It is finished. They rise and hurry to the parade. The Emirs plant their
flags, and all form in the ranks. Woe to the laggard; and let the speedy
see that he wear his newest jibba, and carry a sharp sword and at least
three spears. Presently the array is complete.
A salute of seven guns is fired. Mounted on a fine camel, which is led
by a gigantic Nubian, and attended by perhaps two hundred horsemen in
chain armour, the Khalifa rides on to the ground and along the ranks.
It is a good muster. Few have dared absent themselves. Yet his brow is
clouded. What has happened? Is there another revolt in the west? Do the
Abyssinians threaten Gallabat? Have the black troops mutinied; or is it
only some harem quarrel?
The parade is over. The troops march back to the arsenal. The rifles
are collected, and the warriors disperse to their homes. Many hurry to
the market-place to make purchases, to hear the latest rumour, or to
watch the executions--for there are usually executions. Others stroll to
the Suk-er-Rekik and criticise the points of the slave girls as the
dealers offer them for sale. But the Khalifa has returned to his house,
and his council have been summoned. The room is small, and the ruler sits
cross-legged upon his couch. Before him squat the Emirs and Kadis. Yakub
is there, with Ali-Wad-Helu and the Khalifa Sherif. Only the Sheikh-ed-Din
is absent, for he is a dissolute youth and much given to drinking.
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