Chapter 3

Late in the evening, King Zendi himself arrived, accompanied by a dozen neighbours. After a consoling word with Fara, he left her, saying that he and the Queen would see her tomorrow. Fara lay on her bed, with eyes closed and a pillow pressed hard over her head so that she might not hear the sounds of retiring hoofbeats. When she roused, everything was quiet. The full moon shone brightly through the tent-door. Ione slipped in very quietly. Fara sat up, patted the bed, and Ione obediently sat down beside her.

‘I want you to do something for me, Ione,’ said Fara, hardly above a whisper, ‘and I want you to promise me you will never, never tell.’

Ione’s voice trembled a little as she promptly consented.

Fara faced her with sober eyes.

‘I want you to hold up your hand, Ione, and swear by your gods that you will do for me what I ask of you—and never reveal it to anyone!’

Ione hesitated and began to cry.

‘I wish I knew, dear,’ she said, brokenly. ‘I hope this isn’t something you shouldn’t do!’

‘Let me be the judge of that!’ Fara’s tone was severe. ‘Will you do as I say—and keep my secret?’

Ione protestingly put up a trembling hand and said, ‘Yes, Fara—I will do as you wish—and never tell.’

Rising impetuously, Fara went to a small table where she kept her needlework, returning with a pair of scissors which she handed to the bewildered slave.

‘You are to cut off my hair!’ Fara wound her fingers about her heavy braid, at the back of her neck. ‘There! See, Ione? Just above my hand. I am to be a boy. Cut it like Voldi’s.’

Ione was whimpering like a child.

‘You promised!’ Fara shook her roughly by the shoulder. ‘Don’t sit there crying! Do as I say—and do it quickly!’

Still gasping incoherent protests, Ione committed the crime. When it was accomplished, Fara retired to the alcove and presently returned to exhibit herself in the conventional garb of a well-to-do young Arabian, the burnous patterned after Voldi’s best.

‘How do I look?’ she demanded.

‘Where did you get it?’ asked Ione in a strained voice.

‘Made it,’ said Fara, ‘a long time ago.’

‘But why? What are you going to do?’

‘I am going very far away, Ione, to keep a vow,’ declared Fara. ‘Now—see to it that you keep yours!’

The alarming news broke early in the morning. Old Kedar rode to the King’s encampment with the appalling report that Fara had disappeared during the night. The fractious bay filly that she had insisted on stabling in a separate paddock was gone. Zendi sent word to a score of young cavalrymen, informing them of what had happened. In his opinion, Fara, beside herself with grief and unable to sleep, had gone for a reckless ride in the moonlight. Perhaps she had met with an accident. They set off in all directions.

Voldi dashed away at a gallop along their favourite bridle-path skirting the rim of the plateau. At places where the trail was narrow and the descent precipitous, he dismounted and led his tired horse slowly, searching for ominous signs. When the late afternoon came, his hopes were fading. He was no longer meeting anxious friends engaged in the quest, for he was many miles beyond the furthest point he had ever travelled.

Slowly he retraced his course as the twilight settled down. At intervals, where the path was dangerous, he stopped and listened into the deep silence, and despairingly called, ‘Fara! Fara!’