The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (20 page)

’Abd-Allah had just paid his compulsory visit to Sa’ood, and the mutual rivalry of the brothers, now the more exasperated by vicinity, was very thinly concealed, or rather not
concealed, under the formalities of social politeness. Intrigues, treasons, violence itself, were hatching beneath the palace walls, and assassination, whether by the dagger or the bowl, I had
better said the coffee-cup, would have been quite in keeping, nor likely to cause the smallest surprise to any one. Mahboob, too, always odious to ’Abd-Allah, was at this moment more so than
ever, and the minister himself could not fail to foresee his own personal peril when time should place undivided and autocratic power in the hands of one whom he had so often browbeaten and kept in
abeyance. Hence he sided with Sa’ood, and by so doing heated the furnace of ’Abd-Allah’s evil passions one seven times more than it was wont to be heated. The nobles of the town,
the very strangers, all sided with the one or the other of the half-brothers, and though Feysul’s life, like the silken thread round the monsters in Triermain’s “Hall of
Fear,” yet held the tigers back, it might not suffice to restrain some sudden and especially some secret spring.

Now ’Abd-Allah in the course of his amateur lectures had learnt enough to know the poisonous qualities of various drugs, and of strychnine in particular; and though probably unacquainted
with the exploits of European criminals, was fully capable of giving them a rival in the East. The cure, or at least the relief, just alluded to, had occurred about the 16th of November, exactly at
the time when I had given him to understand our definite refusal of his offers, and when he was in consequence somewhat uncertain what course next to follow. A day or two after he sent for me,
expressed his regret at our resolution to quit the capital, and begged that we would at least leave behind us in his keeping some useful medicines for the public benefit, and above all that we
would entrust him with that powerful drug whose sanitary effects were now the subject of general admiration.

All that I could say about the uselessness, nay, the great danger, of pharmacy in unlearned hands, was rejected as a mere and insufficient pretext. At last, after much urging, the prince ended
by saying that for the other ingredients I might omit them if I chose, but that the strychnine he must have, and that though at the highest price I might fancy to name.

His real object was perfectly clear, nor could I dream of lending a hand, however indirect, to his diabolical designs, nor did I see any way open before me but that of a firm though polite
denial. In pursuance, I affected not to suspect his projects, and insisted on the dangerous character of the alkaloid, till he gave up the charge for the moment, and I left the palace.

Next day he renewed his demands, but to no purpose. A third meeting took place; it was the 19th or 20th of the month. Beckoning me to his side, he insisted in the most absolute manner on having
the poison in his possession, and at last, laying aside all pretences, made clear the reasons, though not the person for whom he desired it, and declared that he would admit of no excuse,
conscientious or otherwise.

He was at the moment sitting in the further end of the Ķ’h
wah, and I was close by him; while between us and the attendants there
present, enough space remained to prevent their catching our conversation, if held in an undertone. I looked round to assure myself that we could not be overheard, and when a flat denial on my part
had been met by an equally flat rejection and a fresh demand, I turned right towards him, lifted up the edge of his head-dress, and said in his ear, “’Abd-Allah, I know well what you
want the poison for, and I have no mind to be an accomplice in your crimes. You shall
never
have it.”

His face became literally black and swelled with rage; I never saw so perfect a demon before or after. A moment he hesitated in silence, then mastered himself, and suddenly changing voice and
tone began to talk gaily about indifferent subjects. After a few minutes he rose, and I returned home.

There Aboo-’Eysa, Barak
t, and myself immediately held council to consider what was now to be done. That an outbreak must shortly take
place seemed certain; to await it was dangerous, yet we could not safely leave the town in an overprecipitate manner, nor without some kind of permission. We resolved together to go on in quiet and
caution a few days more, to sound the court, make our adieus at Feysul's palace, get a good word from Mahboob (no difficult matter), and then slip off without attracting too much notice. But our
destiny was not to run so smoothly.

