was stamped on its headgear, and the tooth of a boar--a safeguard
against the evil eye--was suspended from its neck. Its saddle was

of orange damask, with girths of stout silk, and its stirrups were
of chased silver. The Sultan's own trappings were of the colour

of his horse. His kaftan was of white cloth, with an embroidered
leathern girdle; his turban was of white cotton, and his kisa was also

white and transparent.
As he passed under the archway of the town's gate the cannon

of the Kasbah boomed forth a salute, Ben Aboo dismounted and kissed
his stirrup, and the crowds in the streets burst upon him with blessings.

"God bless our Lord!"
"Sultan Abd er-Rahman!"

"God prolong the life of our Lord!"
He seemed hardly to hear them. Once his hand touched his breast

when the Kaid approached him. After that he looked neither to the right
nor to the left, nor gave any sign of pleasure or recognition.

Nevertheless the people in the streets ceased not to greet him
with deafening acclamations.

"All's well, all's well," they told each other, and pointed
to the white horse--the sign of peace--which the Sultan rode,

and to the riderless black horse--the sign of strife--that pranced
behind him.

The women on the housetops also, in their hooded cloaks,
welcomed the Sultan with a shrill ululation: "Yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo!"

Not content with this, the usual greeting of their sex and nation,
some of them who had hitherto" target="_blank" title="ad.至今，迄今">hitherto been closely veiled threw back

their muslin coverings, exposed their faces to his face,
and welcomed him with more articulate cries.

He gave them neither a smile nor a glance, but rode straight onward.
Beside him walked the fly-flappers, flapping the air

before his podgy cheeks with long scarfs of silk, and behind him
rode his Ministers of State, five sleek dogs who daily fed his appetites

on carrion that his head might be like his stomach, and their power
over him thereby the greater. After the Ministers of State came a part

of the royal hareem. The ladies rode on mules, and were attended
by eunuchs.

Such was the entry into Tetuan of the Sultan Abd er-Rahman.
In their heart of hearts did the people rejoice at his visit? No.

Too well they knew that the tyrant had done nothing for his subjects
but take their taxes. Not a man had he protected from injustice;

not a woman had he saved from dishonour. Never a rich usurer among them
but trembled at his messages, nor a poor wretch but dreaded his dungeons.

His law existed only for himself; his government had no object
but to collect his dues. And yet his people had received him

amid wild vociferations of welcome.
Fear, fear! Fear it was in the heart of the rich man on the housetops,

whose moneys were hidden, as well as in the darkened soul
of the blind beggar at the gate, whose eyes had been gouged out

long ago because he dared not divulge the secret place of his wealth.
But early in the evening of that same day, at the corners

of quiet streets, in the covered ways, by the doors of bazaars,
among the horses tethered in the fondaks, wheresoever two men

could stand and talk unheard and unobserved by a third,
one secret message of twofold significance passed with the voice

of smothered joy from lip to lip. And this was the way
and the word of it:

"She is back in the Kasbah!"
"The daughter of Ben Oliel? Thank God! But why? Has she recanted?"

"She has fallen sick."
"And Ben Aboo has sent her to prison?"

"He thinks that the physician who will cure her quickest."
"Allah save us! The dog of dogs! But God be praised! At least

she is saved from the Sultan."
"For the present, only for the-present."

"For ever, brother, for ever! Listen! your ear. A word of news
for your news: the Mahdi is coming! The boy has been for him."

"Bismillah! Ben Oliel's boy?"
"Ali. He is back in Tetuan. And listen again! Behind the Mahdi

comes the--"
"Ya Allah! well?"

"Hark! A footstep on the street--some one is near--"
"But quick. Behind the Mahdi--what?"

"God will show! In peace, brother, in peace!"
"In peace!"

CHAPTER XXV
THE COMING OF THE MAHDI

The Mahdi came back in the evening. He had no standard-bearers going
before him, no outrunners, no spearmen, no fly-flappers, no ministers

of state; he rode no white stallion in gorgeous trappings,
and was himself bedecked in no snowy garments. His ragged following

he had left behind him; he was alone; he was afoot; a selham
of rough grey cloth was all his bodily adornment; yet he was mightier

than the monarch who had entered Tetuan that day.
He passed through the town not like a sultan, but like a saint;

not like a conquering prince, but like an avenging angel.
Outside the town he had come upon the great body of the Sultan's army

lying encamped under the walls. The townspeople who had shut the soldiers
out, with all the rabble of their following, had nevertheless sent them

fifty camels' load of kesksoo, and it had been served in equal parts,
half a pound to each man. Where this meal had already been eaten,

the usual charlatans of the market-place had been busily plying
their accustomed trades. Black jugglers from Zoos, sham snake-charmers

from the desert, and story-tellers both grave and facetious,
all twanging their hideous ginbri, had been seated on the ground

in half-circles of soldiers and their women. But the Mahdi had broken up
and scattered every group of them.

"Away!" he had cried. "Away with your uncleanness and deception."
And the foulest babbler of them all, hot with the exercise

of the indecent gestures wherewith he illustrated his filthy tale,
had slunk off like a pariah dog.

As the Mahdi entered the town a number of mountaineers in the Feddan
were going through their feats of wonder-play before a multitude

of excited spectators. Two tribes, mounted on wild barbs,
were charging in line from opposite sides of the square, some seated,

some kneeling, some standing. Midway across the market-place
they were charging, horses at full gallop, firing their muskets,

then reining in at a horse's length, throwing their barbs
on their haunches, wheeling round and galloping back, amid deafening shouts

of "Allah! Allah! Allah!"
"Allah indeed!" cried the Mahdi, striding into their midst without fear.

"That is all the part that God plays in this land of iniquity and bloodshed. Away, away!"
The people separated, and the Mahdi turned towards the Kasbah.

As he approached it, the lanes leading to the Feddan were being cleared
for the mad antics of the Aissawa. Before they saw him the fanatics

came out in all the force of their acting brotherhood,
a score of half-naked men, and one other entirely naked,

attended by their high-priests, the Mukaddameen, three old patriarchs
with long white beards, wearing dark flowing robes and carrying torches.

Then goats and dogs were riven alive and eaten raw; while women
and children; crouching in the gathering darkness overhead looked down

from the roofs and shuddered. And as the frenzy increased
among the madmen, and their victims became fewer, each fanatic turned

upon himself, and tore his own skin and battered his head
against the stones until blood ran like water.

"Fools and blind guides!" cried the Mahdi sweeping them before him
like sheep. "Is this how you turn the streets into a sickening sewer?