CHAPTER XVII[ToC]
TRAGEDY
The sun was sinking down over the sea, the mountain wall with all its clefts and promontories wore a cloak of many colours, when we saw before us on a rock a ruined tower. We were looking for some human habitation where we might get food and shelter for the night; but we should have passed by that building, taking it to be deserted, had not we espied a woman's figure sitting out before it in the evening light.
Experience of late had taught us to shun villages, belonging thereabouts to a peculiar sect, whose members made a virtue of inhospitality. At noon that day, when wishing to buy food, we had been met with such amazing insults that Rashîd, my henchman, had not yet recovered from his indignation, and still brooded on revenge. On seeing that the ruined tower had occupants, he said:
'If these refuse us, we will force an entrance mercilessly; for see, they dwell alone, with none to help them.'
He rode before me towards the tower, with shoulders squared and whip upraised.
It surprised me that the woman sitting out before the door appeared indifferent to his approach, until, upon a closer view, I saw that she was old and blind. She must, I thought, be deaf as well, since she had failed to move at sound of hoof beats; which sound brought out an aged man, who shattered Rashîd's plan of vengeance by exclaiming: 'Itfaddalû! (Perform a kindness!' that is, 'Enter!').
'It is thou who doest kindness,' I replied, by rote. 'We are thy suppliants for food and rest this night.'
'All mine is thine,' the old man answered, coming to hold my horse's head, while I dismounted. His wrinkled face was moulded to a patient, sad expression, which became more noticeable when he smiled; and he was always smiling.
I went into the tower and down a flight of much-worn steps, which ended in a heap of fallen masonry.