appeared while he was saddling two of the horses. To his delight, she was now a different person—fine Greek raiment replaced by ordinary blue cotton garments covered with a white burnous, a dirty cloth wrapped about her head. Gregory caught her hand, touched his lips to it, and laughed.
"Excellent! Just be yourself—a Greek slave, eh? You can sew? Then mount, and let's get away from here. I need some sewing done; then we'll be ready for anything."
BY degrees, he perceived, she was emerging from the frozen hopelessness, and returning to her warm self. She had seen everything she knew pass as a dream; she had heard, too, that her father was dead. He could not discuss the matter now. He knew time was short and fate hard upon their heels.
She did net look back; they rode toward the river highway. When they sighted it, Gregory saw it was empty, the river empty, but high dust was rising to the south. On the north, it was not far to Babylon; indeed, across the Nile the ponderous blue masses of the Pyramids showed against the horizon, but Arabs would be riding there, skirmishers for the army. At the villa, Gregory had smeared his bearded features and hands with dust and grime. These Arabs were no darker than he, but it was imperative that he be not known for a Greek.
Within sight of the river, he halted beside a cluster of rocks.
"Time for the sewing, Claris," he said. "While you sew, I must write; and I think I'll play dumb after this. Speak with me by signs only."
She dismounted. There was no shade; they sat by the rocks in the sunlight. Gregory doffed burnous and the shirt beneath, and showed her what he wanted sewed. She went at it with nimble fingers. He had fetched a small horn of ink from the villa, and with the reed pen began to write on scraps of the parchment—not in Greek, but in queer letters without vowel signs. He had received an excellent grounding in Arabic, which was largely similar to Aramaic, the language generally used. Much of his official work had been among the nomad tribes, in consequence.
The sewing was finished, to his delighted satisfaction, and he dressed.
"Well! Now, with luck, we're ready for anything! Mount and ride."
"North?" she asked. "To Babylon?"
"No. South—toward victorious Amru, who's not far."
The dust-cloud, rising to the zenith, was close at hand now.
Gregory took the reins of the other horse, for the looks of the thing. Afternoon was wearing on. Behind him was now nothing—his career gone, family lost in the whirl of war, life itself a mere gamble. Claris remained, a relic of the past, a lovely relic.... Worth while? He could not tell, as yet. He recollected the emerald, laughed, and handed it to her.
"A gift for you, fair lady—an emerald, I believe. It may amuse you—"
She took it, then lifted her head. A cry escaped her.
"Look—steel! Coming toward us!"
He saw the party of horsemen, steel glinting in the sun.
"Very well. Remember, I'm dumb; say nothing. Use signs if you must."
They rode toward the horsemen. Behind these appeared others, extending into a great dun dust-cloud that mounted the heavens. Here was the entire Moslem army on the move. The vanguard drew near—gaunt brown, bearded figures in makeshift armor. The leader wore mail taken from a Greek. He drew rein, gaze glittering on Gregory, with harsh challenge.
GREGORY lifted his hand, turning down the two central
fingers—an approximation of the Arabic characters for
Allah. He drew rein stirrup with the warrior, pointed to his
mouth, making dumb play. Arabs clustered around.
"Kill the dog!" went up growls. "Take the woman, Musa. They are Greeks."
Gregory looked at the leader and laughed. He leaned forward, and they all saw him pluck a scrap of parchment from the ear of Musa's horse. He gave this parchment to Musa, who took it, opened it, saw writing, and stared in astonishment. Amazed grunts went up. A man who could read was shoved forward. He looked at the parchment. His jaw fell.
"It is the name of Amru ibn el-Aas!" he stammered.
"Then, by Allah, this is his affair and not mine," said Musa, and beckoned a warrior. "Guide these two to the General, tell him what happened. Forward!"
Gregory and Claris followed their guide out of the road, and the vanguard pushed on. After them came the main body of the army—all horsemen or camel corps, marching by tribes, tough desert warriors. Slaves and loot had been left behind; there was no baggage convoy; they were going to fight and nothing else. Tents loaded on camels brought up the rear.
