THE HAWK OF EGYPT
CHAPTER I
"_For in the days we know not of
Did fate begin
Weaving the web of days that wove
Your doom_."
SWINBURNE.
". . . allahu akbar--la ilaha--illa 'llah!"
Across the golden glory of the sky floated the insistent call of the
_muezzin_ just as Damaris, followed closely by Wellington, her bulldog,
turned out of the narrow street into the Khan el-Khalili. Shrill and
sweet, from far and near it came, calling the faithful to prayer,
impelling merchants to leave their wares, buyers their purchases,
gossips their chatter, and to turn in the direction of Mecca and offer
their praise to Allah, who is God.
As the entire male population of the native quarter knelt, the girl
drew back beneath an awning of many colours which shaded silken goods
from the rays of the sun, whilst curious eyes peeped down upon her from
behind the shelter of the _masharabeyeh_, the harem lattice of
finely-carved wood. Yards of silk of every hue lay tumbled inside and
outside the _dukkan_ or shop in the silk-market; silken scarves, plain
and embroidered, hung from strings; silk shawls were spread upon
Persian carpets; a veritable riot of colour against the yellow-white
plaster of the shop walls, above which flamed the sky, a cloak of blue,
embroidered in rose and gold and amethyst.
The native women behind the shelter of the wood lattice or the
_yashmak_ or the all-enveloping _barku_, talked softly together as they
watched the beautiful girl who serenely and quite unveiled walked
amongst men with an animal of surpassing hideousness at her heels.
She stood with her head uncovered--it is permissible at sunset--and
with her face lifted, as she listened to the call to prayer, so that a
sun-ray silting in through the silks blazed down upon the positively
red curls which rioted all over her head and were of a tone sharper
than henna, yet many times removed from the shades of red known as
carrots or ginger.
Her skin was _matte_, her mouth crimson, and curved, the teeth perfect,
and her heavily-lashed eyes of so deep a purple as to appear black.
She was slim and supple, unencumbered by anything more confining than a
suspender-belt, a fortnight off her eighteenth birthday and entirely
lovable in looks, ways and temperament in the eyes of all mankind,
which includes women.
The prayer over, and the men again about the business of the hour, she
enquired her way of the vendor of silks who, having quickly replaced
his shoes, had as hastily returned to his shop, his heart rejoicing at
the prospect of perhaps one or two hours' more bargaining--for where is
to be found the Oriental who knows the value of time?
Loving animals, Damaris wanted to find that corner near the silk-market
where can be purchased anything from a camel to a hunting cheetah, a
greyhound to a falcon.
It is not wise for European women to saunter about the old Arabian
quarter unaccompanied, especially if they have been blessed by the gods
in the ways of looks. Damaris Hethencourt most certainly ought not to
have been there, but you must perforce follow the path Fate has marked
out for you, whether it leads through country lanes, or Piccadilly, or
the Arab quarter of Cairo.
The vendor of silks salaamed deeply before her beauty and the
graciousness of her manner, for 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.
