“Why not?”
“Do you use books in French and English?”
She hesitated. It was the first time she had not seemed perfectly at ease.
“Can you even read Arabic?”
She did not answer.
“Then the books, at any rate, are meant for someone else? Tell me who that someone is.”
“Allah!” she exploded “May I not buy what I will, if I pay for it?”
But that was a false move. You can’t upset the young British officer by storming at him. De Crespigny smiled, and came back at her with his next question suddenly.
“Are not those things for the wife of Ali Higg, and are you not from Petra?”
“If you know so surely whence I come, why do you ask me?”
“Are you a slave?”
“Allah!”
“How many wives has Ali Higg?”
“How should I know?”
“Because I think you are one of his wives. Is that not so?”
“I am Ayisha. I claim Your Honor’s protection.”
That was no false move. It was so nearly a checkmate that de Crespigny went to the sideboard for the silver box of cigarettes, to offer her one and gain time for thought.
Ever since the days of Ruth, and no doubt long before that, it has been the first law of the desert that man or woman claiming protection can no longer be treated as an enemy. It is possibly the earliest form of freemasonry, and it survives.
Arab history is full of instances of a warrior laying down his life for an enemy who has claimed protection from him. And young de Crespigny was ruler of the most unruly city in the Near East because he understood better than most men how to respect Arab prejudices. Ayisha accepted a cigarette, fitted it into a long amber tube, and watched him.
“Very well,” he said at last. “If I protect you you must answer questions. Are you Ali Higg’s wife?”
“Have I Your Honor’s promise of protection?”
“Yes. Are you Ali Higg’s wife?”
“I am his second wife.”
“Thought so! And you’ve been sent to make purchases for number one?”
She nodded.
“How do you propose to convey all these things back to Petra?”
“Surely it is not difficult now that I am promised Your Honor’s protection!”
“My district extends half-way to Beersheba and to the eastward as far as the shore of the Dead Sea—no farther,” said de Crespigny.
“I can wait. I must wait for the purchases from Jerusalem. Sooner or later there will be a caravan across the desert to El-Maan. I have two servants here to make inquiries for me.”
“Yes, and two more who went to Jerusalem. Four men. Tell me this, Princess Ayisha: how came Ali Higg to trust you, alone with four men, on such a long and difficult journey?”
“Is he not my lord?”
“But the men?”
“Is he not also their lord? And he holds their wives and sons in trust at Petra.”
“You’ll admit it’s unusual?”
“Do you find it strange that a woman should be faithful to her lord?”
“But to Ali Higg? He has a name—a reputation! How many wives has he?”
“The Koran permits but four. The others are not wives.”
“And you’re going back?”
“Inshallah.” (If God is willing.)
It was obvious that no alternative would have the least appeal for her.
“Well, your movements have all been known to me. Your men have been watched. The word from Jerusalem is that the two you sent there have made their purchases. I heard over the telephone that they are on their way here. A suggestion has been made to me that you five might be held here as hostages to bring Ali Higg to terms.”
She laughed. “He would raid, and make prisoners, ten for one. If an exchange were not made promptly his prisoners would be put to torture, and—”
De Crespigny saw fit to bring the conversation back to its other foot, as it were. Not the whole British Army was in a position just then to impose its will on Ali Higg, so certainly de Crespigny was not; and if you are any kind of real diplomatist, with a career in front of you, you don’t talk fight unless you mean it.
“But of course, as you’ve claimed my protection I couldn’t dream of that,” he assured her. “Now, is there anything else you want after those men get here from Jerusalem?”
“Nothing else.”
“They’ll be here in an hour or so. Would you be ready to leave at once for Petra?”
“As soon as I can join a caravan.”
“Today? This evening, for instance?”
“Allah provide it!”
“That’s settled, then.”
He turned toward Grim.
“This is Sheik Hajji,* Jimgrim bin Yazid of El-Abdeh, who has twice made the pilgrimage to Mecca. He is my honored friend. He starts tonight with a caravan toward Petra. You may travel with him and be in safe hands all the way.”
She eyed Grim curiously, startled, it seemed to me. Then her expression changed slowly to excitement, followed by a look of baffling wisdom, as much as to say she knew something and would not tell. I don’t think it was his name that startled her; that sounded Arabic enough.
“What business has he at Petra?” she asked.
De Crespigny let Grim answer that conundrum.
“Ya sit Ayisha,”* said Grim, “I carry a letter to Sheikh Ali Higg from someone in Arabia. I will deliver you along with the letter. You may have a place in my caravan—provided you have camels, provisions, and a litter,” he added; for the surest way to increase her already alert suspicion would have been to offer to provide everything.
“Let me see the letter!”
Grim produced one instantly—an envelope with a big red seal on it. It was marked across the top in large letters “On His Majesty’s Service,” but addressed in Arabic to somebody, and as she could not read she was satisfied.
“Ali Higg will hold you answerable for my safety if he has to destroy armies to reach you!” she said simply.
“Ya sit Ayisha,” Grim answered solemnly, “may Allah turn my face cold if Sheikh Ali Higg shall have fault to find with me in this matter!”
“How many is in your caravan?” she asked. “Twenty armed men.”
She nodded. “I will pay for my place in the caravan, according to the custom—the half now and the other half on arrival.”
Without gesture, without moving a muscle of his face, Grim turned down that proposal desert-fashion, that is emphatically, with a reservation.
“Ya sit Ayisha, may Allah do so to me, and more, if I will accept a