The Hawk of Egypt by Joan Conquest

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[Frontispiece: Trembling from head to foot the girl stood before the
tent which no foot but his had trod.]

[Transcriber's note: the frontispiece page was too badly damaged to
produce a usable image.]

THE HAWK OF EGYPT

By

JOAN CONQUEST

Author of "_Desert Love_", "_Leonie of the Jungle_."

FRONTISPIECE BY

G. W. GAGE

NEW YORK

THE MACAULAY COMPANY

Copyright, 1922,

By The Macaulay Company

_Printed in the United States of America_

"IN LOVE AND GRATITUDE
TO
THE DEAREST OF WOMEN
'MIVES'
MY MOTHER"

THE HAWK OF EGYPT

Author's Note: All names in this book are fictitious.

[Transcriber's note: A number of words in this book are Arabic, using
characters that require Unicode to render properly. Refer to the
transcriber's note at the end of this book for more information.]

THE HAWK OF EGYPT

CHAPTER I

"_For in the days we know not of
Did fate begin
Weaving the web of days that wove
Your doom_."

SWINBURNE.

". . . allahu akbar--la ilaha--illa 'llah!"

Across the golden glory of the sky floated the insistent call of the
_muezzin_ just as Damaris, followed closely by Wellington, her bulldog,
turned out of the narrow street into the Khan el-Khalili. Shrill and
sweet, from far and near it came, calling the faithful to prayer,
impelling merchants to leave their wares, buyers their purchases,
gossips their chatter, and to turn in the direction of Mecca and offer
their praise to Allah, who is God.

As the entire male population of the native quarter knelt, the girl
drew back beneath an awning of many colours which shaded silken goods
from the rays of the sun, whilst curious eyes peeped down upon her from
behind the shelter of the _masharabeyeh_, the harem lattice of
finely-carved wood. Yards of silk of every hue lay tumbled inside and
outside the _dukkan_ or shop in the silk-market; silken scarves, plain
and embroidered, hung from strings; silk shawls were spread upon
Persian carpets; a veritable riot of colour against the yellow-white
plaster of the shop walls, above which flamed the sky, a cloak of blue,
embroidered in rose and gold and amethyst.

The native women behind the shelter of the wood lattice or the
_yashmak_ or the all-enveloping _barku_, talked softly together as they
watched the beautiful girl who serenely and quite unveiled walked
amongst men with an animal of surpassing hideousness at her heels.

She stood with her head uncovered--it is permissible at sunset--and
with her face lifted, as she listened to the call to prayer, so that a
sun-ray silting in through the silks blazed down upon the positively
red curls which rioted all over her head and were of a tone sharper
than henna, yet many times removed from the shades of red known as
carrots or ginger.

Her skin was _matte_, her mouth crimson, and curved, the teeth perfect,
and her heavily-lashed eyes of so deep a purple as to appear black.
She was slim and supple, unencumbered by anything more confining than a
suspender-belt, a fortnight off her eighteenth birthday and entirely
lovable in looks, ways and temperament in the eyes of all mankind,
which includes women.

The prayer over, and the men again about the business of the hour, she
enquired her way of the vendor of silks who, having quickly replaced
his shoes, had as hastily returned to his shop, his heart rejoicing at
the prospect of perhaps one or two hours' more bargaining--for where is
to be found the Oriental who knows the value of time?

Loving animals, Damaris wanted to find that corner near the silk-market
where can be purchased anything from a camel to a hunting cheetah, a
greyhound to a falcon.

It is not wise for European women to saunter about the old Arabian
quarter unaccompanied, especially if they have been blessed by the gods
in the ways of looks. Damaris Hethencourt most certainly ought not to
have been there, but you must perforce follow the path Fate has marked
out for you, whether it leads through country lanes, or Piccadilly, or
the Arab quarter of Cairo.

The vendor of silks salaamed deeply before her beauty and the
graciousness of her manner, for she smiled when she talked and spoke
the prettiest broken Arabic in the world.

So, putting the huge two-year-old bulldog, which one day was to claim
the proud title of champion, on the leash, she wended her way through
the narrow streets in which two camels may scarce squeeze past each
other and where the _masharabeyeh_ of the harems almost meet overhead.

Water-carriers, camels, sweetmeat-sellers; lowly women in black gown
and _yashmak_; coffee-sellers; donkeys which continually bray and dogs
which unceasingly bark; cracking of whips; shrill cries of "_Dahrik ya
sitt_ or _musyu_," ("Thy back, lady, or sir"); shouts of _U'a u'a_;
clashing of bronze ware; snarls of anger; laughter; song; dust and
colour, all the ingredients which go to the entrancement of the bazaar.

