Zoraida: A Romance of the Harem and the Great Sahara

A remnant of the autocratic sway of Turkey which still holds Tripoli under its rule, the Sultan was himself “the State.” His so-called ministers were simply the favourites of the hour. Justice was bought and sold. Every office was directly or indirectly purchased, small remuneration or none at all being paid, the holders recouping themselves by plunder and oppression, tempered by the fact that at any moment they might be forced to disgorge by the Sultan, left to rot in loathsome dungeons, or be beaten or tortured to death.

Amid these strange surroundings I lived and toiled. By day, in the little niche in the massive wall of the Court of the Eunuchs that was assigned to me, I burnished the scimitars, scabbards, knives, and steel girdles of the custodians of the harem. At night, when the stars shone above the open court, and the breeze stirred the leaves of the trailing vines, I would take my guenibri and, in obedience to the order of my taskmasters, pass into the hall of the Grand Vizier, and while that high official lounged upon his divan surrounded by his officers, I, with three other musicians, would squat at the corners of the mat spread before him, and play accompaniments to the dancing of his female slaves. To the monotonous thumping of the tom-tom, the mournful note of the guenibri, and the clashing of cymbals, the women barefooted performed slow Eastern dances, scarcely moving their feet, yet gracefully swaying their bodies, and whirling scimitars above their heads in a manner that was marvellous, or with wild abandon they would trip a kind of Spanish dance with the tambourine.

Week after week, surrounded by the dazzling splendour of the gorgeous palace, I led a weary life of abject slavery. Ill-treated and cuffed by the stern black taskmaster whose duty it was to see that I performed the work allotted to me, I felt many times inclined to regard escape as utterly hopeless. While on my way to the palace, I caught sight of the Mesállaje, the principal mosque with its great square minaret, and though I had still retained Zoraida’s letter to Hadj Mohammed ben Ishak, the chief imam, I had no means of presenting it. Nevertheless, buoyed constantly by expectation, I worked on, seeking as far as possible to obtain the good graces of my fierce Soudanese slave-master, and never ceasing in my endeavours to devise some scheme by which I might obtain freedom.

One evening, when I had been toiling throughout the day burnishing some accoutrements that were rusty until my arms pained me, my taskmaster brought information that His Excellency the Grand Vizier would require no music that night; therefore, remaining in my little den near the gate of the harem that served as workshop and living-room, I took my ease. I must have slept, for I was awakened by the stern voice of one of the eunuchs saying —

“Quick! take this, clean it and return it to me. I will wait.”

He handed me a long, keen scimitar, the blade of which was wet with blood!

It was night. All was quiet. The courts, so full of colour and animation during the day, were hushed in silence, for the huge palace seemed asleep. Above, bright points of light shone, but there was no moon, and the Court of the Eunuchs was in darkness, save where over the gate of the harem a great swinging lamp of brass shed a yellow uncertain light upon the tall statuesque guards. Without questioning the man, I quickly washed his sword, cleaned it with cloths, and re-polished it with my stone. Then, with muttered thanks, he replaced it in its scabbard, and, stalking towards the harem, passed through the heavy iron doors and disappeared.

A bloody drama had been enacted! Another secret tragedy had occurred within those grim, massive walls that concealed the gorgeous Courts of Love!

Even as I gazed wonderingly at the great arched doorway through which so many hundreds of women had passed never to return alive, its iron portals again opened, and there appeared four black eunuchs, gaily attired in bright blue and gold, bearing upon a board some long object covered with a black cloth, from beneath which bright silks and filmy gauzes showed. Silently they marched onward close to where I stood, and as they passed, I saw a woman’s bare white arm hanging underneath the sable pall. It swung limp and helpless as the men strode through the court with their burden, and when they had gone, there remained on the still night air a subtle breath of attar of rose.

The pretty head of one of the Pearls of the Harem had been struck off by order of Hámed e’ Rufäy – the iron will of the great Sultan, Ruler of the Ahír and Defender of the Faith, had been obeyed!

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Eunuch’s Scimitar

What dire events had led to the summary execution of the beauty who had just been carried out a corpse? Probably she had held brief sway over His Majesty, ruling the land from her soft silken divan, until one of her jealous sisters had, by intrigue, succeeded in displacing her in her fickle lord’s affections, and immediately the new favourite’s influence was sufficiently strong, she had used it to cause the death of her discarded but troublesome rival.