Amru with his chief leaders and finest horsemen held the center of the march—a fine vigorous man, exceptional in feature and body; simple and fanatical like them all, yet vibrant with authority and conscious power. The serried lines opened up for the guide and his two charges to gain the General's staff. Amru glanced at them, listened to what the guide said, then waved his hand.
"Everything to its time," he replied. "When the night halt is made, when the sunset prayer is said and we have eaten, I will see them. Until then, upon your head be their safety and care. Forward."
The staff, the army, moved forward. A little army, barely four thousand in all, but of such men as were rarely seen in the world. Intent, fearless, utterly obedient, with a supreme confidence in heaven's aid, and superbly capable. And a leader, thought Gregory, like unto his men, worthy of them. It was no wonder these men had scattered the legions of the Empire like grass in the wind.
No convoy of luggage, except tents. No engines of war. No slaves and captives. No vast stores of food and loot. Just four thousand iron men moving to capture Babylon and Alexandria, in order to spread their faith.
Gregory played dumb and heard much talk. On the morrow they would sight the towers of Babylon and, across the Nile, the Pyramids and Sphinx. Many of these Arabs had been in Egypt previously. They knew the country. They marveled at the Sphinx above all things. One man said there was a second Great Sphinx, back in the Mokattam hills—one came first to forests of petrified trees. They told fantastic stories about the place. The Sphinx was an ancient river-beast turned to stone like the trees, they said.
The captives wakened great curiosity, and the stories of the guide; but Gregory heard nothing and spoke no word. At the afternoon prayer, when all dismounted and bowed, toward Mecca, he moved not. He was quite aware, however, of the interest roused in one man by Claris. This man, Khalid, was a warrior of renown, to judge by his arms and bearing, and was a handsome dark devil to boot. The guide, however, warned him away from the girl, and he obeyed for the moment. Gregory saw trouble there, ere long. These men amazed him and frightened him. Jackals baiting the moon? Plain desert rats? At thought of his own words, he grimaced. He was readjusting all his opinions now.
The march was halted at last. No tents were pitched. Food was given the two; the army ate. Ablutions were made. Then, as the sun touched the western sand, voices of muezzins were heard, and the army prayed as one man. After that, the guide took his two charges to the circle of captains and the presence of Amru.
Claris was left aside. Gregory came forward and sat down, face to face with the hard-eyed Amru. He made no pretence of being deaf, but made signs of writing, and in the sand drew letters with a stick. As he did so, he uncovered a bit of parchment. Everyone saw him pick it from the sand and look at it. He gave it to Amru, whose eyes glinted in astonishment. It was handed around. Grunts broke forth as the words written on it were read aloud: "Victory. Egypt is given to Amru, the slave of Allah."
Very careful not to cheapen his tricks, Gregory guarded all he said and did. Writing in the sand, he gave his name—Illas the Magician. Illas, of the tribe of Pent, from the country to the far west and south—the desert. Puzzled, caught by his magic powers, they followed the stick in the sand, fired in questions; Amru alone said nothing—sat watching everything. When Gregory picked up pebbles and they vanished, when he changed bits of dry stick into gold coins before their eyes, Amru spoke at last.
"Magic is from Allah or from the devils. Whence comes yours?"
Gregory took warning, and wrote: "Who is Allah?"
This roused instant indignation, anger and jeers. "He is an infidel—slay him!" rose the cry. Gregory wrote rapidly, and Amru read the words. He had come with his wife, in search of a new deity foretold him. This was all Amru needed.
"By Allah and Allah!" he exclaimed. "Look you! I, of the Koreish tribe, once flouted and fought against Mohammed, the prophet of Allah. May he be blessed! Now I fight for him, for the Caliph Omar, for the true faith. Was I not brought to see the light? Shall this infidel come from afar in search of Allah, whose very name he knows not, and be slain? For shame! He comes, and by his magic foretells victory. Why?"