And the odours?

Scent and perfume, aroma and odour; cedars of Lebanon and _harem_ musk;
tang of the sandy sea, fume of the street; the trail of smoke and
onions; the milk of goats; the reek of humanity; the breath of kine.
Make a bundle of that, and tie it with the silken lashes of women's
eyes; secure it with the steel of a needle-pointed knife--and leave it
at that.

There is _no_ describing the smell of the East.

The sale of really good animals--the other kind you can buy by lifting
a finger in the streets--takes place twice a month in a small square
near the Suk-en Nahlesin; but as the way to it leads through many dirty
and twisting lanes, few Europeans ever get so far.

The stock is tethered to iron rings in the ground, the vendors squat
near by, but at a safe distance from teeth, claws or hoofs; the
purchasers stand still farther off; there sometimes occurs a free
fight, when the length of the chain that tethers the jaguar next the
hunting cheetah is too long by a foot or so; and the noise is always
deafening.

Abdul, falconer of Shammar--which district is to be found on the holy
road to Mecca--being of that locality specialises in the _shahin_,
which is a species of hawk; visits the market by appointment only, and,
being independent and a specialist, does not always keep that
appointment.

Damaris turned suddenly into the market and hurriedly looked round for
shelter, which she found in an arched doorway leading to the usual
court of the native house.

Zulannah the courtesan peered down upon her from between the silken
curtains of her balcony, and clapped her hands twice so that her
woman-slaves ran quickly to watch and whisper about this white woman
who stood unattended in the open market. They giggled in the
insufferable Eastern way, and pointed across the Square, where the
whole of the male population surged about two men. But Zulannah, the
recognised beauty of the North of Egypt, shrugged her dimpled shoulders
as she stuffed over-large portions of sweetmeats between her dazzling
teeth and stretched herself upon a divan to watch the scene over the
way.

Abdul, falconer of Shammar, bearded and middle-aged, stood with a
_shahin_ of Jaraza upon his fist and a hooded eyess--which means a
young hawk or nestling taken from the nest--of the same species upon a
padded and spiked perch beside him, whilst hooded or with seeled eyes,
upon perch or bough, were other yellow or dark-eyed birds of prey;
short-winged hawks, a bearded vulture, a hobby, a passage Saker.

But it was not upon Abdul or his stock that the girl's eyes rested,
nor, peradventure, the eyes behind the silken curtains.

The central figure of the glowing picture was that of Hugh Carden Ali,
the eldest and best-beloved son of Hahmed the Sheikh el-Umbar and Jill,
his beautiful, English and one and only wife; the son conceived in a
surpassing love and born upon the desert sands.

"An Englishman," said Damaris softly as she withdrew yet further into
the sheltering doorway and unleashed the dog; and still further back,
when the man suddenly turned and looked across the Square as though in
search of someone. "No! a native," she added, as she noticed the
crimson _tarbusch_. "And yet . . ."

She was by no means the first to wonder as to the nationality of the
man.

In riding-kit, with boots from Peter Yapp, he looked, except for the
headcovering, exactly like an Englishman.

Certainly the shape of the face was slightly more oval than is common
to the sons of a northern race, but nothing really out of the ordinary,
just as the eyes were an ordinary kind of brown, with a disconcerting
way of looking suddenly into your face, sweeping it in an
all-comprehensive lightning glance and looking indifferently away.

The nose was good and quite straight; the hair thick, brown and
controllable; the mouth covering the perfect teeth was deceptive, or
maybe it was the strength of the jaw which belied the gentleness, just
as the slimness of the six-foot of body, trained to a hair from
babyhood, gave no clue to the steel muscles underlying a skin as white
as and a good deal whiter than that of some Europeans.

He moved with the quickness and quietness of those accustomed to the
far horizon as a background; he was slow in speech; and dead-slow in
anger until aroused by opposition.

For the physically weak-born, he had the gentle sympathy of the very
strong; for the physically undeveloped and the morally weak he had no
use whatever--_none_. In the West, his reserve with men had been
labelled taciturnity or swollen-headeduess, which did not fit the case
at all; whilst, in spite of his perfect manner towards them, his
indifference to woman _en masse_ or in the individual was supreme and
sincere.

He was the direct descendant of the founder of Nineveh where horses
were concerned, and his stables in the Oasis of Khargegh would have
been one of the sights of Egypt, had he permitted sightseers.