Sitting in my little den, with the shutter half closed, I was trying to picture to myself the scenes of brilliant festivity, of fierce hatred, and merciless revenge that were ever occurring within those zealously-guarded Courts of Love, when suddenly I heard Arabic spoken softly quite close to the entrance to my workshop. Without stirring, I listened with bated breath.

“But apparently thou dost not fully realise that, now the Sultana Krenfla is dead, our power hath vanished,” exclaimed a voice, the tones of which I instantly recognised as those of the Grand Vizier.

“Nakrifoh colloh,” replied his companion. “Thou art indeed right. Well do I remember that when we were but janissaries at yon gate, we conveyed messages for the pretty Krenfla to her lover, and sometimes would allow her to secretly meet him. But he was killed in the war against Awelimimiden, and then his mistress, having mourned for him many days, devoted herself wholly to our lord the Sultan, and became Sultana. In recognition of our services as Cupid’s messengers, she caused our advancement, you to be Grand Vizier of the Ahír, and I to be Chief of the Eunuchs. But, alas! her sway hath ended, and consequently our careers are abruptly cut short. To-morrow we too may lose our heads – who knoweth?”

“True, O Amagay! unless Allah showeth us mercy, the death of Krenfla sealeth our doom. If it pleaseth our lord the Sultan to fall under the bewitching caresses of Khadidja, our degradation and dismissal will be inevitable; while if Zobeide should secure the favour of Hámed, her power will be immediately directed towards our decapitation. Long hast thou held in the harem the lives of the houris in thine hands, and in consequence thou art held in awe and hatred; while, to tell the truth, I, as Grand Vizier, have ruled with the sword and bastinado, and the people would rejoice could they see my head mounted on a spear in the Azarmádarangh (place of execution). But,” His Excellency added with a pause, “art thou convinced we shall not be overheard?”

“Quite,” replied my master reassuringly, peering in at my half-open shutter, but failing to detect me in the deep shadow. “Fear not eavesdroppers here. In thine own pavilion the very walls have ears; here, in the Court of the Eunuchs, it is different.”

“Then it is thine opinion that we must act quickly if we would save our heads?”

“Ma akindana al-ân wákt lilliakb” (“We have no time to play at present”), acquiesced the Chief of the Eunuchs.

“Taakâla challina náhn al-ithnine natáhaddath showy-yah,” the Grand Vizier said. Then, dropping his voice until I could scarcely catch his words, he continued, “Viewed from all sides, our position is one of extreme peril, therefore we must set ourselves to avert the disaster which threateneth. The choice of the Sultan remaineth between Khadidja and Zobeide, and even to-night one or other may secure His Majesty’s favour. In any case, our necks at this moment lie under the scimitar of the executioner, therefore must we act swiftly, firmly, and in a manner that showeth not mercy.”

“But how? I can see no way of saving ourselves except by flight.”

“Thy suggestion is impracticable. Such a course would condemn thee,” interrupted the Grand Vizier. “Unless we could first secure the contents of the treasury, flight would avail us nought, and even then we should be overtaken ere we could get away to the Tsâd. No; long have I foreseen the downfall of Krenfla, and have evolved a scheme by which men shall still abundantly utter the memory of our great goodness and sing of our greatness.”

“Thou hast? How?”

“Listen. My words are for thine ears alone,” whispered the Grand Vizier. “My opinion is that Hámed, our Sultan, hath ruled the Ahír for sufficient time. Dost thou agree?”

“Yes,” replied the Chief of the Eunuchs eagerly. “Art – art thou thinking of his deposition?”

“Hath it never occurred to thee that his son, ’Abd-el-Kerim, who is already in his twentieth year, is now fitted to rule?” he asked slowly.

“Once or twice I have reflected that the youth hath been always under our tuition and influence, and that, trusting us as implicitly as he doth, we should be absolute masters were he to reign in his father’s stead.”

“Truly, O Amagay, thou hast wisdom. If we placed ’Abd-el-Kerim upon the White Divan, I should most certainly remain Grand Vizier, while thou mightest even secure a post more lucrative than Chief of the Eunuchs. Instead of death, such an event meaneth for us increased wealth and the retention of our power.”

“But how dost thou propose to effect this sweeping change?” asked Amagay, interested.

“Render me thine assistance, and the means are simple. Our Sultan Hámed hath already ruled too long,” exclaimed Mukhtar, adding, in a low, intense voice, after a pause, the ominous words, “He must die – to-morrow!”

