THE FLIGHT FROM TAJ 237 



thankful when, just before sunset, the tireless Zouia 

 called a halt beside an immense sandbank and the 

 morning meal was repeated. 



"We will take a glass of tea to refresh us," said 

 our host modestly, but very soon another savoury mess 

 was being stewed in the capacious pot, while Saleh 

 Effendi produced fresh mint leaves which had been given 

 him at Tolab. This time everyone ate swiftly, plunging 

 great chunks of bread into the basin of stewed vegetables 

 and meat, but once again I was provided with a separate 

 meal tastefully arranged on wicker plates. In half an 

 hour we were in the saddle again, but the animals were 

 tired and the sunset blazed behind us before we drew 

 near the dark shadow of Zuruk. A three-quarter moon 

 mingled her silver light with the red of the flaming west 

 and the amber sands reflected the most extraordinary 

 colours, which changed in the unreal light like the trans- 

 formation scene in the pantomime. The pace was just 

 too quick to walk in the soft, deep sand, so I had to cling 

 to my painful saddle for another three hours. In star- 

 light we had left Jof. In starlight we returned to it, 

 steering by a glazing fire set to guide us to the gardens 

 of Sayed Rida, from where Mahmud el-Jeddawi had 

 asked us to bring some sacks of dates, probably for our 

 own journey. The scene of the early morning was re- 

 peated, for the Sayed's black slaves, fantastic figures in 

 tattered sacking or shreds of cotton, brought bundles of 

 palm leaves for a fire and poured a great pile of hard 

 golden dates on to a huge woven platter. We crunched 

 these as we rested our aching bones on hastily spread 

 carpets, while more and more ebony figures joined the 

 group and just the heads of the camels solemnly chewing 

 the cud came into the circle of wavering firelight under 

 the stars. 



The last hour's ride was very slow, for the hejin were 



