Hassan; or, The Child of the Pyramid: An Egyptian Tale

by Sir Charles Augustus Murray

The post was now taken away, and the lists were prepared for the jereed. The Mamelukes divided themselves into parties preparatory to the mimic fight, which was indeed nothing more than a succession of single combats. In the centre of the arena were a score of active sàises, or grooms on foot, whose duty it was to pick up the jereeds as they fell and hand them to the mounted combatants.

At this moment Osman Bey, Delì Pasha’s wakeel, who thought the preceding game beneath his dignity, entered the arena, followed by several of his Mamelukes. He was dressed in a rich costume which was well calculated to show off the proportions of his strong and muscular figure, and mounted on a grey Arab, which for the first two years of its life had been fed on camels’ milk in the deserts of the Nejd, and though not remarkable for size, was compactly and beautifully proportioned. Osman Aga was a practised horseman—firm in the saddle, strong in the arm, and proud of the reputation that he had gained in the mimic combats of the jereed. With a grave salute to the Kiahia and Delì Pasha, he took his place at the centre of one side of the arena, and the game began.

While Osman Bey and the elder Mamelukes engaged each other in a succession of these trials of skill and speed, Hassan hovered on the outskirts of the combatants, at some distance from the house, apparently engaged in repelling the attacks of half-a-dozen of the youngest of the Mamelukes of Delì Pasha’s household. He was a general favourite with these lads, for whom he had on all occasions a kind word and a good-humoured smile, and the merry youngsters well knew that however they might pursue and torment him with their jereeds, they had no reason to fear his putting out his strength to injure them in repelling their attacks. Thus one would call out to him, “Hassan! Hassan!” and charge him at full speed on the right; and scarcely had he time to catch or avoid the jereed ere another attacked him with similar shouts on the left. Some of them struck him more than one smart blow on the shoulder with a jereed, and they shouted and laughed, while Hassan joined in their merriment.

But it was not only to play with these merry youths that Hassan had withdrawn to a part of the ground at some distance from the place where the older combatants were engaged. His quick eye, which ever and anon roved to a certain lattice high up in the adjoining building, had detected that it was partially opened, and revealed to him half of the lovely face ever in his thoughts peeping out upon the arena; he believed that those eyes followed his movements, and he availed himself of every opportunity, when he could do so unnoticed, to cast an upward glance to meet them. But he was not destined to remain long without more serious employment, for several of the older and more experienced of the combatants in turn challenged him, by shouting his name and charging him at full speed. The first was his friend Ahmed Aga, whose jereed passed close over his back without touching him.

Hassan pursued him in turn, and, pretending to use much force, struck him lightly on the shoulder; next he was charged by the chief of the Kiahia Pasha’s Mamelukes—a very handsome Georgian, and the only one who had this day interchanged several bouts with Osman Bey with nearly equal success.

Hassan prepared for this encounter with more caution. On the charge of his opponent he fled (as is the custom of the game) at full speed, looking back over his shoulder. The Georgian threw his jereed with faultless aim, when Hassan, instead of avoiding, caught it in the air, and, wheeling suddenly, pursued the Georgian, and struck him on the back with his own jereed. This feat, which is one of the most difficult of those practised in the game, elicited a loud “Aferin!” from Delì Pasha.

Osman Bey no sooner heard it than, fired by spite and jealousy, he shook his jereed in the air, shouted the name of Hassan, and bore down upon him at the full speed of his high-mettled Arab. Hassan had barely time to avoid the charge by wheeling Shèitan and striking the spurs into his flanks. Still over his shoulder he watched every movement of his pursuer. At length the Bey’s jereed sped through the air with unerring aim; every one thought that Hassan was fairly hit, but he had thrown himself suddenly over the right side of his horse, hanging only by the left leg on the saddle, and the jereed passed harmlessly over him. Recovering himself instantaneously, he now pursued in turn, and his jereed struck Osman Bey fairly on the shoulder. The bout being over, Hassan was cantering leisurely away, when the Bey, goaded to madness at having been defeated by one whom he considered a boy, galloped again after him, and hurled a jereed with all his force at Hassan’s head.

Hassan, hearing a horse approaching at full speed from behind, had just turned his head to see what it might be, when the jereed flew past him. The movement had saved him from a serious blow, but the stick grazed the edge of his cheek and drew blood as it passed. A loud shout broke from Delì Pasha, “Foul, foul! shame, shame!”[^[58]]

All the fire that slumbered in Hassan’s impetuous nature was kindled by this cowardly outrage. Forgetting the rank of his opponent, and every other consideration but revenging the blow he had received, he snatched a jereed from the hand of a sàis standing by. Striking his sharp spurs into the flanks of Shèitan, he pursued his adversary with such terrific speed that even the grey Arab could not carry its rider out of his reach. Rising in his stirrups, he threw the jereed with all his force, and it struck the Bey full in the back, just between the shoulder-blades. The blow sounded over the whole arena, and having taken effect just in that part of the back which is nearest to the action of the lungs, the unfortunate Bey’s breath was for the time totally suspended. He seemed paralysed, and after swaying backwards and forwards for a few seconds in the saddle, fell heavily to the ground. Had not his docile Arab stopped immediately beside him, his hurts would probably have been much more serious.

After a few minutes, during which water was thrown in the Bey’s face by his Mamelukes, he recovered the power of speech; but he was still faint and weak, and after casting on Hassan a look of concentrated, inextinguishable hate, he withdrew, supported by his servants, from the ground. This accident occurring to a man of such high rank, and universally feared, broke up the sports for the day.