Death Beneath Jerusalem Page 17

  “I’m listening,” said Esther; “but I warn you, you’re going to pay heavily for your amusement if ever I get free. I suppose you realize that my father might come over here at any moment—and Jackson too.”

  Hayson gave a complacent laugh. “I admire your spirit, my dear—it is one of the most adorable things about you; but I assure you everything is arranged. There will be no more mistakes.”

  “We shall see,” said Esther. “Well, go ahead with what you want to say—though I’m not in the least interested.”

  “You will be; but we’re wasting time. First of all, then, let me correct one of your major misapprehensions. Garve has no doubt told you, and you firmly believe, that I have tried to kill him because of you—because I was jealous of him. It hurts me that you should believe that. I suppose in a way it is a sort of compliment to a woman to want to kill a rival, but most women prefer their compliments more delicately turned these days. I’ll admit freely that I was jealous of him, but I wouldn’t have killed him for that. The simple fact is, Esther, that I am at war, and Garve is on the other side.”

  “At war?”

  “Literally—and I want you to grant me belligerent rights. You see, I am not an Englishman. I hate and abominate the English for their arrogance and stupidity. My mother was Welsh. She came to Jerusalem before the war as secretary to an English diplomat. She married my father in Jerusalem. My father was—an Arab.”

  “An Arab! But …”

  “I know all that you are going to say. You English are all alike. No doubt to you, in your insular ignorance, an Arab is just another sort of native. That, at least, is how you have treated us. My father was light-skinned, very handsome, and exceptionally cultured and intelligent. He was wealthy enough to travel when he was young, to study in Europe. Perhaps I differ from him only in two respects—my skin is even lighter than his, and he admired the English. He thought the English could be trusted. He served with Lawrence against the Turks during the war, believing that England would liberate his countrymen as she promised. He was killed in action, fighting side by side with British troops. His name, by the way, was Hussein. When I went to England to study, soon after the war, and took my mother with me, it seemed simpler to call myself Hayson and pretend to be English. Even then I felt that one day I should be of service to my countrymen, and dimly I could see that I might be more useful if my origin remained a secret. That was made all the easier because I was born in England. Tell me, am I boring you?”

  “No,” said Esther, who was staring up, fascinated, at his brilliant eyes. “Go on.”

  “I did well at Oxford. I was interested in antiquities and attracted the attention of some influential people. Sometimes I met Arab nationalist leaders in London, and my father’s name was a password to their confidence, because they had known his sincerity and loved him. I told them that in due course they could count on me. Then my mother died, and I found myself free to pursue my plans, with almost unlimited money at my disposal. I travelled extensively in Europe and Asia. Ostensibly, I was ‘digging up the past’ —and making a very good job of it—but actually I was making valuable diplomatic contacts, and interesting people who mattered in the cause of Arab nationalism. I was also getting into touch with the agents of armament firms and investigating the best ways of smuggling arms into this country. As our friend Garve has undoubtedly realized, arms have been pouring across the frontiers for years. I have been making secret preparations for a revolt ever since my first visit to Palestine. I have been trusted to organize and lead the revolt. And now—we are ready to strike.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Esther broke in.

  “I’m sorry. I must ask you to be patient—there’s more to tell yet. I’m trying to make it clear to you, in the first place, that I’m not just the common assassin you thought me, nor yet a traitor. I have no compunction about the consequences of this revolt. It will mean bloodshed on a tremendous scale—cruelty, suffering, destruction. I lay the responsibility for that at England’s door. The English are a smug and hypocritical people. With what altruism they accepted the “burden” of this mandate over Palestine!—a country which they know will give them command of all the Eastern Mediterranean. I come from a proud people, and you have continually treated us as inferiors. To us you are an invader, just as the Turk was an invader. In the name of a government which we detest, and an order which we despise, you shoot and bomb and burn without mercy. Under your protection the most fertile parts of the land have been taken over from our ignorant peasants and handed to the Jews. Our interests have been ignored, our homes broken up. Gradually we are being pushed back by the Jewish immigration into the barren mountains. We have seen the Jews pouring into the country in disregard of your immigration schedules, arming themselves against us with your blessing. We know that they will not be content even when they have snatched the whole of Palestine. Some of them talk openly of the time when they will be strong enough to seize Transjordan too. We have used every peaceful means in our power to persuade you of the justice of our claims. You have sent out Royal Commissions and affirmed your good faith, and still the Jewish immigration goes on. It is to your interests to found a Jewish State, and your interests, as always, are more to you than justice.”