He turned and shot the direct question at Gregory.
"Listen, infidel! Do you seek instruction in the true faith?"
Gregory nodded. An eager word escaped Amru.
"You see? That is it. Allah be praised! Cursed with dumbness, he yet speaks with us; Allah has given him some power of magic, also. Let him be given a tent, with his wife; let food be supplied them; let one of the scribes be assigned to instruct him."
Khalid, who had edged into the circle, struck in with bold words.
"Let him be shaven, also, and tested to see if he knows Greek."
"Be shaven—and shamed before all men?" said Amru acidly. "Is that how you would interpret the hospitality due to a guest—one who asks your aid and seeks your faith? When such men as you, Khalid, give orders in the Caliph's name, then will the true faith become accursed of men! Let it be done as I have ordered."
SO, upon the next night, within sight of the massive round
towers of Babylon, and the Pyramids west across the Nile, the
tents were pitched—the massive dark tent of Amru first,
center of the encampment. In those days the river ran so close to
Babylon's walls that a huge stone quay jutted into it from the
enormous towers. Greeks were jammed into the place, but Amru's
clouds of light horse swept the whole land unopposed. And amid
the tents was that of Illas the Magician and his wife. When he
came into the tent that afternoon and stretched out beside her,
he was in deep gloom.
"There's no hope, Claris," he said under his breath. "I've just heard terrible news. They say no aid will be sent Alexandria, and that Heraclius has given up the entire province as lost."
"Is that so terrible for us?" she demanded. "We're safe. We have shelter. These Arabs give us food."
He grunted. "Yes. I hoped for escape to the fortress here, or to Alexandria. But the Greek troops are leaving the fortress, going down to occupy the island in the river, leaving the citadel empty. Treachery, of course. Amru will occupy the place tomorrow. And Alexandria will be a death-trap for all who are in it. I hear most of the ships have already left. Well, I'll have to sleep here in the tent."
She laughed lightly. "Don't be absurd about it! All conventions are swept away; we remain alive—nothing else matters. Now come closer. I want to show you something. I've had plenty of time to study it, and it repays study."
GREGORY made the discovery of the Sphinx emerald, as he sat on
the sand looking at it in the sunset light—the emerald he
had taken from the dead Arab, the emerald at which he had
scarcely glanced. Now he stared at it, enthralled, as the sunset
lighted it up.
Immediately he began figuring how he could make use of it. What he had learned of news brought in by the scouts, had confirmed all his half-formed plans and schemes. He had been playing a sure thing with the Arabs; they were eager for converts above all else, and it really mattered little to him what he was. Religion had never meant much to him, anyway. With his knowledge of Egypt, of war, of the Empire, he could rise to any height he liked among them.
Sight of the Sphinx in the beryl captivated his fancy. It was a perfect, tiny Sphinx image, formed by the flaws and bubbles of the beryl, which came together, making it. The perfection of it startled him. The stone was, otherwise, rather poor in color, and had been poorly cut or trimmed in cabochon form.
"A wonderful thing? Claris," he muttered. The sunset light, entering by a chink of the tent-flap, struck athwart the stone now, straight across it. Gregory found sudden new depths and vistas opening to his fancy, and fell silent in amazed interest. The play of refracted color hushed his hurried thoughts and stilled all impulses; it was like a benison—a silent blessing upon the mind—filling him with noble and inspiring fantasies.
Not that noble thoughts were of any avail, he reflected later, when he stretched out in the sand to sleep. He and Claris were at the end of the world; anything that would save them was justified. He would be killed; she would be sent, like other golden maids of Egypt, to the bed of the Prophet, were the truth known about them. And now he knew there was no help, no escape. Alexandria and everyone left in it was lost. Noble thoughts, indeed! Poppycock!
MORNING found her laughing, gay-eyed, intent upon turning the
shabby tent into a home. She had changed enormously; the shock
was absorbed; she was herself again. Gregory went off to watch
affairs, thinking of her, marveling at her, but highly uncertain
of her.
