Only one small cloud of doubt prevented Ali from choosing this latter course without further hesitation or thought. The Moslem officer's voice had been laden with more than casual respect when he referred to Al Misri, or The Egyptian. The casual pronouncement that The Egyptian was to have the pleasure of executing Ali might be, and probably was, just another attempt to intimidate him. But this was the Syrian Hadj. As such, it differed distinctly from the Moslem pilgrimage that originated in and departed from Cairo, Egypt. Every Syrian knew that Egyptians are inferior. The very fact that a responsible and high-ranking officer of the Syrian Hadj possessed the sheer brazen effrontery to call himself The Egyptian, plus the strength and authority to command respect for such a title, was more than enough to mark him as a man apart. Doubtless he was a man of firm convictions that were translated into action without loss of time. If he had, or if he should develop, a firm conviction that Ali dead was more pleasing than Ali alive—
Ali finally decided to go in with the soldiers and trust Allah. His decision made, he lay down, arranged his burnous to suit him and went peacefully to sleep.
In the thin, cold light of very early morning, he came awake and, as usual, lay quietly before moving. The silken cord that was tied to his wrist and Ben Akbar's neck was both slack and motionless; the dalul must be resting. The dagger and pilgrim's robe were safe. Reassured concerning the state of his personal world and possessions of the moment, Ali sat up and looked toward Ben Akbar.
No more than a dozen feet away, the young dalul was standing quietly where he had finished grazing. An ecstatic glow lighted Ali's eyes. Ben Akbar's recuperative powers must be as marvelous as his speed and endurance. He scarcely seemed to be the same spent and reeling beast that Ali had led into ambush yesterday morning. After only one night's rest and grazing, even his hump was noticeably bigger.
Ali joined the other Moslems at morning prayer, stood humbly aside as they saddled and mounted and started the baggage camels moving and fell in behind with Ben Akbar. Nobody paid the least attention to him; if he planned to escape, he would not be fool enough to make the attempt by day.
Four hours later, the travelers looked from a hillock upon the great Hadj.
A sea of tents, like rippling waves, overflowed and seemed about to overwhelm a broad valley. There were no palms or any other indication of water. Obviously, this was a dry camp—one of many on the long, dangerous route—and dry camps were the primary reason why so many baggage camels were needed. But even with thousands of baggage camels burdened with food and water, often there was not enough. Falling in that order to thirst, bandits, disease or hunger—or succumbing to the desert itself—a full third of the pilgrims with any Hadj might die before reaching the Holy City.
Save for a few tethered camels and some horses, there were no animals in sight. Ali knew that the majority had been given over to herders and were in various pastures. The picketed camels and horses were for the convenience of those who might find it necessary to ride.
For the most part, the camp would rest all day. Only when late afternoon shadows tempered the glaring sun would it come awake. Then, guided by blazing torches on either flank, at the mile-or mile-and-a-half-an-hour which was the swiftest pace so many baggage animals could maintain, it would march toward Mecca all night long.
Impressive as the camp appeared, Ali knew also that it was just a small part—though one of the wealthier parts or there would not have been so many tents—of the great Hadj. There was not a single valley in the entire desert spacious enough to accommodate the five thousand humans, and the more than twenty thousand beasts, whose destination was the Holy City of Mecca.