Educated at Harrow, where he had excelled in sport and captained the
Eleven at Lord's for two succeeding years; respected by the upper Forms
and worshipped by the lower, he had developed the English side of his
dual nationality until masters and schoolfellows had come to look upon
him as one of themselves.

From Harrow he had gone to Brazenose; then had quite suddenly thrown up
the 'Varsity and returned to Egypt.

Love?

Not at all, for was not his indifference to woman supreme and sincere?

Just the inevitable ending of a very commonplace, sordid little story
which had taught the youth one of life's bitterest lessons.

One of a multitude of guests at Hurdley Castle, he had met a woman,
beautiful but predatory, whose looks were taking on an autumnal tint,
and whose banking account had shrivelled under the frost of
extravagance.

His utter indifference to her wiles and her beauty had culminated in a
degrading scene of anger on her part, when, forgetting her breeding,
her birth and her nationality, she had first of all twitted him and
then openly laughed at his mixed parentage.

He had stood without uttering a word, white to the lips during her
tirade.

"Do you think that any white woman would marry you--a _half-caste_?"
had cried the woman, whose bills were coming in in shoals.

"Yes, many," he had quietly answered as he bent to pick up her torn,
handkerchief. "Am I not a rich man?"

He had returned to Egypt upon a visit to the Flat Oasis where dwelt his
parents, who, though noting the indescribable hurt in the eyes of their
firstborn, yet asked no question, for in Egypt a youth is his own
master and ofttimes married at the age of fourteen; how much more,
therefore, is he a man at over twenty years?

He had visited his own house in the Oasis of Khargegh, with the purpose
of putting his stables in order and his falconers through a stiff
catechism, and had finally set out to see something of the world.

Not in a desire to cover his hurt, for he was as stoical as any
high-bred Arab; and, Mohammedan from belief as well as early training,
did not kick against what he looked upon as the commands of Allah.

As for women--well! The sweet, docile woman of his father's race
interested him not at all, so that he refused to listen to any hint
anent the desirability of his taking a wife and establishing the
succession of the House 'an Mahabbha, which is the eldest branch of the
House el-Umbar; and racial distinction barred him from the virile,
lovely women of his mother's race.

He had his horses, his hawks, his hunting cheetahs, his dogs; one great
treasure which he prized and one little conceit.

The treasure had been found in the ruins of the Temple Deir-el-Bahari.
An ornament of gold set with precious stones. Its shape was that of
the Hawk, which had stood as the symbol of the North in the glorious
days of Ancient Egypt. The wings were of emeralds tipped with rubies;
gold were the claws and gold the Symbol of Life they held; the body and
tail were a mass of precious stones; and the eye of some jet-black
stone, unknown to the present century.

As an ornament it was of great value; as an antiquity found in the
Shrine of Anubis, the God of Death, its value could not even be guessed
at; and how it had come into the possession of Hugh Garden Ali will
never be known, though of a truth, unlimited wealth works wonders.

And upon his horses' saddle-cloths, his falcons' hoods, his hounds'
coats, and the fine linen and satins of his Eastern raiment he had the
emblem worked in thread or silk or jewels, or painted in soft colours.

It was just a pretty conceit, but in conjunction with one-half of his
lineage and his love for his birds, it had earned him the title of "The
Hawk of Egypt."

And such was the man as he stood in the market-place, having followed
the path which Fate had marked out for him through the twisting lanes
of the bazaar.

CHAPTER II

"_Dog, ounce, bear and bull,
Wolf, lion, horse_."

DU BARTAS.

Damaris should not have been strolling by herself in the native quarter.

If you are drab or flat of chest or soul or face, you can saunter your
fill in any bazaar without adventure befalling you; if, however, nature
should have endowed you with the colouring of a desert sunset, if, in
short, you _can_ add a splash of colour to anything so colourful as a
native bazaar, then 'twere wise to do your sauntering under the wing of
a vigilant chaperon, so that the curiosity and interest resultant on
your splash may reach you obliquely and "as through a glass, darkly."

But there was no one to worry the girl at this hour before sunset, so
that little by little and quite unconsciously she moved forward until
she stood outside the doorway.

She stood, outlined against a background of blazing colours, which
served in no way to dim her beauty. Through the yellow-white arch of
the doorway showed a stretch of turquoise-blue sky across which, upon a
string, swung golden onions and scarlet peppercorns, whilst underneath
ruminated a fine, superbly indifferent dromedary.

For a moment Hugh Carden Ali, jogged by Fate, looked straight across at
the beautiful picture, staying his talk with Abdul, who, with the
courtesy of the East, did not turn his head as he stroked the breast
and head of the _shahin_ on his fist.