Amru and his captains were slow to occupy the great massive towers of Babylon. The Greeks had abandoned the fortress and were hurriedly entrenching upon the island; it seemed madness, and it was madness, but the Arabs scented a trap and had no men to lose. Not until evening did they seep into the fortress and finally seize it, almost without a fight. For the Greeks, who had no boats, there was no escape. Amru sent off hurried orders upriver to Memphis to bring all available craft at once.
Gregory, that day, received lessons, which he protracted with idle queries, from a scribe, touching the new faith of Mohammed. He sat long gazing at the emerald, too; he was at this when a shadow touched him. He covered the stone as Khalid appeared, dropped beside him in the sand, and grinned through spiky whiskers.
"Greetings, and peace," said the Arab. "Inside that burnous there is a patch, under the left arm, sewn with red thread. I sold the burnous to El Bokhari. Where is he?"
Gregory met the impudent grin and knew himself caught. El Bokhari had been that dead Arab whom he had tripped. It was truth about the patch. He leaned forward and wrote in the sand. Khalid squinted at the writing.
"He is bewitched—ho, you bewitched El Bokhari, did you? I'll bewitch you with my sword, infidel! That is, unless you make it worth my while. Eh? Yes or no?"
Gregory thought fast. He had the pouch of golden loot. Conversion would make his position secure, but this was still in the future. For the moment, he must buy silence or else be ruined by this rascal. Khalid, sensing his hesitation, chuckled.
"Lend me your woman for two or three days or nights. Either that or gold. Yes?"
Gregory nodded and wrote. Ten golden byzants. Good enough, said Khalid, but when? Tomorrow night. The Arab rose,
"Good; a promise. See that it is kept, or you'll be sorry."
He departed. Gregory uncovered the emerald again, and was staring at it when he heard a step. Claris, this time. She laughed lightly. Her eyes were dancing.
"Looking at the magic stone again? Well, tell me something. How far goes this game of religious instruction? Do you intend to assume the Arab faith?"
He eyed her narrowly. She seemed in extraordinarily high spirits.
"There seems to be no other prospect," he said slowly. "Yes, to be honest, I think it must be done. I suppose you'll upbraid me for a renegade Christian?"
"Not at all," she returned, to his surprise. "I didn't think you had that much common sense, Gregory. And what about me?"
"You?" He fingered his new beard, still watching her. "You? Oh, I'll manage to assure your safety—"
"I'm not worried about my safety," she said, dimpling. "That handsome Khalid tells me—well, never mind now. You've relieved me. Good luck, my dear."
She went, and Gregory returned to his emerald. She was appearing in a new and vastly different light now. No longer the dazed, hapless refugee, she was bright, cheerful, heartless, indifferent to what fate might bring, so long as she did not suffer. Aye, herself, her true self!
He growled under his breath. There must be a devil in this emerald, the way it made him see things clearly! Why, he himself was just what he had seen her to be—no whit better, assuring himself safety by any means at hand! The green stone blinked at him. A scheme had come into his head regarding those ten golden byzants, also; he had laid a pretty trap there for Khalid. He had the gold in his pouch now.
"Just like her," he thought, staring into the emerald depths. "Grabbing at any straw that may save—save what? Life? Why, it's a shabby thing, anyhow. Honor? That's lost in any case. Position? A new future? Bah!"
QUEER thoughts, certainly. Did they come from the green stone?
Was there something magic in it and its tiny emblem of the
Sphinx? He put it away, and instantly felt relieved, once more
confident and assured. Trap Khalid, yes; accept the teachings of
the scribe, pronouncing the few words that would make him one of
the Moslems, the enlightened—then he was safe, his future
secure. So little a thing to do, so much to gain! His old wounds
were healing—his strength had returned—he was himself
again. He laughed a little as he fell asleep that night. Amru had
the fortress now—see him tomorrow and bait the trap for
Khalid!
