One evening, as they returned from the Oasis, Alroy guiding the camel that bore Schirene, and ever and anon looking up in her inspiring face, her sanguine spirit would have indulged in a delightful future.

'Thus shall we pa.s.s the desert, sweet,' said Schirene. 'Can this be toil?'

'There is no toil with love,' replied Alroy.

'And we were made for love, and not for empire,' rejoined Schirene.

'The past is a dream,' said Alroy. 'So sages teach us; but, until we act, their wisdom is but wind. I feel it now. Have we ever lived in aught but deserts, and fed on aught but dates? Methinks 'tis very natural. But that I am tempted by the security of distant lands, I could remain here a free and happy outlaw. Time, custom, and necessity form our natures. When I first met Scherirah in these ruins, I shrank with horror from degraded man; and now I sigh to be his heir. We must not think!'

'No, love, we'll only hope,' replied Schirene; and they pa.s.sed through the gates.

The night was beautiful, the air was still warm and sweet. Schirene gazed upon the luminous heavens. 'We thought not of these skies when we were at Bagdad,' she exclaimed; 'and yet, my life, what was the brightness of our palaces compared to these? All is left to us that man should covet, freedom, beauty, and youth. I do believe, ere long, Alroy, we shall look back upon the wondrous past as on another and a lower world. Would that this were Egypt! Tis my only wish.'

'And it shall soon be gratified. All will soon be arranged. A few brief days, and then Schirene will mount her camel for a longer ride than just to gather dates. You'll make a sorry traveller, I fear!'

'Not I; I'll tire you all.'

They reached the circus, and seated themselves round the blazing fire.

Seldom had Alroy, since his fall, appeared more cheerful. Schirene sang an Arab air to the band, who joined in joyous chorus. It was late ere they sought repose; and they retired to their rest, sanguine and contented.

A few hours afterwards, at the break of dawn, Alroy was roused from his slumbers by a rude pressure on his breast. He started; a ferocious soldier was kneeling over him; he would have spurned him; he found his hand manacled. He would have risen; his feet were bound. He looked round for Schirene, and called her name; he was answered only by a shriek.

The amphitheatre was filled with Karasmian troops. His own men were surprised and overpowered. Kisloch and the Guebre had been on guard. He was raised from the ground, and flung upon a camel, which was instantly trotted out of the circus. On every side he beheld a wild scene of disorder and dismay. He was speechless from pa.s.sion and despair.

The camel was dragged into the desert. A body of cavalry instantly surrounded it, and they set off at a rapid pace. The whole seemed the work of an instant.

How many days had pa.s.sed Alroy knew not. He had taken no account of time. Night and day were to him the same. He was in a stupor. But the sweetness of the air and the greenness of the earth at length partially roused his attention. He was just conscious that they had quitted the desert. Before him was a n.o.ble river; he beheld the Euphrates from the very spot he had first viewed it in his pilgrimage. The strong a.s.sociation of ideas called back his memory. A tear stole down his cheek; the bitter drop stole to his parched lips; he asked the nearest horseman for water. The guard gave him a wetted sponge, with which he contrived with difficulty to wipe his lips, and then he let it fall to the ground. The Karasmian struck him.

They arrived at the river. The prisoner was taken from the camel and placed in a covered boat. After some hours they stopped and disembarked at a small village. Alroy was placed upon an a.s.s with his back to its head. His clothes were soiled and tattered. The children pelted him with mud. An old woman, with a fanatic curse, placed a crown of paper on his brow. With difficulty his brutal guards prevented their victim from being torn to pieces. And in such fashion, towards noon of the fourteenth day, David Alroy again entered Bagdad.

The intelligence of the capture of Alroy spread through the agitated city. The Moolahs bustled about as if they had received a fresh demonstration of the authenticity of the prophetic mission. All the Dervishes began begging. The men discussed affairs in the coffee-houses, and the women chatted at the fountains.[79]

'They may say what they like, but I wish him well,' said a fair Arab, as she arranged her veil. 'He may be an impostor, but he was a very handsome one.'

'All the women are for him, that's the truth,' responded a companion; 'but then we can do him no good.'

'We can tear their eyes out,' said a third.

'And what do you think of Alp Arslan, truly?' inquired a fourth.

'I wish he were a pitcher, and then I could break his neck,' said a fifth.

'Only think of the Princess!' said a sixth.

'Well! she has had a glorious time of it,' said a seventh.

'Nothing was too good for her,' said an eighth.

'I like true love,' said a ninth.

'Well! I hope he will be too much for them all yet,' said a tenth.

'I should not wonder,' said an eleventh.

'He can't,' said a twelfth, 'he has lost his sceptre.'

'You don't say so?' said a thirteenth.

'It is too true,' said a fourteenth.

'Do you think he was a wizard?' said a fifteenth. 'I vow, if there be not a fellow looking at us behind those trees.'

'Impudent scoundrel!' said a sixteenth. 'I wish it were Alroy. Let us all scream, and put down our veils.'

And the group ran away.

Two stout soldiers were playing chess[80] in a coffee-house.

'May I slay my mother,' said one, 'but I cannot make a move. I fought under him at Nehauend; and though I took the amnesty, I have half a mind now to seize my sword and stab the first Turk that enters.'

''Twere but sheer justice,' said his companion. 'By my father's blessing, he was the man for a charge. They may say what they like, but compared with him, Alp Arslan is a white-livered Giaour.'

'Here is confusion to him and to thy last move. There's the dirhem, I can play no more. May I slay my mother, though, but I did not think he would let himself be taken.'

'By the blessing of my father, nor I; but then he was asleep.'

'That makes a difference. He was betrayed.'

'All brave men are. They say Kisloch and his set pocket their fifty thousand by the job.'

'May each dirhem prove a plague-spot!'

'Amen! Dost remember Abner?'

'May I slay my mother if I ever forget him. He spoke to his men like so many lambs. What has become of the Lady Miriam?'

'She is here.'

'That will cut Alroy.'

'He was ever fond of her. Dost remember she gained Adoram's life?'

'Oh! she could do anything next to the Queen.'

'Before her, I say, before her. He has refused the Queen, he never refused the Lady Miriam.'

'Because she asked less.'

'Dost know it seemed to me that things never went on so well after Jabaster's death?'