Few of the men slept much, mostly they smoked and told tales about the thornwood fires; and at the first light they began to assemble near the eastern wall of the sheik's tent. By sunrise all were there, the women squatting further back. Then Hamyd came forth with a sheepskin and hung it out for all to see. There rose a great shout of triumph.
Over my spirit hung a heavy cloud, but not all of it was dark-there was a paleness here and there, as though the sun were trying to break through.
After the morning meal I called El Stedoro by a name he knew, petted him, gave him bread flaps, leaned upon him as I often did, and with one hand on his withers and the other on his loins, leaped high enough that he could feel my weight. He turned his great head to regard me curiously. Presently I leaped powerfully, swung my leg over his back, and caught my hands in his mane.
For some seconds he stood still, greatly astonished by the situation, and somewhat alarmed. I spoke to him in gentle tones, but was not able to reassure him, and in growing panic, he pranced and broke into a run. Still he never knew real terror. My voice and my smell were strongly associated in his mind with coddlings and petting and care, even with safety from unknown perils, ever since he was born. The weight on his back was new and frightening, and he tried rearing and leaping to throw it off, but like all blooded horses, he landed with springy legs, so I was in no danger of falling. He took another dash, but with my knees and by shifting my weight, I turned him back toward the encampment. As he slowed to avoid running into the kraals, I slipped off.
He ran a short distance and stopped. I walked slowly toward him, calling. When he turned and came toward me, his lips working for corn flaps, the breaking of El Stedoro was done.
I rode him with a halter on short jaunts in the course of the morning, and in the afternoon showed him a saddle and put it on his back. When the other Bedouin had mounted, we fell in with them and made a dashing sweep about Suliman's tent. By now Hamyd and his other attendants had fixed a carpet with cushions before its door; and the sheik and his bride came forth in new and gorgeous attire. When they had seated themselves, the men rode round and round, howling like red Indians and performing feats of equestrian-ship. Some sprang in and out of their saddles, rifles in one hand, at a full gallop; others rode standing, or picked up scarfs; and although I did no tricks, both El Stedoro and I came to honor in the display. When we dashed out into the desert, the gray stallion wanted to pass every horse in front of him and refused to be passed by any. In this band ran some of the swiftest horses ever bred by the Beni Kabir— sable-brown mares and geldings with white points that moved in a soaring motion light as gazelles—but the great bounds of El Stedoro invariably brought him to the lead and, if I had let him tire himself, he would have left the others in his dust.
There followed a sword dance performed by eight youths, a beautiful and frightening sight. It ended with the star performer turning cartwheels—so we called the feat when I was a boy in Maine—at dizzy speed, hurling himself over with one arm while he held a short sword, its point to his breast, in the other.
Then the great metal trays were brought forth, laden with banks of rice and heaps of boiled meat. The elders dined first, and Suliman left his seat to pass among them, sometimes handing one of them a tidbit. When the young freemen had feasted, we slaves had our turn. But as he gave-me a hucklebone, supposed to be lucky, I was suddenly carried far away.
A movement of his hand had caught my eye. On its blue-veined back was a slight cut that might have been made by a knife a few hours before, deep enough to have stained the sheepskins of the bridal bed. I could not doubt that it was self-inflicted and that he meant for me alone, of all his wedding guests, to notice it and perceive its meaning. The message was for me. Only two others—himself and Isabel—knew the secret.
Its effect on me was profound. I could not bear to glance at the still, beautiful face of Izubahil, my foundling Isabel Gazelle, but I looked into some strange, far country of the soul I had never seen before. Now Ishmael ibn Abdul began to sing a marriage ode, his clear voice ringing out to the silent throng, but I hardly heard him, because of a song making in my heart.
Suliman ibn Ali, Sheik el Beni Kabir, you've kept troth with me from the eating of the bread and salt even to now. I did not call the provost when I found you hiding in Calypso's Cave, but that was no cost to me. Years passed before I sent you the token from the Sepulcher of Wet Bones; you had only to say to yourself that kismet had brought me to that pass, that you would like to help me and would do so if it came your way, and put the matter by. Instead you traveled hundreds of miles across the Thirst in my behalf, you brought great influence to bear, you brought me forth, you let me live again.
I have lived again. Although you could not set me free, I have labored with my fellows, rejoiced or mourned with them, fought the desert, rode, eaten bread that tasted like the bread of freedom, drank from the desert wells, sat by thorn fires, beheld the sun's rising and the sun's setting at the desert rim, watched the moon in her courses, and gazed upward at the stars. It came to pass that again I knew the glories and the pangs of love, far deeper than before because I had been divorced from beauty so long, and by then its least finding rejoiced my heart, and this was a mighty finding. I did not find fulfillment, but not through your denial, only Fate's.
Suliman, my captain, you have only a few months to live. For tliai time I have bestowed upon you the desert's gift to me, and whatever beauty of bliss you may find in her, take it with the full wish of my heart, by the proud endowment of my soul. If I begrudge you that, I liave not come through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and my soul is lost.
In mid-March, 1816, when Suliman and Isabel had been married five months, he ordered an oryx and gazelle hunt with greyhounds on a thorny plain on the western border of the Oasis of Baeed. The hounds had run at sunrise and killed when Suliman made me a curious address. Riding up beside me, he extended his hand. When I put forth mine, he clasped it warmly.
"Omar, sahahti (friend), I've taken great joy in Izubahil."
He gave me a wonderful smile and rode on. The strange thought came to me that Isabel Gazelle might be with child. I did not believe it enough to dwell upon it now; more likely in his elation over the good hunting he had been moved to tell me something long postponed. A few minutes later the hounds flushed a fox that quickly earthed; then they had a glorious run after a white oryx, whose horns bent back like sabers, only to lose him in the heavy thorn. For an hour or so in mid-morning, we rested the dogs and horses at a water hole; and we had hardly saddled when a joyful cry went up. Half a mile across the plain browsed a small herd of addax, long-legged, brown-maned, spiral-horned antelope who will lose in dust all but the swiftest hound or horse.
When the race was underway and I was holding in El Stedoro for a final spurt, again Suliman brought Farishti on my flank. "Let the gray jinn go," he shouted. "If you don't, his dam will shame him even now. On, on, Farishti, moon of beauty! Teach your great, gangling son how a lady runs!"
I loosed my rein and thrust my heels into El Stedoro's side. He bounded forward, but Farishti was so fired by Suliman's fervor that she would not be passed. Three full furlongs the gray stallion and his beautiful dam ran abreast, and since the track was perfect and the day cool, our hard-riding chasers had never seen such flying hooves, and yelled their joy.