On the morrow he turned again to the emerald; it fascinated him, though it left him troubled and ill at ease, since somehow it confused all his purposes. He took it out into the full sunlight. Far beyond, the hills and fortress and the Nile were outspread, Pyramids and Sphinx in the distance. The Greeks were entrenching feverishly. As yet, Amru had made no attack, for he was awaiting the boats due today or tomorrow.
The hot, direct sunlight wakened new depths within the green stone. Gregory was conscious, now, of the mental effect upon him. He was quieted, eased, his troubles were wiped away; his temptations were all folly. He had never heard of auto-hypnosis, yet the condition was plain enough. To him it seemed that the emerald was guiding him. That tiny Sphinx held him spellbound, was almost speaking to him. Saying what? Things he disliked and rebelled against; yet he could not forego listening and looking.
The scribe came and spoke of Mohammed and the law, the new faith, Gregory listened, and accepted dutifully; in the sand he wrote that he almost believed—just one or two things more to be understood. The teacher went away rejoicing. Gregory, having made ready his pieces of gold, went to see Amru, at the big tent.
Seated beside the General, where his writing in the sand could be deciphered with ease, he fell to work. A man, he wrote, had sought him, demanding that he produce gold by magic. Amru understood, and swore heartily.
"By Allah, produce that man, infidel!" he said. "His name!"
Gregory demurred. Charges were one thing, belief another. Perhaps on the morrow he would make public profession of his belief. Let Amru judge for himself. Upon this, he plucked the first byzant out of the sand beneath Amru's foot.
One by one he produced them, one from the very hand of Amru, while the watching captains grunted and marveled. Ten in all. He piled them together, then wrote rapidly:
"Beloved of Allah, with your knife-point mark each coin secretly, so that you will know it again. Tomorrow I will summon the man who takes the gold from me."
PERCEIVING how the trap was being laid, the General chuckled,
and the warriors around watched the scene with amusement. Amru
swore them to silence, then with his knife he made faint marks
upon the coins—solid coins, minted in Byzantium, of full
gold, soft to the steel point.
Gregory pouched them again. Amru said that if he were a true believer, he might fight against the Greeks on the morrow in the ranks of the faithful; the island would be attacked as quickly as the boats arrived. This was a distinct shock. It had never occurred to him that he must fight against his own people.
"Better, perhaps," spoke up someone, "to let him try a sword against whatever warrior of the faithful he accuses."
"As Allah liveth, let it be so!" exclaimed Amru. Gregory assented and withdrew. He had made his point, and now let Khalid, avid of gold and women, beware the trap!
That afternoon fighting began, for the boats were coming down in swarms from upriver and the troops were eager to attack the island. It was close, hand-to-hand work, but Amru stopped it before the sunset prayer. It was obvious that the position of the Greeks was hopeless, therefore, said shrewd Amru, attack in the morning, that the remainder of the day might give time for slaughter and prisoners.
Khalid came to Gregory's tent in the evening dusk, obtained his promised gold, saluted Claris with a flourish, and went his way. Gregory made no comment. He was thinking of what must happen when he became one of the Moslems and must fight the Greeks, here or at Alexandria or elsewhere. He lay sleepless a long while that night, his mind busy, and noted that Claris laughed in her sleep. She, at least, no longer dreaded the future.
Kettledrums and trumpets wakened him. It was just after the sunrise prayer, and in swarms of boats the Arabs were at the attack. Amru sat in his tent and watched. For a space Gregory watched also, heartsick, but then turned away from the sight. The Greeks were doomed....
For a space, Gregory sat under the sunrise, gazing at the emerald, oblivious to the slaughter at the island. The green stone spoke to him, wakened bitter things in his brain. He knew that destiny was upon him now, that he could not postpone decision; action was imperative. He must go ahead with his schemes and advance the future, seize the prepared strings and go forward to fame and fortune—
"Oh, renegade! Renegade!" He started. The words actually seemed to come from the stone. He could hear them as with an inner ear. The green fields shining in the sun, the scintillant emerald depths there before him—he looked up and away with eyes that hurt, and sighted Amru sitting in his tent entrance. Amru—oh, by God, there was a man! A true man, a great man, no palpitant coward scheming and conniving to save his pitiful little life....
