Abdul Ali, on the other hand, played more a king-maker’s role, dark and sinister in contrast to their finery, on a dark brown horse that trotted in a business-like, hurry-up-and-get-it-done-with manner.  He rode in the German military style, and if you can imagine the Kaiser in Arab military head-dress, with high black riding boots showing under a brown cloak, you have his description fairly closely.  The upturned moustaches and the scowl increased the suggestion, and I think that was deliberate.

“A dog—­offspring of dogs!  Curse his religion and his bed!” growled Anazeh in my ear.

The old sheikh allowed his enemy plenty of time.  To judge by the way the men behind us gathered up their reins and closed in knee-to-knee, they would have liked to spoil Abdul Ali’s afternoon by riding through his procession and breaking its formation.  But Anazeh had his mind set, and they seemed to know better than to try to change it for him.  We waited until noises in the street died down, and then Ahmed was sent to report on developments.

“Abdul Ali has gone into the mejlis and the doors are closed,” he announced five minutes later.  That seemed to suit Anazeh perfectly, for his eyes lit up with satisfaction.  Evidently being excluded from the council was his meat and drink.  He gave no order, but rode forward and his men followed as a snake’s tail follows its head, four abreast, each man holding his rifle as best suited him; that gave them a much more warlike appearance than if they had imitated the western model of exact conformity.

We rode down-street toward the castle at a walk, between very interested spectators who knew enough to make way without being told.  And at the castle gate we were challenged by a man on foot, who commanded about twice our number of armed guards.

“The hour is passed,” he announced.  “The order is to admit no late-comers.”

“Who gives orders to me?” Anazeh retorted.

“It was agreed by all the notables.”

“I did not agree.  Wallah!  Thou dog of a devil’s dung-heap, say you I am not a notable?”

“Nevertheless—­”

“Open that gate!”

They opened it.  Two of the men began to do it even before their chief gave the reluctant order.  Anazeh started to ride through with his men crowding behind.  But that, it seemed, was altogether too much liberty to take with the arrangements.  Shouting all together, the gate-guards surged in to take hold of bridles and force Anazeh’s dependents back.  Teeth and eyes flashed.  It looked like the makings of a red-hot fight.

“No retainers allowed within the gate!  Principals only!” roared the captain of the guard, in Arabic that sounded like explosions of boiling oil.

Anazeh, Mahommed ben Hamza and I were already within the courtyard.  Four of Anazeh’s followers made their way, through after us before any one could prevent them.  At that moment there came a tremendous clattering of hoofs and the crowd outside the gate scattered this and that way in front of about a hundred of the other chiefs’ dependents, who had dutifully stayed outside and had sought shade some little distance off.