The response to the announcement was as alarming as it was unexpected. Cyril fell forward unconscious upon his horse’s neck.
“Guessed it would come to this,” muttered Mr Hicks. “No, sheikh,” when Mansfield and he had tried various remedies in vain, “it’s no good trying to revive him out here. We must get him in somewhere cool and shady, with plenty of water.”
“But why should the Prince of the Jews become as one dead when I show him the house of Sitt Zeynab?” asked the sheikh.
“Well,” said Mr Hicks meditatively, for he was busy superintending the construction of a litter from spears and cloaks, “I guess he thinks you’ve kept him so long upon the road that he hasn’t much time to ward off those disasters he spoke of from your Princess.”
Much subdued by this reply, the sheikh detailed four of his followers to carry the litter, and ordered four others to be ready to relieve them, betraying by such unexpected complaisance the ascendency which Cyril had gained over his mind. Mansfield, in his deep anxiety, dismounted and walked beside the litter, fearing lest the bearers might stumble; but Mr Hicks laughed at him and maintained his position beside the sheikh, with the cheering assurance that this period of insensibility would ensure to Cyril the very rest his brain needed. Mansfield had no attention to give to anything unconnected with the patient, but the American’s restless eyes were everywhere. He noticed the broken columns and other fragments of stonework which began to make their appearance in the sand, and which showed that a considerable town had once stood on this spot, looking for its defence to the fortified hill of Sitt Zeynab. As he approached the fortress he was able to distinguish that the massive wall enclosing the summit of the hill bore evident traces of having been repaired at various points, and probably at very varying dates, with masses of rock and pieces of sculptured marble in place of its own bevelled stone. Above the top of the wall a flat roof supported by pillars was just visible, and at one corner stood a watch-tower of considerable height. Under the shadow of the hill nestled a motley group of black tents and mud huts, keeping guard over an oasis of moderate extent, the greenness of which looked heaven-like to eyes wearied by the glare of the desert. Palm-groves and leafy thickets marked the course of a stream, and fringed the borders of the marsh in which it terminated, and Mr Hicks perceived at once that some attempt was made to cultivate corn and melons with the help of irrigation. The water, the sheikh told him, came from hidden springs in the heart of the hill, and served to keep filled an underground reservoir, for use in the event of a siege, before it was allowed to issue forth into the plain. This information was given as the travellers began to mount the zigzag path which led to the gateway of the fortress. It was evident that their approach had been observed, for one of the heavy doors stood open, and a woman, wrapped from head to foot in a white veil, had stepped outside to await them.
“Is that the Princess?” asked Mr Hicks of the sheikh, looking up at the white figure with involuntary awe.
“Nay, it is only her scribe, but she also is a great woman, one in whom is much wisdom, and the Princess is guided by her counsels. The khawaja will see her eyes like the clouds when the snow is falling upon Lebanon, but I who speak to him have seen them black like the sky in a midnight without stars. That is when the Princess is in great straits.”
“But what sort of difficulties does the Princess get into?” asked Mr Hicks curiously. The sheikh drew nearer, and spoke confidentially.
“There was a time, Khawaja, when I with certain of the tribe was escorting the Princess and her women to Sitt Zeynab. On a sudden we beheld a great host riding swiftly against us, with every sign of war. Then I cried out, loudly, and with intent to deceive the women, ‘Lo! it is the Beni Ayub who have heard that we are ruled by a woman, and are coming to swallow us up.’ But when I looked to see the Princess blench, she cried, as the scribe told us, ‘Let us have no bloodshed! I will go and speak with them,’ and beckoning to the scribe, she urged on her horse. But the scribe cried to me, ‘Stop the Princess! If aught befall her, it were better for thee and thy tribe never to have been born,’ and she dashed forward by herself. Then it was that I saw her eyes black as Iblis, but it was not with fear, for she rode straight up to those who came against us, and spoke boldly to them, I holding fast to the Princess’s bridle, although she cursed me and struck at me with her whip. But when the scribe reached the enemy, behold! they were not the Beni Ayub at all, but the rest of our own tribe, come to greet the Princess. And all the tribe said, ‘Lo! the spirit of a man is in these women. It is no shame to be ruled by them,’ and we were content.”
“And the ladies—were they content when they twigged your little joke?” asked Mr Hicks.