The Student Of Timbuctu - Part 2

During the precipitous preparations in this part of the valley, a Moslem host burst forth from the shades of the groves, gardens and thickets up and down the stream, bore up with the speed of the wind, deployed into frowning lines of battle--having caused a force of horsemen to ford the stream--and faced the foe on both sides of the water. Surrounded by a formidable bodyguard, appeared the Commander of the true faithful, whose pavilion was pitched at the foot of the hill on which Omeyya stood, in the midst of the minor pavilions of His Majesty's ministers. The soul of Moslem inspiration was the Shereef Abd-al-Melek, mounted on a white horse, his crown showing him to be the imperial centre of force. At a motion of his hand the Court's Emin gave the signal for battle by the cry: "_La illaha il Allah!_" But before the echoes answered the call, a dashing body of Portuguese cavalry broke into the advance lines of the Moors, and the fierce onslaught was backed up by a discharge of artillery, which mowed down great numbers of the true believers.

"Hamdillah!--Destroy the enemy of the faithful!" thundered the Sultan, and the rush of his host was like the roar of the forest swept by the storm. Outnumbered three to one, Dom Sebastian's lines were broken into upon every side. Yet the brave Christians not only held their ground, but threw their entire phalanx of foot soldiery against the enemy's left wing with such an impetus as drove it back toward the royal pavilion, spreading consternation and confusion. Abd-al-Melek, who had watched the action with intense concern, on seeing his forces hurled backward raved like a madman, smote with his scimitar whoever came within its reach, cursed his men, and wound up by tearing the crown from his head and flinging it into the tide of the river. For a moment the issue was doubtful, but the Christians fell as grass struck by the scythe. Presently a white flag was raised in Sebastian's quarter, which induced the Moors to slacken their fury, when the desperate king dashed against their ranks with as many of his knights as were yet alive. The enraged Moslems made short work of the king's devoted band, slaughtered as traitors, and the victory was proclaimed by the Emin from a pile built of Christian heads. From this unique minaret the _Sulhama_ stirred the echoes of the valley: "_Allah akbar! Allah akbar!_" Prostrate on their faces the host offered up prayer; all except the _Shereef_, whose head sank until the chin touched his breast, and when assistance came it was too late. Abd-al-Melek was dead; and dead night ruled, the phantom hosts dissolving as they had come. Omeyya's heart throbbed in hope and suspense. What will day reveal to him in the river's tide?

Early dawn found the student on the spot he had held during the eventful night. "_Bismillah! Arrahmani! Arrahimi!_" exclaimed Omeyya, blessing the "all-merciful God" for his wonderful success. For in the slime of the bed, about four feet under the surface of the eddying current, his eye distinctly discerned the precious object. In a moment Omeyya plunged into the water and emerged therefrom with the tiara of Abd-al-Melek. The achievement was dazzling enough to turn a young head, but Omeyya had passed through a probation which left him in full control of his passions.

Although successful beyond his most sanguine expectations, Omeyya returned to Fez in a mood of profound sadness, having nobody on earth to share with him the golden anticipations inseparable from the treasure in his trust, and the incalculable possibilities latent in the potency of his magic rod. Though sobered by the earnest researches of years, Omeyya's thoughts involuntarily reverted to the prize to which his find entitled him. He had a claim on the _Seedna's_ own daughter, but it behooved him to ascertain whether the first maiden of the empire was a covetable acquisition; secondly, whether, considering the _Shereef's_ chronic inclination to silence annoying pretenders by putting them out of the way, it were prudent to proceed without adequate safeguards.

Full of golden reveries, the youthful wizard drifted the following day into the enclosed bazaar where the Fazzi, after the yearly arrival of the _Akabah_, or the great caravan from Timbuctu, gathered to take a look at the exhibited wares of fair human flesh. It was the slave-dealer's paradise. The square market-place had but one gate and embraced many concerns within its confines, but the chief business was the disposition of slaves by auction or by private bargain. Under a roof of rough boards supported by rude posts, men, women and children were being stripped of their clothing and examined like cattle,--teeth, eyes, mouth, nostrils, chest, arms and legs. The agility of the slaves was tested by a free application of the whip, making them jump high, and their strength by the lifting of heavy weights. Handsome females were treated with more consideration. Bids were made, accepted, or declined. The most of the human chattels were black, and dressed to set off their forms to advantage.

Among the few whites there was a woman for whom the owner asked a fabulous price, and scornfully rejected a bid of twenty-five doubloons, although that was the highest amount that had ever been offered for a slave above thirty years of age. She was not on open exhibition like the others who shared her fate, but screened by a canvas stretched before her in a corner, behind which the prospective purchaser was allowed to make his examination. The one who had last availed himself of this privilege and had just come out from behind the partition, was a negroid Moslem, whose green caftan of silk bespoke his descent from the Prophet, while the soft rich folds of his satin shawl gracefully wound around his upper frame, like his capacious girth, suggested the enjoyment of an ample revenue, with little work and less worry. He was likewise a student at the Kairouin, but his researches were entirely confined to the mystery centred in woman, and the bags of gold-sand he had brought along from Tafilet enabled him to pursue his ardent work with much assiduity.

"What is the age of thy gazelle?" inquired the lineal descendant of Mohammed.

"It is a gazelle from Jannat al Ferdaws, who are ever young and sweet, like the blossoms of the Tuba-tree," replied the slave-dealer volubly.

"If she were a virgin thy comparison would pass, but she has been somebody's love, and must have seen at least thirty Ramazans," observed the holy connoisseur of the fair sex.

