The Hawk of Egypt | Page 2

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