“A few years more,” said a soldier, “and there will be another head over the Alkazar gate.”
CHAPTER V.
BEN-AUDA.
The next morning, at sunrise, we forded the river Kus, on the right bank of which the city of Alkazar is situated, and again advanced over an undulating, flowery, solitary country, whose confines stretched beyond our sight. The escort was scattered in a number of detached groups, looking like so many little cortéges of a Sultan. The artists galloped here and there, sketch-book in hand, sketching horses and riders. The rest of the members of the embassy talked of the invasion of the Goths, of commerce, of scorpions, of philosophy, eagerly listened to by the mounted servants who came behind. Civo lent particular attention to a philosophic discussion; Hamed listened to his master, who was telling about a wild-boar hunt, in which he had risked his life. This Hamed was, after Selim, the most notable personage in the whole category of servants, soldiers, and grooms. He was an Arab of about thirty years old, very tall, bronzed, muscular, strong as a bull; but he had also a beardless face, the softest dark eyes, a voice, a smile, a grace in all his movements, which made the most marked contrast with his powerful person. He wore a white turban, a blue jacket, and Zouave trousers; spoke Spanish, knew how to do every thing, and pleased everybody, so that the vain-glorious Selim was jealous of him. The others also were all more or less handsome young fellows, attentive, and full of obsequious solicitude. When one of us looked back, he encountered their big eyes asking whether he needed any thing. “What a pity,” thought I, “that we should not be attacked by a band of robbers, so that we might see all these nimble fellows put to the proof!”
We had ridden about two hours when we began to meet people. The first was a black horseman, who held in his hand one of those little sticks with an inscription in Arabic, called herrez, which the monks give to travellers to preserve them from robbers and illness. Then came some ragged old women bearing great bundles of wood upon their shoulders. Oh, power of fanaticism! Bent as they were, tired, breathless, they still found strength to launch a curse at us. One murmured, “God curse these infidels!” Another, “God keep us from the evil spirit!” About an hour later we met a courier, a poor lean Arab, bearing letters in a leathern bag slung about his neck. He stopped to say that he came from Fez, and was going to Tangiers. The ambassador gave him a letter for Tangiers, and he hastened on his way.
Such, and no other, is the postal service of Morocco, and nothing can be more wretched than the lives of these couriers. They eat nothing on their journey but a little bread and a few figs; they stop only at night for a few hours to sleep, with a cord tied to the foot, to which they set fire before going to sleep, and which wakens them within a certain time; they travel whole days without seeing a tree or a drop of water; they cross forests infested with wild boar, climb mountains inaccessible to mules, swim rivers, sometimes walk, sometimes run, sometimes roll down declivities, or climb ascents on feet and hands, under the August sun, under the drenching autumn rains, under the burning desert wind, taking four days from Tangiers to Fez, a week from Tangiers to Morocco, from one extremity of the empire to the other, alone, barefooted, half-naked; and when they have reached their journey’s end, they go back! And this they do for a few francs.
At about half-way from Alkazar to our destination the road began to ascend very gradually until we reached a height from whence we saw another immense plain covered with vast tracts of yellow, red, and white flowers, looking like stretches of snow, striped with gold and crimson. Over this plain there came galloping to meet us some two hundred horsemen, with muskets resting on their saddle, led by a figure all in white, which Mohammed Ducali recognized and announced in a loud voice to be the governor of Ben-Auda.
We had reached the confines of the province of Seffian, called also Ben-Auda, from the family name of the governor, which signifies son of a mare; a name which had taken my fancy before leaving Tangiers.
We descended into the plain, and the two hundred of Seffian having drawn up in a line with the three hundred of Laracce, the governor Ben-Auda presented himself to our chief.
If I live to be a hundred years old I shall never forget that countenance. He was a lean old man, with savage eyes, a forked nose,[[1]] a lipless mouth cut in the form of a semicircle turned downward. Arrogance, superstition, Venus, kif, idleness, and satiety were written upon his visage. A big turban covered his forehead and ears. A curved dagger hung from his girdle.
The ambassador dismissed the commander of the escort from Laracce, who at once withdrew with his horsemen at a gallop; and we went on with the new escort, and the usual accompaniment of charging and firing.