But Damaris, with envy rampant in her heart, had no eyes for mere man;
she wanted to walk across and get near the coal-black stallion from
Unayza, a district famous for its breed of large, heavy-built horses.
He stood impatiently, with an occasional plunk of a hoof on the sandy
stones, or nuzzled his master's sleeve, or pulled at it with his teeth,
whilst two shaggy dogs of Billi lay stretched out awaiting the signal
to be up and going, perhaps, in a sprint across the desert after the
_hosseny_ or red rascal of a fox which had been trapped and caged for
the sole purpose of hunting.

Ride out with the caged _hosseny_ on a thoroughbred camel or
thoroughbred horse, take with you a couple of greyhounds and a dog or
so from Billi, get right off the tourist track and let the red rascal
out, and see if you don't have some fun before breakfast.

Only get off the tourist track, else you will have all the bazaar
camels and ponies loping along behind you.

The only wild beast this afternoon for sale was a jaguar, black as ink,
smooth as satin, short, heavy, with half-closed green eyes fixed
steadfastly upon a plump white pigeon foolishly strutting just out of
reach of the steel-pointed claws.

"Take her upon thy fist, O Master," said Abdul of Shammar, as he
lengthened the jesses, the short, narrow straps of leather or woven
silk or cotton with which to hold the hawk. "See, she is well
reclaimed, being tame and gentle and altogether amiable. When thrown,
she is as a bullet from a rifle, binding her quarry in high air even as
a man holds his woman to his heart upon the roof-top under the stars.
She is full summed"--and he ran his slender fingers through the new
feathers, full and soft after moulting; "she is keen as the winter
wind--behold the worn and blunted nails; she will not give up, my
master, yet will she come to the lure as quickly, as joyfully as a maid
to her lover."

Hugh Carden Ali, the greatest authority after Abdul on the _shahin_,
took the bird upon his fist, looked at the sunken, piercing eyes which
were partially seeled; ran his hand over the narrow body, short tail
and black back, and a finger over the large beak and deep mouth; held
up the ugly face to the light, examined the flight-feathers and, moving
his hand quickly up and down, caused the bird to flutter its wings--and
so give him a chance of measuring the distance of the wings from the
body. Finding her altogether lovely, he nodded and handed her back to
the delighted falconer of Shammar, just as with a decisive pat the
jaguar landed, its huge paw upon the strutting pigeon, which had
forgotten to keep its distance.

For a moment the attention of the spectators, who were mostly squatting
on their heels, was diverted from the master and the falconer. They
laughed, they moved, whilst some in the back row stood up to see the
fun, leaving for one second an open space through which Damaris could
see the fluttering white bird.

"Ah!" she cried, heartbroken at the sight; then, "Fetch!" she commanded
the dog, pointing across the square.

Now, the dog, who had dispensed with his spiked collar on account of
the heat, had no more idea than the man in the moon what he had to
fetch for his beloved mistress; but, restless from prolonged inactivity
and the smell of strange beasts, he hurled himself in the direction
pointed; and his speed, once he got going, was as surprising as that of
the elephant or rhinoceros and other clumsy-looking animals, and in
very truth, his appearance was just as terrifying.

He crashed head-foremost into the back row of spectators, which, as one
man, yelled and fled; tore along the path made clear for him, and
sensing an enemy in the growling jaguar, was at its throat like a
thrown spear; missing it by an inch as the black beast flung itself
back to the full length of the steel chain which fastened it to an iron
ring in the ground.

Damaris in her turn rushed, across the square, passing the astounded
spectators, who salaamed as she ran. And as she ran she shouted:

"Let the animal loose," she cried. "Give it a chance; let it loose."

But Hugh Carden Ali, not in the least understanding the sudden
onslaught, but with every sporting instinct uppermost, had already
leant down in the seething, growling mass of fur and hate, and loosened
the chain; whilst, with screams of fear and delight, the crowd raced
for the adjacent houses, from the upper windows of which they could
hang in safety to watch the fight.

Disgusting?

Quite so! But have you ever heard of bull-fighting or pigeon-shooting
in civilised, humane Europe?

There followed a frightful scene, during which Abdul, having picked up
the pigeon, hastily flung his birds far behind the growling, spitting,
raging couple, whilst the stallion, rearing in terror, nearly jerked
his master, who had the bridle slipped over his arm, off his feet.

