And another says:—
"Were not my little daughters Like soft chicks huddling by me, Through earth and all its waters To win bread would I roam free. Our children among us going, Our very hearts they be; The wind upon them blowing Would banish sleep from me."185
"Odi et amo": these words of the poet might serve as an epitome of Bedouin ethics. For, if the heathen Arab was, as we have seen, a good friend to his friends, he had in the same degree an intense and deadly feeling Treatment of enemies. of hatred towards his enemies. He who did not strike back when struck was regarded as a coward. No honourable man could forgive an injury or fail to avenge it. An Arab, smarting under the loss of some camels driven off by raiders, said of his kin who refused to help him:—
"For all their numbers, they are good for naught, My people, against harm however light: They pardon wrong by evildoers wrought, Malice with lovingkindness they requite."186
The last verse, which would have been high praise in the mouth of a Christian or Muḥammadan moralist, conveyed to those who heard it a shameful reproach. The approved method of dealing with an enemy is set forth plainly enough in the following lines:—
"Humble him who humbles thee, close tho' be your kindredship: If thou canst not humble him, wait till he is in thy grip. Friend him while thou must; strike hard when thou hast him on the hip."187
Above all, blood called for blood. This obligation lay heavy on the conscience of the pagan Arabs. Vengeance, with them, was "almost a physical necessity, Blood-revenge. which if it be not obeyed will deprive its subject of sleep, of appetite, of health." It was a tormenting thirst which nothing would quench except blood, a disease of honour which might be described as madness, although it rarely prevented the sufferer from going to work with coolness and circumspection. Vengeance was taken upon the murderer, if possible, or else upon one of his fellow-tribesmen. Usually this ended the matter, but in some cases it was the beginning of a regular blood-feud in which the entire kin of both parties were involved; as, e.g., the murder of Kulayb led to the Forty Years' War between Bakr and Taghlib.188 The slain man's next of kin might accept a blood-wit ( diya), commonly paid in camels—the coin of the country—as atonement for him. If they did so, however, it was apt to be cast in their teeth that they preferred milk ( i.e., she-camels) to blood.189 The true Arab feeling is expressed in verses like these:—
"With the sword will I wash my shame away, Let God's doom bring on me what it may!"190
It was believed that until vengeance had been taken for the dead man, his spirit appeared above his tomb in the shape of an owl ( hámaor ṣadá), crying " Isqúní" ("Give me to drink"). But pagan ideas of vengeance were bound up with the Past far more than with the Future. The shadowy after-life counted for little or nothing beside the deeply-rooted memories of fatherly affection, filial piety, and brotherhood in arms.
Though liable to abuse, the rough-and-ready justice of the vendetta had a salutary effect in restraining those who would otherwise have indulged their lawless instincts without fear of punishment. From our point of view, however, its interest is not so much that of a primitive institution as of a pervading element in old Arabian life and literature. Full, or even adequate, illustration of this topic would carry me far beyond the limits of my plan. I have therefore selected from the copious material preserved in the Book of Songsa characteristic story which tells how Qays b. al-Khaṭím took vengeance on the murderers of his father and his grandfather.191
It is related on the authority of Abú ‘Ubayda that ‘Adí b. ‘Amr, the grandfather of Qays, was slain by a man named Málik belonging to the Banú ‘Amr b. ‘Ámir b. Rabí‘a b. ‘Ámir b. The story of the vengeance of Qays b. al-Khaṭím. Ṣa‘ṣa‘a; and his father, Khaṭím b. ‘Adí, by one of the Banú ‘Abd al-Qays who were settled in Hajar. Khaṭím died before avenging his father, ‘Adí, when Qays was but a young lad. The mother of Qays, fearing that he would sally forth to seek vengeance for the blood of his father and his grandfather and perish, went to a mound of dust beside the door of their dwelling and laid stones on it, and began to say to Qays, "This is the grave of thy father and thy grandfather;" and Qays never doubted but that it was so. He grew up strong in the arms, and one day he had a tussle with a youth of the Banú Ẓafar, who said to him: "By God, thou would'st do better to turn the strength of thine arms against the slayers of thy father and grandfather instead of putting it forth upon me." "And who are their slayers?" "Ask thy mother, she will tell thee." So Qays took his sword and set its hilt on the ground and its edge between his two breasts, and said to his mother: "Who killed my father and my grandfather?" "They died as people die, and these are their graves in the camping-ground." "By God, verily thou wilt tell me who slew them or I will bear with my whole weight upon this sword until it cleaves through my back." Then she told him, and Qays swore that he would never rest until he had slain their slayers. "O my son," said she, "Málik, who killed thy grandfather, is of the same folk as Khidásh b. Zuhayr, and thy