It was the end of September, after the Nile had overflowed its banks, and the crops were full and green. The time was evening, and Mahkmoud, one of the principal actors in my story, was sitting on the sun-dried mud wall of one of the shadoofs (irrigation wells) which watered his land. He was at this time a man of some consequence in his village, and for a fellah was counted rich, being the owner of a fair-sized piece of fertile land. He was a man over six feet in height, with the broad sinewy back and shoulders and general physical strength which is the heritage of the fellaheen race of the Nile Valley. His head was large and bullet-shaped, his neck thick-set, his eyes keen and deep-set, while his mouth and chin plainly indicated that he was a man possessed of great determination and of unusually strong passions.
To-night he sat and gazed moodily into the dark, transparent waters of the rushing stream, black thoughts of vengeance crowding into his brain, for he was in sore trouble. Of late the village gossips had been busy connecting the name of his young wife, Rukhia, with one Abdul, the ne'er-do-weel of the place.
In a small community no secret can remain hidden for long, and although, naturally, Mahkmoud would be the last to hear of the scandal, still it was only a matter of time before it reached his ears. Only to-day his friends had hinted to him that his wife was, perhaps, not quite all he thought her to be, and the name of Abdul was at the same time carelessly introduced into the conversation. Now, Abdul had only been back in his native village for six months; for the past seven years, previous to his return, he had been serving his Highness the Khedive as a conscript soldier in the Egyptian army.
The fellaheen of Egypt make docile, tractable soldiers, amenable to discipline, keen on all routine work and peace soldiering, but lacking that élan and dash which are so valuable an asset in time of war. Even in the Egyptian army, however, there are bad characters, and for these there is a special corps—a sort of "Lost Legion." This corps is known as the Discipline Company, and the life led by its members is little better than that of the convict. Their uniform is of a much brighter yellow than khaki, and each man wears an iron ring welded round his right ankle. Abdul had finished the last three years of his service in this ill-starred company. News spreads in a mysterious way from village to village along the hundreds of miles from Cairo to the frontier, and tidings of Abdul's doings during his soldiering career had somehow reached his native village. It was not of a sort which was likely to ensure a warm welcome for him on his return.
During the three years Abdul served out his time in the Discipline Company he became intimately acquainted with many men who were among the scum of the earth. When at length the period of service in this Legion of the Lost was concluded, and its members returned to the world and civil life, as often as not they led lives of crime and infamy which generally brought them within reach of the law, so that most of them ended their days in the convict prisons of Tourah or Tokar, and the very worst of all in the hulk moored in Trinkitat Bay.
Years ago, before the lot of the conscript soldier had fallen on Abdul, Mahkmoud and he had had bitter quarrels over the question of the irrigation of their respective lands, which were adjacent to each other.
The water of the Nile is the very life-blood of the fellaheen, and he who secretly or by stealth diverts the water from his neighbour's land on to his own is guilty of a heinous crime. In days gone by Mahkmoud had more than sufficient reason to suspect that the water from his shadoofs and sakiehs had helped to irrigate his neighbour's land. Many angry words had been exchanged in consequence, and a lifelong feud had been established between the two men.
On the evening of the day this story opens, Mahkmoud sat and brooded over all he had lately heard. Many little incidents in connection with his young wife, to which at the time he had hardly given a passing thought, now seemed to rise up clearly before him. He realized that within the past six months his wife had changed from a pattern of domestic drudgery—the usual lot of a fellah's wife—to a listless, slovenly woman who found work too much for her. Often on his return from a long day's labour in the fields he would find the evening meal not yet ready, the fuel not gathered, and the ziehs (earthen water-jars) only half filled. Even his two little boys, who had hitherto been the joy of their mother's life, did not seem any longer to interest her. Mahkmoud also remembered, now that his jealousy was aroused, how frequently on his return he found his wife out—absent from home at hours when it is unusual for women to be away from their domestic duties. There had even been an occasion when Mahkmoud had come home in the grey dawn from watching his crops by night and scaring away wild animals, when he found her outside the wall which surrounded his house. At the time he thought it strange, but was satisfied with some paltry excuse. Now, all these incidents loomed large before his gaze, and he understood their meaning. To-night he vowed he would take a terrible revenge—revenge upon his hated enemy and on his faithless wife. He would wait and watch; he would bide his time. When it came, the punishment he would mete out to the guilty pair would live in the memory of his village for all time.
About a month before the events just described a stranger arrived in the village, and the first man he met happened to be Mahkmoud. To him the new-comer told a plausible story of how he had worked for the eccentric sawerheen (white travellers) who were always digging amongst the ruins of the ancient temples. Having scraped together enough money to enable him to return to his native village near Wady Halfa, he was on his journey back, when he had fallen amongst thieves and lost all he possessed. He asked Mahkmoud to help him by giving him employment during the season of the crops. For a few pence a day he worked for Mahkmoud—irrigating the fields, watching his flocks of goats by day, and taking his turn in frightening off wild animals from the growing crops at night. He slept in a mud hovel with the goats, inside the sun-baked mud wall which surrounded Mahkmoud's dwelling-houses. He was a taciturn man, with an evil-looking countenance. He spoke to no one, and no one spoke to him. If mentioned in conversation, men referred to him as "ibn el kelp" (son of a dog), and mothers warned their children to flee from his path should they meet him, and on no account whatever to look at him, for he was a man possessed of "the evil eye" and would cast a spell over them.
There was one man in the village, however, who knew this stranger, and the stranger knew him. Abdul and the goatherd had toiled together for many a weary day, with the iron ring on their ankles, in the ranks of the Discipline Company. By tacit consent they never openly recognised one another, and, as far as anyone knew, had never been seen to speak to each other. Both inwardly feared one another and wondered when the other would give him away. As a cat watches a mouse so did this stranger watch Abdul, and it was not very long before he had made himself acquainted with information for which it seemed that either Abdul, his enemy, or Mahkmoud, his master, might think it worth while to pay him handsomely.