On the evening of the 21st we were sitting up late, talking over the needful preparations of the journey, and drinking coffee with a few good-natured townsmen, who had no objection to a
contraband smoke; a practice for which our dwelling had long since become famous or infamous, when a rap at the door announced ’Abd-Allah – not the prince, but his namesake and
confidential retainer. “What brings you here at this hour of the night?” said we, not overpleased at the honour of his visit.

“The king” (for such is in common Ri’ad parlance the title given to the heir-apparent) “sends for you; come with me at once,” was his short and sharp answer.
“Shall Barak
t come with me?” said I, looking towards my companion. “The king wants you alone,” replied the messenger.
“Shall I bring one of my books along with me?” “There is no need.” “Wait a few minutes while we get a cup of coffee ready for you.”

This last offer could not in common decency be refused. While the ceremony was in performance, I found time to exchange a few words with Aboo-’Eysa and Barak
t. They agreed to dismiss the guests, and to remain on the alert for the result of this nocturnal embassy, easily foreseen to be a threatening one, perhaps dangerous. Yet
the fact of my companion’s not being also sent for, seemed to me a guarantee against immediate peril.

The royal messenger and myself then left the house, and proceeded in silence and darkness through the winding streets to the palace of ’Abd-Allah. Arrived there, a short parley ensued
between my conductor and the guards, who then resumed their post, while the former passed on to give the prince notice, leaving me to cool myself for a minute or two in the night air of the
courtyard. A negro then came out, and beckoned me to enter.

The room was dark, there was no other light than that afforded by the flickering gleams of the firewood burning on the hearth. At the further end sat ’Abd-Allah, silent and gloomy;
opposite to him on the other side was ’Abd-el-Lateef, the successor of the Wahh
bee, and a few others, Zelators, or belonging to their
party. Mahboob was seated by ’Abd-el-Lateef, and his presence was the only favourable circumstance discernible at a first glance. But he too looked unusually serious. At the other end of the
long hall were a dozen armed attendants, Nejdeans or negroes.

When I entered, all remained without movement or return of greeting. I saluted ’Abd-Allah, who replied in an undertone and gave me a signal to sit down at a little distance from him but on
the same side of the divan. My readers may suppose that I was not at the moment ambitious of too intimate a vicinity.

After an interval of silence, ’Abd-Allah turned half round towards me, and with his blackest look and a deep voice said, “I now know perfectly well what you are; you are no doctors,
you are Christians, spies, and revolutionists (‘mufsideen’) come hither to ruin our religion and state on behalf of those who sent you. The penalty for such as you is death, that you
know, and I am determined to inflict it without delay.”

“Threatened folks live long,” thought I, and had no difficulty in showing the calm which I really felt. So looking him coolly in the face, I replied, “Istaghfir Allah,”
literally, “Ask pardon of God.” This is the phrase commonly addressed to one who has said something extremely out of place.

The answer was unexpected; he started, and said, “Why so?”

“Because,” I rejoined, “you have just now uttered a sheer absurdity. ‘Christians,’ be it so; but ‘spies,’ ‘revolutionists,’ – as if we
were not known by everybody in your town for quiet doctors, neither more nor less! And then to talk about putting me to death! You cannot, and you dare not.”

“But I can and dare,” answered ’Abd-Allah, “and who shall prevent me? you shall soon learn that to your cost.”

“Neither can nor dare,” repeated I. “We are here your father’s guests and yours for a month and more, known as such, received as such. What have we done to justify a
breach of the laws of hospitality in Nejed? It is impossible for you to do what you say,” continued I, thinking the while that it was a great deal too possible after all; “the obloquy
of the deed would be too much for you.”

He remained a moment thoughtful, then said, “As if any one need know who did it. I have the means, and can dispose of you without talk or rumour. Those who are at my bidding can take a
suitable time and place for that, without my name being ever mentioned in the affair.”

The advantage was now evidently on my side; I followed it up, and said with a quiet laugh, “Neither is that within your power. Am I not known to your father, to all in his palace? to your
own brother Sa’ood among the rest? Is not the fact of this my actual visit to you known without your gates? Or is there no one here?” added I, with a glance at Mahboob, “who can
report elsewhere what you have just now said? Better for you to leave off this nonsense; do you take me for a child of four days old?”