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“There was another woman,” said Dicky: “one of your own people. She was given a mind and a soul. You deserted her in your harem–what was there left for her to think of but death? She had no child. But death was a black prospect; for you would go to heaven, and she would be in the outer darkness; and she loved you! A woman’s brain thinks wild things. She fled from you, and went the pilgrimage to Mecca. She did all that a man might do to save her soul, according to Mahomet. She is to die to-morrow by the will of the people–and the Mudir of the Fayoum.”

Dicky paused once more. He did not look at the Mudir, but out of the window towards the Bahr-el-Yusef, where the fellaheen of the Mudir’s estate toiled like beasts of burden with the barges and the great khiassas laden with cotton and sugar-cane.

“God make your words merciful!” said the Mudir. “What would you have me do?”

“The Khedive, our master, has given me your life,” said Dicky. “I will make your end easy. The woman has done much to save her soul. She buries her face in the dust because she hath no salvation. It is written in the Koran that a man may save the soul of his wife. You have your choice: will you come to Cairo to Sadik Pasha, and be crucified like a bandit of your own province, or will you die with the woman in the Birket-el-Kurun to-morrow at sunrise, and walk with her into the Presence and save her soul, and pay the price of the English life?”

“Malaish!” answered the Mudir. “Water,” he added quickly. He had no power to move, for fear had paralysed him. Dicky brought him a goolah of water.

The next morning, at sunrise, a strange procession drew near to the Birket-el-Kurun. Twenty ghaffirs went ahead with their naboots; then came the kavasses, then the Mudir mounted, with Dicky riding beside, his hand upon the holster where his pistol was. The face of the Mudir was like a wrinkled skin of lard, his eyes had the look of one drunk with hashish. Behind them came the woman, and now upon her face there was only a look of peace. The distracted gaze had gone from her eyes, and she listened without a tremor to the voices of the wailers behind.

Twenty yards from the lake, Dicky called a halt–Dicky, not the Mudir. The soldiers came forward and put heavy chains and a ball upon the woman’s ankles. The woman carried the ball in her arms to the very verge of the lake, by the deep pool called “The Pool of the Slaughtered One.”

Dicky turned to the Mudir. “Are you ready?” he said.

“Inshallah!” said the Mudir.

The soldiers made a line, but the crowd overlapped the line. The fellaheen and Bedouins looked to see the Mudir summon the Ulema to condemn the woman to shame and darkness everlasting. But suddenly Abbas Bey turned and took the woman’s right hand in his left.

Her eyes opened in an ecstasy. “O lord and master, I go to heaven with thee!” she said, and threw herself forward.

Without a sound the heavy body of the Mudir lurched forward with her, and they sank into the water together. A cry of horror and wonder burst from the crowd.

Dicky turned to them, and raised both hands.

“In the name of our master the Khedive!” he cried.

Above the spot where the two had sunk floated the red tarboosh of the Mudir of the Fayoum.

GLOSSARY

Aiwa, effendi—-Yea, noble sir. Allah—-God. Allah-haly ‘m alla-haly—-A singsong of river-workers. Allah Kerim—-God is bountiful. Allshu Akbar—-God is most Great. A’l’meh—-Female professional singers Antichi—-Antiquities.

Backsheesh—-Tip, douceur, bribe. Balass—-Earthen vessel for carrying water. Basha—-Pasha. Bersim—-Grass. Bimbashi—-Major. Bishareen—-A native tribe. Bismillah—-In the name of God. Bowab—-A doorkeeper.

Corvee—-Forced labour.

Dahabeah—-A Nile houseboat with large lateen sails.

Darabukkeh—-A drum made of a skin stretched over an earthenware funnel. Doash—-(Literally) Treading. A ceremony performed on the return of the Holy Carpet from Mecca.