“So terrible is the glare of the salt,” added the camel-driver, “that if we have women or children, we leave them in the oases, a day’s journey from the city.”
Besides the precious salt of El Djouf, which was stamped in Timbuctoo and sent down the Niger to districts where it was worth its weight in gold, the caravans brought indigo, blue cotton and white, mirrors for the women, calico, sugar, tea and coffee, and white paper for the Marabouts. On their journey home they were supposed to take gold dust and ivory, the long feathers of the wild ostrich and undressed leather. But the head of the caravan knew of a commodity more valuable than these, and some of the panniers that had carried salt to Timbuctoo had living freight on the way back.
Hadj Abdullah employed agents in the city, and well he knew how to arrange such business as he had, of whatever kind it might be, without exciting the suspicion of the natives.
The camels slowly recovered their strength, the produce of Hadj Abdullah’s great caravan had been disposed of profitably by barter, and the goods he had received in exchange would afford plenty of work for his beasts.
One morning the Moor stopped before the calabashes where Aminah’s stores were placed. Marzuk was by his mother’s side for once. Already in his thirteenth year, he looked strong, healthy and intelligent. Hadj Abdullah noted these things, whilst seeming to examine Aminah’s little store.
“Oh, my mother,” he said with grave courtesy, “have you any cheese-fruit, or has all gone for the year?”
“I fear it has been eaten, my lord,” replied the black woman respectfully.
“The pity,” he replied. “For a plentiful supply such as my house (family) desires, I would give a whole piece of fine blue cloth—the last that is left me. Perhaps some fruit remains yet in the plantations by the river. Can the boy go seek it?”
“I will send him, my lord,” replied Aminah, delighted beyond measure at the idea of getting a piece of the cloth that cowries could not buy.