  “There may be truth in what you say,” said Esther slowly. “I believe you are sincere and —I’m impressed. But what can I do? Why tell me?”

  “I must still ask you to be patient for a little longer. I assure you that I have not had you brought here with a violence which I deplore in order to make a political speech to you or work off my indignation on you. In an hour or two our anger will take a more explosive and effective form. But before I tell you why I have brought you here, I am going to tell you something of our plans.”

  “Surely that’s very indiscreet?”

  “My dear Esther, unless you fall in with them you will, I’m afraid, never have the opportunity to talk about them—at least until it is too late. In the first place, I want to make it clear to you that this revolt will succeed. It differs from all previous outbreaks. This time we are fully armed. Gun for gun and bomb for bomb we can meet you, and we have an enormous preponderance of man-power. Over in that bureau is a document which your country would give thousands for. It is a complete list of over a hundred secret ammunition depots scattered through the mountains. We shall strike so swiftly and so powerfully that your aeroplanes will be rendered useless by our control of the aerodromes. In twenty-four hours your troops will be driven into the sea—unless …”

  “Unless what?”

  Hayson smiled. “I was hurrying along too fast. There is one thing, and one thing only, which can stop this revolt from happening at once. Let us, however, suppose for the moment that it is not stopped. In thirty-five minutes from now I shall leave this house—without you, I’m afraid—and walk over to your father’s. Your father will be seized—as you were seized, quite easily. He will be persuaded to write or sign an urgent message to the British military authorities, saying that he has been kidnapped by Ali Kemal —you have heard of Kemal?—and carried into the Mountains of Moab near Petra. Actually he will be in Solomon’s Quarries all the time.”

  “He would never sign such a thing.”

  “I said he would be persuaded,” observed Hayson, and Esther felt her blood run cold at his tone. “I anticipate no difficulty at all. The letter will then be brought to the notice of the authorities, and it will be of such a character that its authenticity will not be questioned. It will say that the tribes are in revolt in Transjordan and preparing an attack on Palestine, that the position is desperate, and that the Arabs have sworn to kill him—in a most unpleasant way —in twenty-four hours if their demands for independence are not met—or words to that effect.”

  “You devil!” cried Esther.

  “No, no,” said Hayson; “you do me less than justice. As I say, your father will be safely in the quarries all the time. But see what will happen next. The British, furious that their man has be
en taken, dreading the political repercussions in England if he is killed, will at once send a strong body of troops and ’ planes into Transjordan. When all the aeroplanes are off the ground we shall seize the aerodromes. Your reinforcements will still be in the Mediterranean. We shall watch the troops rushing in their lorries from Haifa and Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, taking their machine-guns and bombs with them, hastening into the mountains to save the life of their countryman and administer ruthless punishment to the kidnappers. We shall watch them, and how we shall laugh. Always it has been so easy for them in the past—they have had to deal only with sporadic unorganized attempts—never with armed intelligence. When they are miles away in the hills they will be attacked from strongly fortified positions and decimated by our ambushes. But their fate features insignificantly in our plot. Their departure will be our signal. As they ride away, the cities will revolt behind them. The Jews will be massacred. Jerusalem, with its great walls and its solid rock will be turned into an impregnable fortification. We shall sweep down over the plains to the sea, almost without encountering resistance. Your country will have only one weapon which we cannot equal—its navy and naval bombers. The navy may bombard the coast and land a great army under its guns, but by that time we shall have built an impregnable barrier inland away from the guns. It is planned to the last detail—and we shall win.”

