Cavius was suddenly awakened by faint, plaintive groans. The puzzled Etruscan raised his heavy head and listened. From time to time he heard sharp cracks coming from different directions and then long drawn-out plaintive moans filled with sorrow. The sounds grew louder and he looked round him in fear. There was no sign of movement anywhere amongst the sun-baked rocks; all his comrades occupied their former places and were either sleeping or listening. Cavius roused the calmly sleeping Akhmi. The Libyan sat up, yawned and then laughed right in the face of the astounded and alarmed Etruscan.
“The stones are crying out from the heat of the sun,” explained the Libyan, “and that’s a sign that the heat is subsiding.”
The cracking of the stones greatly disturbed the other runaway slaves. The Libyan climbed on to a high rock, looked through the crack between his folded hands and announced that soon they could set out on the last march to the oasis; they must drink their fill for the march.
Although the sun had sunk far to the west, the sand hills still radiated heat. It seemed an impossible feat to leave the shade and go out into that sea of fire and sunlight. Nevertheless the men formed a column, two by two, and without a single protest followed the Libyan — so strong was the call of freedom.
Pandion and Kidogo formed the third pair behind the Libyan, Akhmi.
The inexhaustible endurance and joviality of the Negro were a frequent encouragement to the Hellene who felt little confidence in himself when confronted with the might of the desert.
The fiery, hostile breath of the desert again forced the men to bow their heads low before its savage face. They had journeyed no less than fifteen thousand cubits when Pandion noticed that their Libyan guide seemed somewhat distressed. Akhmi had halted the column twice while he mounted a sand-hill, sinking up to his knees in the soft sand, to examine the horizon. The Libyan, however, did not answer any questions.
The sand-hills grew lower and Pandion asked Akhmi in a glad voice whether the sand was coming to an end.
“We’ve still a long way to go; there’s a lot more sand yet,” snapped the guide gloomily and turned his head towards the north-west.
Pandion and Kidogo looked in the same direction and saw that the burning sky was covered with a leaden haze. A dark wall that rose straight up had conquered the fearful might of the sun and the glow of the sky.
Suddenly they heard resonant, pleasant sounds — high, singing, purely metallic notes, like silver trumpets playing an enchanting melody behind the sand-dunes.
The sounds were repeated, grew more frequent and louder and hearts beat more rapidly, affected by some unconscious fear brought by those silver notes that were like nothing on earth and far removed from all that was mortal.
The Libyan stopped and fell on to his knees with a plaintive cry. Raising his hands towards the heavens he prayed to his gods to protect them from an awful calamity. The frightened runaways cowered together in a crowd between three sand-hills. Pandion looked inquiringly at Kidogo and staggered back — the Negro’s black skin had turned grey. Pandion had seen his friend frightened for the first time and did not know that a Negro’s skin turns grey with pallor. Cavius seized the guide by the shoulders, lifted him to his feet without an effort and asked him angrily what had happened.
Akhmi turned towards him, his face distorted with fear and covered with beads of perspiration.
“The sands of the desert are singing; they call to the wind, and with the wind death will come flying — there will be a sand-storm…”
An oppressive silence hung over the party broken only by the sounds of the singing sand.
Cavius stood still in bewilderment — he did not know what to do and those who realized the degree of danger that threatened them kept silent.
At last Akhmi came to himself.
“Forward, forward, as quickly as possible! I saw a stony place where there’s no sand: we must get there before the storm reaches us. If we stay here death is certain, we’ll all be buried in the sand, but over there, maybe some of us will be saved…”
The frightened men ran after the Libyan guide.
The leaden haze had changed to a ruddy gloom that spread over the whole sky. Menacing wisps of sand whirled round the hill-tops like smoke; the hot breath of the wind swept tiny particles of sand into the men’s inflamed faces. There was no air to breathe; it was as though the atmosphere were filled with some corrosive poison. The sand-hills opened out and the runaways found themselves on a small patch of stony ground, black and smooth. All round them the rumble and roar of the oncoming wind increased in fury, the ruddy cloud darkened on its lower side as though a black curtain were being drawn across the sky. Its upper side remained a dark red and the disc of the sun was hidden by that awful cloud. Imitating their more experienced comrades the men tore off their loin-cloths and rags that covered their heads and shoulders, wrapped them round their faces and dropped on to the stony ground, pressing close against each other.
Pandion was slow in making his preparations. The last thing he saw filled him with horror. Everything around him was in motion. Stones as big as his fist rolled over the black ground like dry leaves in an autumn wind. The sand-hills threw out long tentacles in the direction of the party; the sand was moving and was soon flowing all round them like water thrown up by a storm on to a low beach. A whirling mass of sand rushed at Pandion; the youth fell face down and saw nothing more. His heart beat furiously and its every beat resounded in his head. His mouth and throat seemed to be coated with a hard crust that prevented his panting breath from escaping.
The whistling of the wind reached a high note but that, too, was drowned by the roar of the moving sand; the desert howled and rumbled around him. Pandion’s head went dizzy, he struggled against unconsciousness towards which the stifling, withering storm was driving him. Coughing desperately, he freed his throat of sand and again began his rapid breathing. Pandion’s bursts of resistance were repeated at ever-growing intervals until at last he lost consciousness.
The thunder of the storm grew ever more insistent and menacing, it rumbled in peals across the desert like huge bronze wheels. The stony ground gave forth an answering rumble like a sheet of metal, and clouds of sand swept over it. Grains of sand, charged with electricity, burst into blue sparks giving the whole mass of moving sand a bluish glow as it rolled over the desert. It seemed that at any moment rain would fall and fresh water would save the people, dried up by the overheated air and lying unconscious. But there was no rain and the storm raged on. The dark pile of human bodies was covered by an ever-thickening layer of sand that hid the weak movement and stifled the rare moans…
Pandion opened his eyes and saw Kidogo’s black head outlined against the stars. Later Pandion learned that the Negro had been working over the motionless bodies of his friends, Pandion and the Etruscans, for a long time.
People were busy in the darkness, digging out their comrades from under the sand, listening to the feeble signs of life in their bodies and laying aside those who would breathe no more.
The Libyan, Akhmi, with some of his fellow-countrymen, who were accustomed to the desert, and a few Negroes had gone back to the well amongst the rocks for water. Kidogo had remained with Pandion, unable to leave his friend who was scarcely breathing.
At last fifty-five half-dead men, led by Kidogo, finding the road with difficulty and supporting each other as they walked along, followed in the tracks of those who had left earlier. Nobody gave a thought to the fact that they ware going back, that they would meet with a possible pursuit; the mind of every one of them was concentrated on one thing — water. The craving for water swept aside all will to struggle; it was stronger than any other urge — water was a lodestone in the dull fever of their inflamed brains.