The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 4 — John Shaqi
The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 4Parker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Volume 4
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
"'Come hither, come hither, my little daughter,
And do not tremble so!'"
A sort of scornful patience was in Mahommed's look, but he came nearer
and waited.
"Squat on the ground, and smile a smile of mirth, Mahommed," Lacey said
riotously. "'For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o'
the May!'"
Mahommed's face grew resentful. "O effendi, shall the camel-driver laugh
when the camels are lost in the khamsin and the water-bottle is empty?"
"Certainly not, O son of the spreading palm; but this is not a desert,
nor a gaudy caravan. This is a feast of all angels. This is the day
when Nahoum the Nefarious is to be buckled up like a belt, and ridden in
a ring. Where is the Saadat?"
"He is gone, effendi! Like a mist on the face of the running water, so
was his face; like eyes that did not see, so was his look. 'Peace be to
thee, Mahommed, thou art faithful as Zaida,' he said, and he mounted and
rode into the desert. I ran after till he was come to the edge of the
desert; but he sent me back, saying that I must wait for thee; and this
word I was to say, that Prince Kaid had turned his face darkly from him,
and that the finger of Sharif--"
"That fanatical old quack--Harrik's friend!"
"--that the finger of Sharif was on his pulse; but the end of all was in
the hands of God."
"Oh yes, exactly, the finger of Sharif on his pulse! The old story-the
return to the mother's milk, throwing back to all the Pharaohs. Well,
what then?" he added cheerfully, his smile breaking out again. "Where
has he gone, our Saadat?"
"To Ebn Ezra Bey at the Coptic Monastery by the Etl Tree, where your
prophet Christ slept when a child."
Lacey hummed to himself meditatively. "A sort of last powwow--Rome
before the fall. Everything wrong, eh? Kaid turned fanatic, Nahoum on
the tiles watching for the Saadat to fall, things trembling for want of
hard cash. That's it, isn't it, Mahommed?"
Mahommed nodded, but his look was now alert, and less sombre. He had
caught at something vital and confident in Lacey's tone. He drew nearer,
and listened closely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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