  Hayson’s face was flushed with a great enthusiasm, but his words fell slowly, confidently from his lips. He talked as one who is master of his circumstances and assured of his strength.

  “Of course,” he went on, watching Esther closely, “war is war. Once the revolt has started I cannot promise to control the natural anger of my countrymen. They will, I am afraid, subject your father to frightful indignities and no little physical distress before they kill him. Your own fate would be no longer a matter which I could control. Were I to show any mercy, I should be killed as a traitor myself. What would happen to you I am content to leave to your imagination—which I am sure is vivid. But—and this is what I have been leading up to all the time—there is a way out. I cannot guarantee to prevent the revolt, nor would I wish to do so, but I can postpone it until you and your father are safely away. Whether that happens depends on you, and you alone.”

  “I think I know just what you are going to say,” said Esther very quietly.

  “I am sure you do—to any intelligent woman it must be obvious. You see, Esther, you are a quite exceptionally beautiful and attractive woman. I want you as I have never wanted anything before. For ten years I have been filled with one purpose—to smash your country’s power in Palestine—but—I am no stronger than Antony or Caesar. I know that, if this revolt succeeded, I could just take you for myself—have you as a forced mistress and win applause from my people for doing so. If I were wholly Arab, I might do that, for women are nothing in the East. Give me credit for rejecting that alternative. I know that I am bringing pressure upon your mind and body, but, believe me, after my fashion I love you as truly as anyone has ever loved. So much do I love you, so intensely do I want your love, that I am prepared to abandon the revolt to its fate if you say the word. I know I speak without emotion—there is no time for passion, and I have weighed this up already and come to this decision through much mental anguish.”

  He dropped down on the couch beside her. “Listen, Esther,” he cried in burning tones, “come away with me. I have in my pocket at this moment two steamship passages to Italy. A boat leaves Port Said at ten to-night, and my car is ready. Before the revolt breaks we shall be across Sinai and over the Egyptian frontier. To-morrow we will be married on the boat. I have money in plenty—you can live where in the world you like, have everything you want. I swear to you that I will cherish you and be faithful to you for ever. Only say yes!”

  “And my father?” asked Esther weakly.

  “I have already prepared a letter to him. Not one which merely advises him, for his own safety, to leave, since I know, and you know, that he would ignore it. A letter which you must copy quickly and sign, telling him that I have abducted you, and urging him to follow you to the boat. I will arrange that he gets it early enough to ensure his escape—too late for him to catch the boat. Esther, my love, say yes. Time is pressing.”

  “I don’t love you,” said Esther slowly. “I would sooner die than come. If your love were as real as you say you would not put me to this torture. In every way the step you want to take is unworthy. You began to make me respect your sincerity as an Arab; even to make me admire you for your ability and courage—as an enemy. I despise your weakness now.”

  “Not weakness,” broke in Hayson eagerly. “Sacrifice! The revolt will be postponed a few hours, perhaps, but it will happen. I am sacrificing, not my country, but myself—honour and prestige, the trust of my countrymen, the leadership with all that it may hold—perhaps my life. No doubt you have heard what happens to Arabs in Palestine who betray their trust. They are hunted down and killed. Our discipline is ruthless. Once a conspirator falls under suspicion of treachery or weakness, however slight, he is lost —and rightly, for only on that basis is revolution possible. Knowing that risk, I am prepared to face it.”

  “A gamble,” murmured Esther, “with myself as the prize. For life I should be tied to a man whom I feared and hated. If I tried to leave you I suppose you would kill me. You have made it clear enough how ruthless you can be. Your suggestion is one which does not consider me. There is no unselfishness in this tawdry thing which you call love—nothing that I could ever value. You insult me by supposing that I could ever be satisfied with it.”

