silk, embroidered in gold.  Solomon’s seal was stamped on its headgear, and the tooth of a boar—­a safeguard against the evil eye—­was suspended from its neck.  Its saddle was of orange damask, with girths of stout silk, and its stirrups were of chased silver.  The Sultan’s own trappings were of the colour of his horse.  His kaftan was of white cloth, with an embroidered leathern girdle; his turban was of white cotton, and his kisa was also white and transparent.

As he passed under the archway of the town’s gate the cannon of the Kasbah boomed forth a salute, Ben Aboo dismounted and kissed his stirrup, and the crowds in the streets burst upon him with blessings.

“God bless our Lord!”

“Sultan Abd er-Rahman!”

“God prolong the life of our Lord!”

He seemed hardly to hear them.  Once his hand touched his breast when the Kaid approached him.  After that he looked neither to the right nor to the left, nor gave any sign of pleasure or recognition.  Nevertheless the people in the streets ceased not to greet him with deafening acclamations.

“All’s well, all’s well,” they told each other, and pointed to the white horse—­the sign of peace—­which the Sultan rode, and to the riderless black horse—­the sign of strife—­that pranced behind him.

The women on the housetops also, in their hooded cloaks, welcomed the Sultan with a shrill ululation:  “Yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo, yoo-yoo!”

Not content with this, the usual greeting of their sex and nation, some of them who had hitherto been closely veiled threw back their muslin coverings, exposed their faces to his face, and welcomed him with more articulate cries.

He gave them neither a smile nor a glance, but rode straight onward.  Beside him walked the fly-flappers, flapping the air before his podgy cheeks with long scarfs of silk, and behind him rode his Ministers of State, five sleek dogs who daily fed his appetites on carrion that his head might be like his stomach, and their power over him thereby the greater.  After the Ministers of State came a part of the royal hareem.  The ladies rode on mules, and were attended by eunuchs.

Such was the entry into Tetuan of the Sultan Abd er-Rahman.  In their heart of hearts did the people rejoice at his visit?  No.  Too well they knew that the tyrant had done nothing for his subjects but take their taxes.  Not a man had he protected from injustice; not a woman had he saved from dishonour.  Never a rich usurer among them but trembled at his messages, nor a poor wretch but dreaded his dungeons.  His law existed only for himself; his government had no object but to collect his dues.  And yet his people had received him amid wild vociferations of welcome.

Fear, fear!  Fear it was in the heart of the rich man on the housetops, whose moneys were hidden, as well as in the darkened soul of the blind beggar at the gate, whose eyes had been gouged out long ago because he dared not divulge the secret place of his wealth.