father once bestowed a kindness on Khidásh, for which he is grateful. Go, then, to him and take counsel with him touching thine affair and ask him to help thee." So Qays set out immediately, and when he came to the garden where his water-camel was watering his date-palms, he smote the cord (of the bucket) with his sword and cut it, so that the bucket dropped into the well. Then he took hold of the camel's head, and loaded the beast with two sacks of dates, and said: "Who will care for this old woman" (meaning his mother) "in my absence? If I die, let him pay her expenses out of this garden, and on her death it shall be his own; but if I live, my property will return to me, and he shall have as many of its dates as he wishes to eat." One of his folk cried, "I am for it," so Qays gave him the garden and set forth to inquire concerning Khidásh. He was told to look for him at Marr al-Ẓahrán, but not finding him in his tent, he alighted beneath a tree, in the shade of which the guests of Khidásh used to shelter, and called to the wife of Khidásh, "Is there any food?" Now, when she came up to him, she admired his comeliness—for he was exceeding fair of countenance—and said: "By God, we have no fit entertainment for thee, but only dates." He replied, "I care not, bring out what thou hast." So she sent to him dates in a large measure ( qubá‘), and Qays took a single date and ate half of it and put back the other half in the qubá‘, and gave orders that the qubá‘should be brought in to the wife of Khidásh; then he departed on some business. When Khidásh returned and his wife told him the news of Qays, he said, "This is a man who would render his person sacred."192 While he sat there with his wife eating fresh ripe dates, Qays returned on camel-back; and Khidásh, when he saw the foot of the approaching rider, said to his wife, "Is this thy guest?" "Yes." "'Tis as though his foot were the foot of my good friend, Khaṭím the Yathribite." Qays drew nigh, and struck the tent-rope with the point of his spear, and begged leave to come in. Having obtained permission, he entered to Khidásh and told his lineage and informed him of what had passed, and asked him to help and advise him in his affair. Khidásh bade him welcome, and recalled the kindness which he had of his father, and said, "As to this affair, truly I have been expecting it of thee for some time. The slayer of thy grandfather is a cousin of mine, and I will aid thee against him. When we are assembled in our meeting-place, I will sit beside him and talk with him, and when I strike his thigh, do thou spring on him and slay him." Qays himself relates: "Accompanied by Khidásh, I approached him until I stood over his head when Khidásh sat with him, and as soon as he struck the man's thigh I smote his head with a sword named Dhu ’l-Khurṣayn" (the Two-ringed). "His folk rushed on me to slay me, but Khidásh came between us, crying, 'Let him alone, for, by God, he has slain none but the slayer of his grandfather.'" Then Khidásh called for one of his camels and mounted it, and started with Qays to find the ‘Abdite who killed his father. And when they were near Hajar Khidásh advised him to go and inquire after this man, and to say to him when he discovered him: "I encountered a brigand of thy people who robbed me of some articles, and on asking who was the chieftain of his people I was directed to thee. Go with me, then, that thou mayest take from him my property. If," Khidásh continued, "he follow thee unattended, thou wilt gain thy desire of him; but should he bid the others go with thee, laugh, and if he ask why thou laughest, say, 'With us, the noble does not as thou dost, but when he is called to a brigand of his people, he goes forth alone with his whip, not with his sword; and the brigand when he sees him gives him everything that he took, in awe of him.' If he shall dismiss his friends, thy course is clear; but if he shall refuse to go without them, bring him to me nevertheless, for I hope that thou wilt slay both him and them." So Khidásh stationed himself under the shade of a tree, while Qays went to the ‘Abdite and addressed him as Khidásh had prompted; and the man's sense of honour was touched to the quick, so that he sent away his friends and went with Qays. And when Qays came back to Khidásh, the latter said to him, "Choose, O Qays! Shall I help thee or shall I take thy place?" Qays answered, "I desire neither of these alternatives, but if he slay me, let him not slay thee!" Then he rushed upon him and wounded him in the flank and drove his lance through the other side, and he fell dead on the spot. When Qays had finished with him, Khidásh said, "If we flee just now, his folk will pursue us; but let us go somewhere not far off, for they will never think that thou hast slain him and stayed in the neighbourhood. No; they will miss him and follow his track, and when they find him slain they will start to pursue us in every direction, and will only return when they have lost hope." So those two entered some hollows of the sand, and after staying there several days (for it happened exactly as Khidásh had foretold), they came forth when the pursuit was over, and did not exchange a word until they reached the abode of Khidásh. There Qays parted from him and returned to his own people.