The two dogs of Billi and the two greyhounds leapt and barked and
snapped at the belligerents until Wellington, taking an off-chance,
suddenly turned and bit one of them clean through the shoulder;
whereupon it yelped and howled and fled, whilst shouts of "_Ma
sha-Allah_" and much clapping came from the upper windows.

Damaris ran straight towards the man, who, slipping the bridle, put
both arms round her to draw her to safety; then, suddenly realising the
beauty, the youth and the pure whiteness of her, as suddenly let her go.

"Shall I separate them?" he asked simply.

"No! Not even if you could. Once my dog's blood is up, nothing but
death will satisfy him."

She stood quite still, as white as a sheet, with both hands on his arm,
whilst the great dog hurled himself at the spitting brute, only to meet
the teeth and claws which drew blood at every attempt, until the ground
was crimson where they fought.

And then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, Damaris looked up into
the man's face; then buried her face on his shoulder.

And the seed of love which is in the heart of every human burst
through, the clogging mould of custom and convention and, taking root,
put forth shoots and sprang in one moment into the great tree of love
of which the fruits, being those of purity, honour and sacrifice, are
golden.

Yet he did not touch her, having learned his lesson; instead, he raised
his right hand above his head.

"Allah!" he said, in praise of that which had come unto him, "Allah,
there is no God but Thee," just as, with a sudden swish, a flock of
startled pigeons flashing like jewels in the setting sun new low down
across his head, bringing an end to the battle.

For one half-second the jaguar's green eyes shifted, and the dog was at
its throat. There was a mighty, convulsive effort of the hind-legs
which ripped the bulldog's sides, a click, a shiver, and the black
brute fell dead, as the dog, a mass of blood, foam and pride, hurled
himself onto the skirt of his beloved mistress, whilst the enraptured
spectators, yelling with excitement, rushed out into the square with
shouts of "_Ma sha-Allah_," which means, "Well done, well done!"

"Keep quite still," said Hugh Carden Ali, gently, as Damaris made an
effort to turn; then, speaking quickly to the beaming, salaaming
spectators, who had had the time of their lives gambling on the chances
of either animal, ordered them to remove the dead beast and to strew
the place with sand. And "_Irja Sooltan_," he called to the stallion,
which, terrified at the sounds and sight and smell of battle, had
bolted up a side street, where he stood fretting and fidgeting himself
into a fine sweat, until he heard the clear call which could always
bring him back to the man he loved. He stood for one second, then
flung up his heels to the devastation of a stall of earthenware, and
raced back to the square at a most unseemly pace, causing the
spectators once more to fly in all directions with cries of "U'a u'a,"
which means, "Look out, look out!"

He pushed his soft nose with determination against the woman who stood
so close to his master, so that she looked up, and then smiled and
stretched out her arms.

"You beauty!" she cried. "Oh, you _beauty_!"

"You ride?"

Damaris, thinking of the hack, the only thing with the shape of a horse
she had been able to get so far, and upon the back of which she loathed
to be seen, made a grimace.

"I go out on horseback," she said. "I have not ridden since I left
home."

The man's reply, whatever it might have been, was interrupted by Abdul,
who, all smiles, stood before them, with the white pigeon in the left
hand and the _shahin_ upon his right fist.

The native had no intention of causing the white woman pain; in fact,
wishing to find favour in the eyes of the nobles, he only wanted to
give them a chance of witnessing a little of, to him, the finest sport
in the world.

"Look, lady!" he cried.

He tossed the pigeon high into the air, allowed her a little distance,
then threw the hawk.

"No! Oh, no! don't!" cried Damaris, as the hawk rose, "stooped" and
missed the pigeon by a hair's-breadth as it "put in", which means that
it flew straight into a small niche of a minaret for cover.

"Ah!" cried Damaris, and "_Bi-sma-llah_!" ejaculated Abdul, as he threw
the lure of a dead plover and called his hawk with the luring Eastern
call. "Coo-coo," he called; "coo-coo," to which the hawk responded as
a well-trained _shahin_ should.

Hugh Carden Ali stood with his hand on the stallion's mane, looking up
at the sky, in which shone a great star.

"The hawk of Egypt failed," he said to himself. "Flown at a white
bird, it failed. The House of Allah, who is God, gave sanctuary to the
little white bird. Praise be to Allah who is God."

He looked down at the girl, who was kneeling, consoling the dog, who,
reft 'tween pride and pain, showed a lamentable countenance. Suddenly
she looked up and rose, and stood silently.

"Come," he said simply, while he longed to pick her up and ride with
her to his home in the Oasis. "I will take you to your hotel."

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