



Produced by Al Haines










[Frontispiece: Someone leaned above him to inspect his work.  Chap X.]






THE WAYFARERS LIBRARY



The

VALLEY of the KINGS



Marmaduke Pickthall





J.M.DENT & SONS. Ltd.

LONDON

1914




THE

VALLEY OF THE KINGS


CHAPTER I

"Woe on you, mothers of nothing!  May the scourge of Allah flay you as
you go!"

The mother of Iskender held the doorway of her little house in a
posture of spitting defiance.  Rancour, deep-rooted and boundless,
ranged in her guttural snarl.  Her black eyes burned to kill, their
thick brows quite united by the energy of her frown as she gazed across
a sand-dell, chary of vegetation but profuse in potsherds, towards the
white walls and high red roof of the Mission-house seen above a wave of
tamarisks on the opposite dune.  The hedge of prickly pear defining her
small domain did not obstruct the view, for it consisted largely of
gaps, by one of which a group of three Frankish ladies had just gone
from her.  She could see their white-clad forms, under sunshades, down
there in the hollow, battling ungracefully with the sand for foothold.
With one hand raised as a screen from the declining sun, the mother of
Iskender clenched the other, and shook it down the pathway of those
ladies so that the bracelets of  glass tinkled upon her strong
brown arm.

"Ha, Carulin, most ancient virgin, thy stalk is a crane's!  There is
neither flesh nor blood in thee, but only gristle and dry skin.  Thy
heart is gall and poison....  O Jane, thou art a fruit all husk;
half man, yet lacking man's core, half maid, yet lacking woman's pulp!
In thee is no fount of joy, no sweetness.  Did love of our Blessed
Saviour and the Sacred Book bring the pair of you to this land?  By
Allah, not so; well I know it!  It was the love of change, of
adventure; and what is that in a virgin save the hope of men?  And now,
seeing none have desired you, your longing is turned to hatred of all
things sweet!  My son is bad, you declare; it is a grace for him to be
allowed to sweep your house.  But the son of Costantin--that sly-eyed
devil!--he is good: of him you make a clergyman, a grand khawajah!
Have I not washed these twenty years for you and the false priest whose
things you are?  Was I not among the first to profess your damning
heresy?  The house of Costantin are converts of last year.  Let Allah
judge between us this day."

She paused a moment, the better to gesticulate a frantic reverence to
the ladies, now on the opposite <DW72>, who were waving hands to her.

"O poor little Hilda!  Thou art a ripe fruit that whispers 'Pluck me.'
But those two sexless devils guard thee sleeplessly.  Thou wast not
angry when Iskender kissed thy mouth.  Is it likely, since thou didst
incite him to it by previously stroking his hand?  But the rest, thy
keepers....  Holy Mother of God!...  When shall I hear the last
of my son's guilt!  Iskender is vile, Iskender is worthless, Iskender
is the son of all things evil.  Ah, if the great lady, the mother of
George, had been here, you would never have dared to use the poor lad
so, for she loved him from a babe.  But alas! she is away in your
native land, watching the education of her many children.  You and the
priest, her husband, were gentler in your ways while she was here.  But
since she left, you have become true devils.  Aye, you are right,
forsooth, and the whole world of nature is quite wrong.  May Allah set
the foot of Iskender upon the necks of you, O false saints!"

With a parting menace of the fist, she turned indoors, still snarling.
After the sun-glare on the sands, the room was darkness.  Doorway and
unshuttered casement framed each its vision of relentless light; but no
ray entered.

The place consisted of a single chamber, which, with door and window
open as at present, became a draughtway for what air there was.  A
curtain veiled one corner, where the beds were stowed in daytime, with
whatever else was unpresentable through dirt or breakage: for the
ladies of the Mission valued tidiness above