  Hayson’s face was suddenly wet with perspiration and paler than she had ever seen it.

  “You little fool,” he said, and now there was a new hardness about his mouth and eyes. “When it’s too late you’ll regret this stupidity and think better of my offer. I know what’s in your mind—that blundering Englishman, Garve. You love him, don’t you? You rely upon him? Well, where is he now? Racing off along a trail that’s been specially laid for him. He’ll be killed, of course. It’s useless for you to expect help from him. Come, Esther, be sensible. Think, while there’s time, of the alternatives before you.” He tapped his breast pocket significantly. “Here is freedom, love, and admiration; a life of leisure and luxury, of travel and new sights, new skies, new climates, dress and jewels, social influence. This would not be the first time that a woman had married without great love and lived happily with such opportunities surrounding her.”

  “The picture doesn’t attract me,” said Esther coldly. “I don’t trust you, and I should hate to live with you. That’s my final word.”

  “How final,” said Hayson, “even you, perhaps, hardly appreciate—if you insist on it. I cannot believe that you will be so foolish. Look ahead. Do you realize that, if you send me away, in a few hours you will be the plaything—the toy—of any hooligan who finds you? Do you realize that strange filthy hands will be fondling and enjoying that beautiful body of yours? Do you know that before many days are past you will be praying for death, if only it may come easily, and cursing yourself for your folly to-night?”

  “If the future is black whichever way one looks,” said Esther, “it is better not to look at all. There is always the possibility that something may go wrong with your plans.” She spoke with courage, but her heart was like lead, and sudden tears of anguish filled her eyes. Within herself she felt that Hayson was right about the things to come. She was so helpless here. So entirely alone. If only Garve had been in Jerusalem there would still have seemed some hope. Without him, the city was empty. She was utterly miserable, and Hayson’s very presence was repugnant to her. His coldly menacing attitude during this interview had filled her with such a loathing of him as she had never expected to feel towards any man. Yet the thought of her father was heavy upon her. It was a dreadful thing even to be told that one had the power in one’s hands to save a beloved person from frightful suffering, and yet deliberately to refuse to use that power. If she lived and
her father died at the hands of the Arabs, she would hear the groans of his tortured agony in her sleep at night, and would never know whether he had died peacefully or not. Always, inevitably, she would blame herself. Was it not better, perhaps, to give herself to Hayson? One day she might succeed in giving him the slip—it was unthinkable that he could keep her tied all her life. But to start with —to have to endure this man’s passion at his will. He swore to be faithful, but she could not trust him or his Eastern blood. How likely it was that she would simply finish as a concubine—despised and discarded. She would always be afraid of his power and his will—in time, perhaps, she might give up the struggle and succumb to it altogether, so that mentally as well as physically she would be his chattel. Could anyone demand that sacrifice from her? In any case she did not trust Hayson’s promises about her father. He wanted her, and would say anything to get her.

  “Well,” said Hayson impatiently, “I’m still waiting. In ten minutes I have to be away from here. Shall it be by car with you to Egypt, or alone to complete my plans at your father’s house?”

  Esther’s knuckles showed white when she clenched her small hands in distress, but her words came firmly from her lips.

  “I’ll never go with you, Hayson. Never. You can do what you like with me—you have the power and opportunity; but, voluntarily, I’ll never give myself to you.”

  “It’s a pity,” said Hayson; and now he suddenly resumed the tones of studied sarcasm which he had used at the beginning of their interview. It was as though, with an effort of will, he had slammed a door on his emotions, not without a certain feeling of relief, and become again the cold, efficient conspirator.

  He smiled sardonically. “Perhaps, after all, you have saved my soul. I shall not now have earned the name of traitor.” He affected to sigh. “Well, I’m afraid I must trouble you.”

  “For what?” asked Esther in sudden apprehension.