"She will see thirty more years and yet be more beautiful than one of twenty. She is worth her weight in gold," asserted the slave-dealer.

"Will a pound of gold-sand buy her?" asked the scion of the Prophet.

"One hundred doubloons will take Naïma," cried the master of the slave.

"Naïma!" echoed a voice nearby. "Naïma--is that thy slave's name?" asked Omeyya eagerly, who had been a witness of the progressing transaction.

"That is her name, Cid, as sweet as herself," returned the cunning dealer.

"I will pay the price if thou canst satisfy me as to her place of birth, her pedigree, and her antecedents," promised Omeyya without hesitation.

"What thou askest of me I cannot do. We buy and exchange slaves as we trade in other things, never bothering our heads as to whence they come, or who they are. What matters it? I traded for Naïma in Tenduf; she might have come thither from Timbuctu by Tandeng, an oasis in the desert, rich in salt, and fertilized by wholesome springs," said the merchant hypothetically.

"She is mine; let the _taleb_ write out the legal transfer," said Omeyya, without so much as a look at the object of his purchase. A murmur of surprise passed around among the onlookers. The saint of the green caftan departed in disgust. In a few minutes the document was produced and signed, the price paid, and Omeyya, trembling all over, led off the slave, whom he felt must be his mother. Brought to his tent, he caused her to remove her _kaik_ or face cover, made her sit on a pillow, threw himself on his knees before her, looked into her beautiful countenance, then kissed her hands and spoke: "Let thy first answer to my first question be plain and brief.--If thy father's name was Moadh of Timbuctu; if thy husband was Sofian the son of Abu Thaleb of the same city; if thy friend was the owl-witch Kadijah; if a child was born to thee in her cave and his name was Omeyya,--then speak the word that I may praise Allah's great mercy."

"What spirit imparted to thee the tale of my woe, master?" cried the woman, in a thrilling tone; "thou must be a descendant of the all-knowing Prophet!"

"No! Is it not enough that I am thy child?" answered Omeyya, with an outburst of tears; and there was a pathetic moment beyond the reach of words.

It is again new-moon. Naïma is mistress of an elegant home, is waited on by slaves, moves among hangings of silk, on the softest of Moorish rugs; her eyelids are painted with kohl, her finger nails with henna; her harem opens on a courtyard pervaded by the odoriferous scent of the mandragora and the blossom of the orange, cooled by the splash and play of fountains, and animated by storks, who are sacred birds in Morocco as elsewhere. Mother and son have by this time unbosomed themselves to each other, and both are confident that the culmination of things will be equal to their expectations.

Once more Omeyya is alone in the dead of voiceless night, under cloud-obscured stars. He has been waiting since before the sun had withdrawn his last beam from the picturesque panorama afforded by the sight of the Western Mecca and its wreath of groves and gardens, spreading on the slopes of the valley through which flows the Wad-el-Jubar. Omeyya stood on the height crowned by Mulai Ismael's bastion, whence the view of Fez is as perfect as that of the palace grounds. As night closed over the city and the green tops of Mulai Edris--the famous mosque, striking because of its all-overtopping golden globe,--faded in deepening twilight, Omeyya heard the nightingale at her best, and his soul was well attuned for the amorous cadence. Now the crescent soared in relief on heaven's mystic tapestry, but a later hour was to evolve the vision of Egypt's mystery. At the right moment the potency of Omeyya's rod raised up the bird. Over court and palace broke a white radiance, and in its core hung the heron on wing in mid-heaven.

"Bird of Osiris, worship of Heliopolis! by the invisible masters who fashioned thee I demand to let me behold her whom destiny has decreed to be my consort."

Omeyya was frightened on seeing the phoenix fade, as if offended by his command; but in its stead there sprung, like Iris from the clouds, a smiling Hebe; back of her rose in imperial majesty Muley Zidan and his foremost Sultana.--"_Hamdillah!_" cried Omeyya, falling on his face to praise Allah "the most merciful, the King of the Day of Judgment!" When he rose there were the stars above him and the silvery crescent, while the valley of the River of Pearls rang with the trill of a thousand nightingales.

The next morning the streets of Fez were filled with the cries of the Sultan's heralds, calling on him, who was entitled to the great prize, to come forth and obtain it.--"Bring the crown and obtain thy reward!" was the cry heard in street and bazaar, no one knowing what it meant.

But Omeyya suspected that something had happened in the palace, and he felt that his triumph was assured. What he learned later was this. That same night the _Shereef_, the _Shereefa_, and their daughter Rehamina, had a vision which they imparted to each other the following morning. They had all seen the same thing, and the coincidence could only be explained in one way. Abd-al-Melek's crown had been found. The Sultan's criers were sent out to assure the happy finder of his prize. Thus doubly reassured, Omeyya presented himself before the Emir-al-Mumemin who, it need hardly be told, was greatly impressed by the student's tale.

"What thou hast seen, son, is not the phoenix of Osiris, but the image of Allah's dazzling cock, who each morning chants to delight the ear of the true God, when all the fowls of his kind join in his melodious praise. By no less a miracle than the help of the bird, whom our Prophet saw in the skies, could the crown of Abd-al-Melek be restored," concluded the Seedna, piously.

In the presence of the great _Divan_, Omeyya produced the crown; and here in the throne-hall his betrothal to Rehamina was solemnly confirmed. In due time there was a royal wedding, after which Muley Zidan found Omeyya not only to be worthy of his lovely daughter, but of his highest esteem and fullest confidence as the wisest counselor in his _Divan_.