The Scapegoat [120]
robes and carrying torches. Then goats and dogs were riven alive and eaten raw; while women and children; crouching in the gathering darkness overhead looked down from the roofs and shuddered. And as the frenzy increased among the madmen, and their victims became fewer, each fanatic turned upon himself, and tore his own skin and battered his head against the stones until blood ran like water.
"Fools and blind guides!" cried the Mahdi sweeping them before him like sheep. "Is this how you turn the streets into a sickening sewer? Oh, the abomination of desolation! You tear yourselves in the name of God, but forget His justice and mercy. Away! You will have your reward. Away! Away!"
At the gate of the Kasbah he demanded to see the Kaid, and, after various parleyings with the guards and negroes who haunted the winding ways of the gloomy place, he was introduced to the Basha's presence. The Basha received him in a room so dark that he could but dimly see his face. Ben Aboo was stretched on a carpet, in much the position of a dog with his muzzle on his forepaws.
"Welcome," he said gruffly, and without changing his own unceremonious posture, he gave the Mahdi a signal to sit.
The Mahdi did not sit. "Ben Aboo," he said in a voice that was half choked with anger, "I have come again on an errand of mercy, and woe to you if you send me away unsatisfied."
Ben Aboo lay silent and gloomy for a moment, and then said with a growl, "What is it now?"
"Where is the daughter of Ben Oliel?" said the Mahdi.
With a gesture of protestation the Basha waved one of the hands on which his dusky muzzle had rested.
"Ah, do not lie to me," cried the Mahdi. "I know where she is--she is in prison. And for what? For no fault but love of her father, and no crime but fidelity to her faith. She has sacrificed the one and abandoned the other. Is that not enough for you, Ben Aboo? Set her free."
The Basha listened at first with a look of bewilderment, and some half-dozen armed attendants at the farther end of the room shuffled about in their consternation. At length Ben Aboo raised his head, and said with an air of mock inquiry, "Ya Allah! who is this infidel?"
Then, changing his tone suddenly, he cried, "Sir, I know who you are! You come to me on this sham errand about the girl, but that is not your purpose, Mohammed of Mequinez! Mohammed the Third! What fool said you were a spy of the Sultan? Abd er-Rahman is here-- my guest and protector. You are a spy of his enemies, and a revolutionary, come hither to ruin our religion and our State. The penalty for such as you is death, and by Allah you shall die!"
Saying this, he so wrought upon his indignation, that in spite of his superstitious fears, and the awe in which he stood of the Mahdi, he half deceived himself, and deceived his attendants entirely. But the Mahdi took a step nearer and looked straight into his face, and said--
"Ben Aboo, ask pardon of God; you are a fool. You talk of putting me to death. You dare not and you cannot do it."
"Why not?" cried Ben Aboo, with a thrill of voice that was like a swagger. "What's to hinder me? I could do it at this moment, and no man need know."
"Basha," said the Mahdi, "do you think you are talking to a child? Do you think that when I came here my visit was not known to others than ourselves outside? Do you think there are not some who are waiting for my return? And do you think, too," he cried, lifting one hand and his voice together, "that my Master in heaven would not see and know it on an errand of mercy His servant perished? Ben Aboo, ask pardon of God, I say; you are a fool."
The Basha's face became black and swelled with rage. But he was cowed. He hesitated a moment in silence, and then said with an air of braggadocio--
"And what if I do not liberate the girl?"
"Then," said the Mahdi, "if any evil befalls her the consequences shall be on your head."
"What consequences?" said the Basha.
"Worse consequences than you expect or dream," said the Mahdi.
"What consequences?" said the Basha
"Fools and blind guides!" cried the Mahdi sweeping them before him like sheep. "Is this how you turn the streets into a sickening sewer? Oh, the abomination of desolation! You tear yourselves in the name of God, but forget His justice and mercy. Away! You will have your reward. Away! Away!"
At the gate of the Kasbah he demanded to see the Kaid, and, after various parleyings with the guards and negroes who haunted the winding ways of the gloomy place, he was introduced to the Basha's presence. The Basha received him in a room so dark that he could but dimly see his face. Ben Aboo was stretched on a carpet, in much the position of a dog with his muzzle on his forepaws.
"Welcome," he said gruffly, and without changing his own unceremonious posture, he gave the Mahdi a signal to sit.
The Mahdi did not sit. "Ben Aboo," he said in a voice that was half choked with anger, "I have come again on an errand of mercy, and woe to you if you send me away unsatisfied."
Ben Aboo lay silent and gloomy for a moment, and then said with a growl, "What is it now?"
"Where is the daughter of Ben Oliel?" said the Mahdi.
With a gesture of protestation the Basha waved one of the hands on which his dusky muzzle had rested.
"Ah, do not lie to me," cried the Mahdi. "I know where she is--she is in prison. And for what? For no fault but love of her father, and no crime but fidelity to her faith. She has sacrificed the one and abandoned the other. Is that not enough for you, Ben Aboo? Set her free."
The Basha listened at first with a look of bewilderment, and some half-dozen armed attendants at the farther end of the room shuffled about in their consternation. At length Ben Aboo raised his head, and said with an air of mock inquiry, "Ya Allah! who is this infidel?"
Then, changing his tone suddenly, he cried, "Sir, I know who you are! You come to me on this sham errand about the girl, but that is not your purpose, Mohammed of Mequinez! Mohammed the Third! What fool said you were a spy of the Sultan? Abd er-Rahman is here-- my guest and protector. You are a spy of his enemies, and a revolutionary, come hither to ruin our religion and our State. The penalty for such as you is death, and by Allah you shall die!"
Saying this, he so wrought upon his indignation, that in spite of his superstitious fears, and the awe in which he stood of the Mahdi, he half deceived himself, and deceived his attendants entirely. But the Mahdi took a step nearer and looked straight into his face, and said--
"Ben Aboo, ask pardon of God; you are a fool. You talk of putting me to death. You dare not and you cannot do it."
"Why not?" cried Ben Aboo, with a thrill of voice that was like a swagger. "What's to hinder me? I could do it at this moment, and no man need know."
"Basha," said the Mahdi, "do you think you are talking to a child? Do you think that when I came here my visit was not known to others than ourselves outside? Do you think there are not some who are waiting for my return? And do you think, too," he cried, lifting one hand and his voice together, "that my Master in heaven would not see and know it on an errand of mercy His servant perished? Ben Aboo, ask pardon of God, I say; you are a fool."
The Basha's face became black and swelled with rage. But he was cowed. He hesitated a moment in silence, and then said with an air of braggadocio--
"And what if I do not liberate the girl?"
"Then," said the Mahdi, "if any evil befalls her the consequences shall be on your head."
"What consequences?" said the Basha.
"Worse consequences than you expect or dream," said the Mahdi.
"What consequences?" said the Basha