A groan burst from him. He shoved the emerald away and let it lie in the sunlight, came to his feet, and going into his tent, took the keen curved sword he had found on the dead Arab. He flung off the heavy burnous and walked to the tent of the General. After a moment Amru looked at him, and made a gesture. Gregory seated himself and laid the sword before the feet of the Arab.
"We have conquered, thanks to Allah!" said Amru.
"I too have conquered," said Gregory. The other, with startled surprise at this speech from a dumb man, gave him a piercing look. "Aye, Amru. I am Gregory, sub-prefect of central Egypt, your captive. I played a dark and subtle game and I am sick of it. I do not care for life. I am not a convert. The woman is not my wife. I am not dumb. Call your warrior Khalid, who took my money under threat of exposing me, and let him kill me and end it all. I am alone and weary, and wish to die."
THE bitter words poured out of him. Amru made no reply, but gazed at him for a long moment, then crooked a finger at one of the guards and ordered Khalid brought. Gregory sat, chin drooped on chest, staring at nothing. It was done, and he was glad.
There was a wait. One man after another came with reports—the island was taken; the Greeks were slain or captive. The messengers stood waiting. The captains came from the island and the pursuit, wiping their weapons or binding their hurts. All looked at Amru and the bowed figure before him as word passed around of what Gregory had confessed.
Then came two men bringing Khalid. He was eager and laughing, and wore fine Greek armor taken from an officer. Amru cocked a finger at him and spoke to him.
"Peace to you, Khalid. You fought well. Where got you that armor?"
Khalid laughed. "From an infidel Greek who no longer needed it."
"So! Is it true that you are blessed by Allah with money of gold?"
Khalid felt beneath his armor and brought forth a pouch that hung about his neck by a thong.
"A little," said he. "I took it from the Greek who wore this same armor. He sought to buy his life with it—in vain."
Amru stretched out his hand and took the pouch. He opened it, and examined the gold coins it revealed. Khalid flung a glance at the motionless Gregory, but sensed nothing amiss—until, with a sudden violent cry, Amru threw the coins from him and scattered them afar in the sand.
"Liar! Each of those coins bears the secret mark I myself made on them. You had the gold from this infidel to buy your silence. You have taken part with infidels to betray your brethren of the faith."
Gregory looked up and uttered a harsh laugh.
"Behold justice, Khalid!" he said. "In the trap, my friend—in the trap!"
Hearing the dumb man speak, seeing the look on the faces of those who stood around, suddenly perceiving that he was lost, Khalid could find no words. Nor had he time, for Amru's voice pealed forth in deep anger.
"As I swore by Allah, so let it be done. Your sword, infidel—and you, Khalid! Up! Up and kill!"
Men came crowding forward to see. The hot, quiet sunlight was abruptly electrified by the savage words. To his feet sprang Gregory, baring the sword he had brought. There were no preliminaries. Khalid whirled upon him, snarling and furious, then leaped forward with naked blade.
But, to the amazement of all, the infidel could use his weapon. Gregory knew it was the end of everything for him, and smiled. At least he could die fighting—a soldier, not a craven! He parried the assault, unheeding the stark ferocity of the man facing him, then launched his own attack, sharply.
In those master hands the blades clashed and clashed again, slithering in and out. No quarter—a fight to the death, and both men knew it. Each put forth his skill, and for a space it seemed that little happened; but the keen watching eyes knew swordsmanship, understood each twist of muscle and stance, and yells of approval went up. A leap, a turn of the sword, a parry swift and deft as the assault, in and out, in and sideways, then they were standing almost toe to toe, blade countering blade, hot breaths panting, steel ringing as the quick chopping strokes were parried.