“Dost thou then intend to assassinate him?” gasped the Chief Eunuch, amazed at the bold daring of the high official’s suggestion.

“Certainly. If he were thrown into prison, those who now bask in his favours would raise a serious agitation for his release; whereas, once dead, his memory will immediately be forgotten, and we shall hold the fortunes of the Fáda entirely in our own hands. Think, O Amagay, will it not be better to act fearlessly, and by one sharp, decisive blow attain increased riches and honour, than to remain inactive and fall hapless victims to the hatred of those black-eyed doves in yonder cage who would deliver us unto the sword. We must decide upon our policy now – to-night.”

“Hast thou the co-operation of any others in this thy daring scheme?” asked his companion.

“Yes, the Chamberlain, and the Aga of the Janissaries have both promised to bear their part; but thine own trusty, unerring scimitar must deliver the death blow.”

“No! no!” he cried in a low voice. “By the Prophet! I cannot strike. My nerve would fail!”

“Bah! Didst thou not strike off the heads of rebellious houris by the score; didst thou not for two years act as executioner in the Place of Azarmádarangh, where heads fell under thy keen doka every day? Surely thou, of all men, hast courage with thy sword and confidence in thine arm? A single blow, and the deed is done!”

“But suppose I fail?”

“Even then, our fate will be not one whit the worse than it is at this moment,” answered Mukhtar.

There was a short pause. Then Amagay, who had apparently become convinced by the strength of his fellow-conspirator’s argument, answered —

“I agree with thee, O Mukhtar. Thy mouth uttereth wisdom. Only the mighty Hámed’s death can save us; so, if Allah willeth, my keen steel shall strike the tyrant to the dust.”

“Then we shall count upon thee,” exclaimed the Grand Vizier, apparently well pleased. “Hearken, and I will show thee how the removal of His Majesty can be best accomplished. He hath sent information to the Keeper of the Treasure that to-morrow, after the midday meal, it will please him to repair unto the Treasury, in order to choose jewels to present to his new favourite. The jewels of great price are to be laid out for his inspection. On his way from the court to the Treasure House he will be compelled to pass across the Great Hall of Audience and through the long, dark passage that divideth that chamber from the Court of the Treasury. In that passage are niches where one mayest remain concealed, and it is there that thy steel must strike.”

“But may not others accompany him?”

“Leave that unto me. After he hath eaten, I shall detain him in conversation about certain pressing matters of state, so that his guards will pass before him, and he will walk alone past the spot where thou art secreted with thy companions, the Chamberlain and the Aga of the Janissaries. Then wilt thou rush out, and in a second the Sultan Hámed will be no more.”

“Will not the guards rush back and kill us?” the Chief Eunuch asked doubtfully.

“No. The conspiracy hath already been well planned in every detail. When the tyrant falleth, the heads of Khadidja and Zobeide will be struck off by thy guardians of the harem, and thus will the three persons whose power threateneth us have disappeared, and so secretly that not twenty of those within the Fáda will be aware of the tragedy.”

“Thou art indeed, O Mukhtar, a man of much foresight and one fitted to rule,” exclaimed Amagay, in admiration of the old villain’s cunning. “True, the Sultan Hámed is as a shadow betwixt us and the shining of the sun, and he must be removed. In thee, upon whom the One Merciful hath bestowed bounteous wisdom, I place my trust, and will assist thee in placing upon the Great Divan ’Abd-el-Kerim, the Son of the Doomed. Thy servant’s scimitar shall strike this daring blow for liberty. Peace.”

“Hush! Listen!” whispered the Grand Vizier in a tone of alarm. “One of thy men approacheth from the harem. Let us part to allay suspicion. I will await thee in my pavilion two hours after the sun hath arisen. Until then, slama!”

A slight jingling of keys and softly-receding footsteps; then all was quiet again.

Alone I sat for a long time reflecting upon the secret of the great plot of which I had accidentally obtained knowledge. At noon the Sultan Hámed, dreaded throughout Fezzan, Tripoli, and the Sahara as the most powerful and tyrannical of rulers, would be struck down, and his son proclaimed monarch, while the assassination would, no doubt, bring death to many of the inmates of the harem. The palace was asleep, its lotus-eating inmates little dreaming of the great coup d’état that had been so cunningly planned, or of the startling sensation in store for them. The black guardians of the harem stood silent and statuesque on either side of its carved portals, and the dead silence of the Court of the Eunuchs remained unbroken.

