This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. http://books.google.com | WILLIAM CHARVAT American Fiction Collection The Ohio State University Libraries “This heart of mine will I lay into your heart!” THE FOOL OF GOD - A HISTORICA 1. NOVEL - * BY ANDREW, KLARMANN, A.M. ACTHOR or “THE* PRINCEs- or GAN-f..Art.” * * “Niza* * A" “LIFE IN THE SHADow of DEATH," Ere. *tenerick * gustet & Co., at listers > * = w YORK, CINCINNATI, RAT ISBON, ROME, MCMXII * of mine w * our he *1 t" - ill I lay into y THE FOOL OF GOD A HISTORICAL NOVEL f: BY ANDREW'KLARMANN, A.M. AUTHOR OF “THE PRINCEss oF GAN-SAR,” 97 “NIZRA”st “LIFE IN THE SHADow OF DEATH,” ETC. ( / ) (, 6– ) # 3 ) (#) Library St. Francis Friary 1615 Vine Street Cincinnati 10, Ohio] 3 rebetick?'ustet & Co., publishers NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, RATISBON, ROME, MCMXII 3.11 rights reserve? Copyright, 1312 FR. PUSTET & CO. NEw York AND CINCINNATI Qhe #eel of (5ch ©itapter 3 irst FALLEN AMONG ROBBERS : BLOODY battle had been fought. The | signs, remnants, and results of it were in evidence everywhere. The black, blood #N soaked lumps of sand scraped and kicked up by the feet of camels and dromedaries frenzied with the tumult of the fight, broken shafts of lances, the crude hilt of a sword, shreds of garments, quilted head coverings, and several dead bodies stretched out in pools of blood, made up the picture of one of the ordinary occurrences of travel through the desert of Shur in those olden days. It was very late in the day. The gray veils of evening were floating like shadows in the amber air, lone and slow, as if afraid to descend upon the gruesome scene, the finger-mark of hatred between brethren imprinted on the dead sand. Far out towards the north was seen a troop of camel riders in precipitate flight. They were vanishing so fast that they grew darker and smaller with the pass ing moments, and that in a few minutes nothing of their forms could be distinguished save the few whitish 3 4 THE FOOL OF GOD dots of their flying mantles scattered here and there among the quickly moving brownish mass formed by their beasts in silhouette against the somber desert sky. They had long left the road of the caravans. Their course was slowly declining in a northwesterly direc tion, towards the Walls of the Princes of the North, the Gate of Egypt from Asia. But between their intention and their goal lay the Nahal Musri, the watery boundary line of Egypt towards the East, a torrent at times of a most violent and uncompromising temper and disposition. In a shallow depression of the monotonous ground hard by the road of the caravans, and only a stone's throw from the scene of the recent fray, several dozen camels were moving about, nervous, with the excite ment of the battle and the satisfaction of their success plainly visible in their exaggerated and silent stride and the frisky tossing of their bald heads. They were nosing each other with bubbling good-humor, and rubbing their sides against each other, and still were constantly stamping about without rest and their usual composure. Their riders were sitting on the ground at one end of the hollow, busy with repairing and cleaning their weapons. Here one was diligently scouring a mis chievously crooked steel blade, there, another was mending the broken pole of citron wood which had served him as a javelin, and had snapped in two at the outset, and still another was energetically whetting the head of a lance which had been nicked and dulled by the heavy blows of the swords of their adversaries. But Rachor, their leader, a man of the build of the wild 1 Wady el Arish, * FALLEN AMONG ROBBERS 5 ass, arising after he had cleaned his cudgel that seemed the emblem of his strength and prowess, grasped the mighty instrument of battle with both hands, and weighing it critically for a test of its trustiness, raised it and whirled it about his head, uttering a tri umphant challenge: “We are ready again for a pass with our foe!” And Phares, a much younger man, and on terms of intimacy with Rachor, replied joyfully: “No fear of a lack of such diversion so long as the Midianites can stretch a bow and stride a beast!” At hearing the voice of the leader, a large camel, carrying a canopied and covered wicker basket on its bag' stamped through the throng of the other beasts, forcing them aside right and left, and, reaching the spot where Rachor and Phares were exchanging opin ions, ' its soft