outh in question, was fortunately
absent from Damascus when the order for his assassination was given.
Warned of his proposed fate, he gathered what money and jewels he could
and fled for his life, following little-used paths until he reached the
banks of the Euphrates. But spies were on his track and descriptions of
him had been sent to all provinces. He was just twenty years old, and,
unlike the Arabians in general, had a fair complexion and blue eyes, so
that he could easily be recognized, and it seemed impossible that he could
escape.

His retreat on the Euphrates was quickly discovered, and the agents of
murder were so hot upon his track that he was forced to spring into the
river and seek for safety by swimming. The pursuers reached the banks when
the fugitives were nearly half-way across, Abdurrahman supporting his son,
four years of age, and Bedr, a servant, aiding his thirteen-year-old
brother. The agents of the caliph called them back, saying that they would
not harm them, and the boy, whose strength was giving out, turned back in
spite of his brother's warning. When Abdurrahman reached the opposite
bank, it was with a shudder of horror that he saw the murder of the boy,
whose head was at once cut off. That gruesome spectacle decided the
question of his trusting himself to the mercy of the caliph or his agents.

The life of the fugitive prince now became one of unceasing adventure. He
made his way by covert paths towards Egypt, wandering through the desert
in company with bands of Bedouins, living on their scanty fare, and
constantly on the alert against surprise. Light sleep and hasty flittings
were the rule with him and his few attendants as they made their way
slowly westward over the barren sands, finally reaching Egypt. Here he was
too near the caliph for safety, and he kept on westward to Barca, where he
hoped for protection from the governor, who owed his fortunes to the favor
of the late caliph.

He was mistaken. Ibn Habib, the governor of Barca, put self-interest above
gratitude, and made vigorous efforts to seize the fugitive, whom he hoped
to send as a welcome gift to the cruel Abdullah. The life of the fugitive
was now one of hair-breadth escapes. For five years he remained in Barca,
disguised and under a false name, yet in almost daily peril of his life.
On one occasion a band of pursuers surrounded the tent in which he was and
advanced to search it. His life was saved by Tekfah, the wife of the