Enslaved as I was, my thoughts were always of liberty whereby I might deliver Zoraida’s message to the imam, and I now saw in this knowledge of the attempt on the Sultan’s life a means to regain my freedom. Though excited over the discovery, I resolved to remain calm and act judiciously, for I foresaw that any desire I might express to seek audience of His Majesty would arouse suspicion among the conspirators. Through that night I pondered deeply over the strange events of the past few months, endeavouring time after time to convince myself that Zoraida no longer lived. Yet my mind refused to accept any indistinct theory of which I had not absolute proof. She had entrusted to me a mission in which, alas! I had by sheer ill-luck failed, nevertheless I recollected her earnest words when she had given the Crescent of Glorious Wonders into my keeping, and it was more than possible, I argued, that the imam was daily expecting my arrival and wondering what mishap had befallen me.

From him alone I could obtain the Great Secret, yet what would that knowledge avail, now that I had lost the mysterious half-circle of steel? Where was Zoraida? If alive, she would, I reflected, probably be journeying with her people in the Great Desert, the all-powerful prophetess of the most desperate band of fleet horsemen that ever rode over the Sahara. She, the dazzling, mysterious Daughter of the Sun, held in awe by the Ennitra, was possibly directing their marauding expeditions, sharing the plunder with her own delicate fingers, and causing death and desolation among neighbouring caravans; yet, when I recollected how at heart she hated that life of rapine and murder, how she shrank from the position in which, by some unaccountable combination of circumstances, she was forcibly held, my blood rose within me. Had she not acknowledged that she loved me? Were we not actually betrothed? Truly, the Omen of the Camel’s Hoof which I had ridiculed had been a presage of impending evil that was gradually being fulfilled. Mystified by the strange, weird rites that Zoraida had practised, fascinated by her marvellous beauty, filled with admiration at the cool courage she had displayed when saving my life, I had travelled steadily onward, meeting misfortune with a smile and disregarding danger and fatigue, until my capture. Then I knew that to declare myself a Christian would mean certain death, so I had been compelled, much against my will, to conceal my nationality and act as a devout follower of the Prophet until an opportunity for escape should present itself. That opportunity, I felt, was now at hand, and though the flush of dawn appeared, sleep came not to my eyes, for I sat devising various schemes, one of which, however wild and hazardous, it was imperative should be carried out successfully before noon.

As the sun rose, and the great courts of the Fáda grew animated, I resumed my work, burnishing swords, spears, and shields until they shone like mirrors, yet keeping an ever-vigilant eye upon the gate of the harem, in case His Majesty should emerge. Unfortunately, the Sultan seldom eared to pass outside his private apartments. Only once had I seen him, and then only at a distance. To all save his high officers and body-servants he was absolutely unapproachable. When he made a tour of the palace, – which I learned was of very rare occurrence, – he was surrounded by men-at-arms with drawn swords, and none dared address him for fear of incurring his displeasure, which meant unceremonious decapitation.

As the hours sped on, and the shade in the sunlit court grew smaller, I began to consider all hope of averting the triple tragedy futile. Once or twice, Amagay, a giant in stature, had passed and repassed with heavy, thoughtful brow and arms folded under his burnouse, as if preoccupied with the details of the widespread conspiracy, and my astonishment was sudden when presently he entered my den, and, drawing his splendid scimitar, the hilt of which was encrusted with jewels, said – “This weapon hath no edge upon it. Sharpen it quickly. Whet it upon thy stone.”

With hands trembling with excitement, I took the great sword, such as could only be wielded by one of enormous strength, and proceeded to sharpen it as he commanded.

“Take thy time. Make the blade so keen that it will cut a single hair.”

“Thy will be done, O lord Amagay,” I answered, not daring to look up lest my agitation should betray me, while the Chief of the Eunuchs lit a cigarette, and, lolling against the door, watched me until I had sharpened to a keen edge the scimitar that was to strike dead the Sultan Hámed. Then, replacing the weapon in its scabbard, he settled the hang of his burnouse and strode away.

By the shadows I became aware that the noon was nigh. I had sharpened the assassin’s weapon, yet I dared speak to no one of the foul plot about to be carried out. For aught I knew, many of those around me were implicated, and my confession that I had acted as eavesdropper would certainly bring wrath upon me. If I could only see the Sultan, one word could save him. But how?