MORE and more watchers gathered. The word spread: men came
running; they ringed the open space a dozen deep. Wagers were
laid and taken. Still the angry steel rang and clashed, blows
missed by a miracle, skill countered skill. Khalid had a
disadvantage in his looted armor, and Gregory was aware of it; he
knew that armor; Khalid did not. He was saving himself, waiting
until he could get a chance at the shoulder-chink. Both men were
beginning to fail; the terrific expenditure of energy had told on
them, and they were running with sweat; but Gregory gave ground
more and more, waiting for the one chance that he dared not
miss.
Khalid pressed the attack, gaining confidence, putting out everything he had. Suddenly, swift as light, Gregory saw his chance coming—as sure of it as though a whisper at his ear told him. Khalid drew back, poised for a blow. There was the opening, and Gregory was ready for it when it came. His steel flamed in the sunlight; the keen edge found the shoulder-chink and sheared in—in and in—down through the shoulder. Then Khalid staggered back and wrenched the haft from Gregory's sweaty palm, and stood there with the sword fastened in him and his arm almost sheared away and the blood spurting.
In that one frightful instant, Khalid reacted convulsively, almost blindly. The sword left his hand. He threw it, as he fell—flung it point first. The steel struck Gregory, who was staggering from his own effort and unsuspecting—struck him under the arm and brought him down in a sprawled heap as it pierced into him.
There they lay, as the yelling, excited watchers leaped out and huddled about them. Amru strode through the throng, looked at the dead Khalid, then turned to Gregory.
"He is not dead," said a man, examining him. "A bad hurt, but he will live."
"Slay! Slay! Kill the infidel!" went up hot voices.
Amru swung around and lifted his arms.
"In the name of Allah, the merciful!" leaped out his dominant voice. "Know ye not what is written in the Ninth Sura of al- Koran? Listen, then! If any of the infidels demand your protection, it says, give him your protection, that he may hear the word of God; and afterward let him reach the place of his security. So long as they act with fidelity toward you, do ye also act with fidelity toward them; for God loves those who fear him.
"So it is written, and I obey," he went on, amid a deep hush. "This infidel came not against us with arms, but demanding protection. Now carry him away, bind up his hurts, and when he is well let him go in peace to his own place. So this matter is settled. We have overcome the unbelieving enemy. Let the prisoners be gathered in this fortress. Let our wounded and a hundred sound men remain to hold the place. The remainder of the army marches tonight, after the evening prayer, upon Alexandria. Strike the tents and be ready!"
SO Gregory was carried away, and in the mercy of Allah passes
out of the story. Yet the tale is not ended.
The Greek camp was looted. Much time was spent gathering the prisoners and finishing the pursuit of those who escaped. Amru himself had a look after many details. While he was about them, a warrior came to him saying he had found a piece of glass lying on the sand in the camp. Most of these desert men had never seen jewels.
Amru took it, perceived that it was not glass but a great emerald, and when he looked more closely he saw inside it the tiny figure of the Sphinx—like to the mighty stone Sphinx with red face and headdress across the river near the Pyramids. He stared at the emerald and marveled, and stared again; then, sighing, handed it back.
"Turn it in with the rest of the booty for later division," he ordered, "that no man may profit more than another."
So was it done. What then became of the emerald, or what became of the girl Claris, is not set down in the records. One thing, however, is known of a certainty. That is, that as the afternoon waned, Amru saw that the tents were not being struck; he demanded the reason.
It was reported that, at the very top of his own tent, a pair of doves had made a nest. The birds were shown him at their work; he was asked for the definite order to destroy their nest that the tent might be struck.
"God forbid," said he, "that any true believer should refuse protection to whatever living creature sought the shadow of his hospitality! Let those birds, who have become my guests, be respected as such. Leave my tent here where it is until we have taken Alexandria and returned here."
Thus, to this very day, Mohammedans know as Al Fustat, the Tent, the great city which rose upon this site—the city known to the rest of the world as Cairo.