mouth with a smack into Rachor's face. “Merob,” he protested vehemently, “down on your knees, you unmannered beast!” And he planted a vigorous slap on the busy lips of Merob with the palm of his hand. The camel instantly knelt down and heavily laid its head on the shoulder of one of the disinterested and unsuspecting members of the troop. As Merob went down, Rachor stooped over the basket, turned aside the canopy, and raised the wicker COVer. “Are they gone?” a small frightened voice piped up from the depths of the basket. “Yes, my pet,” Rachor responded tenderly; “they are gone so far that they could not find their way back in a week. And in a week we expect to be safe within the walls of Mizraim" and to give our darling a holiday or two.” Meanwhile the curly head of a ten-year-old girl had * Egypt. 6 THE FOOL OF GOD appeared above the rim of the curious carriage. Her face brightened slowly from the look of fear into a smile of gratitude and pleasure; then a pair of white arms were pushed out from the wide sleeves of a linen tunic and were twined about Rachor's neck with a hearty embrace, and the small cherry lips sought Rachor's shaggy cheek. “Thank you, thank you, Father Rachor,” the child stammered; “I would at all events rather go into Egypt and join the priests than fall into the hands of the godless Midianites.” The child's caress and speech produced a complete fascination on the gray-headed chief; a fascination such as plainly lacked the touch of familiarity of parental affection, just as the child's reverent address of “Father” Rachor lacked the intimacy of filial trust, but rather bore the distinct odor of reserve; but a fascination that visibly tended towards ecstasy. “Father” Rachor was surely not the father of this "child, and this child appealed to a higher sense of love in him than is animated by the sacred instinct of earthly parenthood. When the girl lightly expressed her preference, or, rather, resignation, of joining the priests, Rachor vainly struggled to suppress a smile of diffidence. His eyes ran up and down the lithe little figure in his hands with mute, and yet not doubtful admiration. He must have knowledge of the destiny of the child from some certain, unquestionable source, of which he might know the existence without being sure of its nature; as one may admire the sparkling fire of the diamond without understanding its cause. Rachor eyed the girl with wrapt attention. Her delicate face was yet wearing the slight frown of her protest against company with the wicked Midianites; FALLEN AMONG ROBBERS 7 but he seemed oblivious of the embarrassment so pro tracted an inspection was bound to cause a helpless mite who, despite this affectionate scrutiny, remained recollected, and, reading his interest in his face, ap peared to unite her own speculation with his, looking backward far beyond their present concerns and con dition. “May the blessing of your fathers rest upon your head forever,” at last murmured Rachor, and with one hand parting her tunic a little, directly be neath her throat, reverently imprinted a kiss upon a mark visible on her breast, of the shape of a small, three-armed cross, and of the color of the hyacinth. But at that moment there sounded a shout of alarm from one of the two guards who had been posted at the entrance of the hollow on the top of two horns of the riven rock which surrounded the place of their retreat. The depression in which they were camping was probably an old, dried-up salt pool, unevenly filled with the fine sand and dust which the winds of the desert had for many years blown into it, and was bordered by a ring of crumbling rock like the brim of a wine goblet battered from strenuous service of many years. Between the rifts and cracks where a little moisture might remain from a straying cloud of a capricious winter, scanty tufts of wiry grass, several hard-and-dry thorn bushes, and giant thistles as hardy and dry as the thorns had made their home. Their presence did not enhance the appearance of hospitality. Beneath them may be lurking the poisonous toad, lizards of shape and humor ugly, and other disgusting vermin. They may even conceal a creature more hostile to man than the weird creeping dwellers of darkness - a hostile brother-man. 8 THE FOOL OF GOD At the shout from the post, both guards leaped to the bottom of the hole; the camp was in an uproar; every man was on his feet, and every beast pointed its nose inquisitively into the air.