Suddenly I conceived a most desperate plan. It seemed utter madness to attempt it, yet, knowing that my liberty, my whole future, depended upon frustrating the terrible coup d’état, I was determined to risk everything. There was little time to lose, so I set about my preparations immediately. In my little den I had a canister half full of gunpowder and about a dozen cartridges. Boring a hole through the lid of the tin box, I placed the cartridges within, and, taking an old piece of flexible hoop iron, I bound it tightly round the sides and ends of the canister, taking care, however, to leave open the hole in the lid. Thus the bomb was quickly constructed, and, placing it under the bench at which I worked, I sprinkled a train of powder from it, and when all was ready, I lit a rudely-constructed slow match.

Hurriedly ascertaining that the match was fairly alight, I left the place, and, with my copper pitcher, lounged leisurely across to the well close to the gate of the harem, as if to obtain water. Scarcely had I gained the impassable portals when there was a bright flash, followed by a terrific explosion that shook the palace to its very foundations, wrecked my workshop, and tore up the masonry like pasteboard.

In an instant the most intense excitement and confusion prevailed. The two guards at the door of the harem, almost taken off their feet by the concussion, left their posts panic-stricken, and, with others who emerged from the seraglio, rushed over to the scene to ascertain the cause, while, in a few seconds, the court was filled by officials, eunuchs, soldiers, and slaves.

The moment for which I had been waiting had arrived. The outer gate of the harem was ajar, and while everybody was hurrying in alarm to the spot where the explosion had occurred, I managed to slip inside unobserved. Dashing along into the unknown region of the Fáda, scarcely daring to breathe and unaware of what armed resistance I might encounter, I sped like lightning across a wide, tiled hall, where, to my delight, I saw the second iron door was also half open. Passing this, I crossed yet another similar hall, rather smaller than the first, and leaped towards the third and last door. It was closed.

Grasping the great iron ring that served as handle, I tried to turn it, but though I exerted all my strength until the veins stood knotted on my forehead and the perspiration dropped from me, it would not yield. Fate was against me – I was doomed to failure. The door was locked!

Chapter Twenty Six.

In the Courts of Love

Again and again I tried the handle, failing utterly to move it. Another moment’s delay might cost me my life!

Shaking the great door in frantic desperation, and turning to see whether I had been detected, I suddenly noticed that on each side of this gate hung heavy curtains of bright yellow silken brocade. One appeared to have been disarranged, for it did not hang in such graceful folds as the other, and this attracted my attention. After a careful examination, I discovered a small square handle in the centre of the gate, painted black, so as to appear as one of the big nails with which the door was studded. In a moment the truth flashed upon me. Eagerly I tried the handle, and found I could turn it with ease, and that a small and cunningly-concealed door, just large enough to admit one person, was the means by which the private apartments of His Majesty could be entered.

Stepping through without hesitation and closing the door silently after me, I found myself in a great wide court, with fine arched arcades on either side. In the centre a splendid fountain of perfume was playing, the sparkling, scented water falling into a huge basin of crystal. The spectacle was gorgeous and dazzling. The brilliant colours, the green palms, the rich brocades, the woven carpets, the glittering gold with which the arcades were decorated, and the glimpse of cool and beautiful gardens in the vista away through several open courts, seemed a veritable fairyland.

From the great gilt perfuming-pans, columns of thin blue smoke diffused sensuous odours. Bright-eyed women with faces of flawless beauty were half-sitting, half reclining on their luxurious divans, lazily smoking cigarettes, or allowing themselves to be slowly fanned by their slaves. Resplendent in bright-hued silks, heavy gold ornaments and flashing gems, some were seated in little groups gossiping, others had stretched themselves on silken couches in languid indolence, while one or two, leaning against the columns of marvellously-carved marble, with their delicate hands clasped behind their heads, were indulging in day-dreams – dreams perhaps of joyous hours bygone before they were torn away from the ones they loved to adorn the Sultan’s harem. With brows covered by strings of pearls and sequins, white arms with massive bracelets, bare bosoms half hidden by necklaces and scintillating gems, bare feet encased in tiny slippers embroidered with gold and jewels, and neat ankles heavy with golden bangles, the beautiful prisoners of Hámed the Mighty were idling away the day with careless, dreamy indifference amid the sweetly-scented atmosphere of love.