“O Shems-ud-dìn, what is this?” he cried reproachfully. “Is it true thou wilt abide in this wilderness worse than Jehennûm? Surely thou art mad. There, at Istanbûl, thou art in the road to great honor. By Allah, I look to see thee Sheykh-ul-Islâm. Whereas here—what awaits thee?... And canst thou contemplate a lasting union with the daughter of a base fellâh—thou who couldst make a grand alliance to enhance thy honor and mine? I beseech thee, think not of it! If thou doest this through disgust of what befell here yesterday, know that those men are rebels against the Sultàn. They owe more than the worth of their horses to the government. And how light their punishment! They are but asked to serve three years in the army, like every faithful subject of his Majesty. By Allah, there is no wrong done to them!... Say, was that the reason of thy mad resolve?... The term of my appointment draws nigh, and it makes me sad to think of leaving thee here in this lair of wild beasts.”
“I am content to be here,” said Shems-ud-dìn firmly. “Once have I sinned in forsaking the path God showed me. I will not sin that sin a second time.”
“But Allah pity! What can a man of thy wealth and attainments do in a place like this? It is not a place one could beautify for a wonder and a byword. I myself have had that dream: to change a desert to a paradise. But what can a man like thee do here?”
“He can live in peace; he can teach the people; he can ply his trade in the bazaar. As for my wealth, I have no need for all of it. When thou regainest Istanbûl, sell all I possess, and take the half of the proceeds to thyself, sending me the other half. I shall give thee letters to my steward and also to the heads of the learned. Thy need is greater than mine.”
“Allah, look! It is a child—a foolish child!” cried Milhem loudly; but he was somewhat moved from opposition to his brother’s scheme. “Thou talkest of peace. Remember yesterday. That is nothing—a trifle—a mere beginning.... Peace forsooth! Nay, my soul fears grave danger for thee.”
“Fear not, O my lord!” said Hassan, who had all this while stood silent by. “On my head be the danger. This, my good lord, thy brother, is not one who can guard himself. He is not like thee, a devil! Thou hast said it: he is a child—a little child, whose hand is in the hand of Allah. The friendship of such an one is counted to a man for righteousness. By Allah, I am glad he stays with us. His presence calls a blessing on us all. But would to Allah he had chosen the daughter of my uncle. It would not have been half so serious. As it is, we must swear peace with those fellahìn forever and ever.”
“Said I not well when I named thee tamer of wild beasts?” said Milhem laughing. “But I would thou hadst chosen some pleasanter way in which to display thy power. I ask but one thing of thee, thou dear madman. Let me depart ere thy wedding. I would not defer thy bliss, but fix it for the day of my departure; so thou shalt not mourn my loss too deeply. I shall start at the dawn, leaving my peace with thee. By Allah, it is a disgrace to our house. Nevertheless, do as thou wilt. It is thy business.”
The day whereon Milhem’s government expired, Shems-ud-dìn rose two hours before daylight, mounted the horse which Hassan had saddled for him, and rode slowly to his brother’s residence. The town was astir. Lights moved here and there as yellow eyes in the darkness, illuming spaces of rough wall and filthy pathway. He had to shout his way through the crowd which choked the approaches to the house of the Bey.
The cavalcade stood ready to start, bits jangled, stallions neighed. The soldiers standing at their horses’ heads, in hooded ulsters and high, long-tasseled fezzes, cut a queer figure as seen in silhouette against the shine of sundry lanterns borne by members of the crowd.
At the noise of his brother’s arrival, Milhem came out, when the crowd gave forth a strange, deep note, like a night bird’s cry, repeated at regular intervals; and with the note each man beat his staff with might upon the ground. The staves fell as one. The effect was both weird and mournful, by the light of a few scattered lanterns, in that cold hour and in the darkness under the stars.