Assassination in Al Qahira

Glossary

Al Andalucia: Arab Spain

Al Qahirah: Cairo city

Al Iskandrȋyah: Alexandria city

Annessa: Miss

Batinis: One of many names for the Hashashini Ismaili

Berber: Tribal people of North Africa. Fanatical Islamists

Bezat: Byzantine Gold coin (devalued)

Bir: Water well

Dinar: Gold coin of the Egyptian and Arab world

Dirham: Small copper coin

Dronan: One- or two-masted war galley with either one or two rows of oars. Originally designed by the Byzantines, it was copied by the Arabs for their navies.

Emir: Prince

Baklava: Light pastry

Hadith: Statements regarded by traditional Islamic schools as important tools for understanding the Quran.

Hashashini: Ismaili followers of Hassan E Sabah in Persia and Sinan Rashid in Lebanon

Kafeya: Linen or cotton cloth wound around the head and lower face to protect from the sun and sand

Kharagi: Foreigner

Mamelukes: Slave warrior, mostly recruited from Turkish tribes but also from Northern peoples and other slave boys.

Nubian: People from the south of Egypt (Nubia); their land started at the first cataract of the Nile river and extended south.

Oustez: Mister

Ramadan: Month of fasting

Syce: Horse groom

So blow, ye tempests, blow,

And my spirit shall not quail;

I have fought with many a foe,

I have weathered many a gale;

And in this hour of death,

Ere I yield my fleeting breath,

—Charles Mackay

Chapter 1

The Storm

Talon woke with an uneasy feeling that all was not well. It was their fourteenth day at sea and he had become used to the rise and fall of the ship as it ploughed its way eastward. Now there was an ominous feel to the vessel, and its timbers were groaning and creaking in a manner that was distinctly different from their customary noises.

He sat up in the dark on his pallet of old straw and canvas and tried to understand the meaning of the distant shouts and the harsh rattle of tackle being moved down to the waist of the ship. The rolling and pitching became such that the equipment stacked in the corners now slid noisily across the long cabin where he lay, and things were falling about with every pitch and roll. Men began to wake up cursing. Saddles and other hardware were falling off their pegs onto them.

There was a distant outcry, and the ship seemed to slow, but then the rhythm of rolling and pitching began again, followed by more shouting. By this time, others of the group of men who had been sleeping in the cramped quarters of the cabin were rousing themselves and calling out in the darkness.

What is happening? It sounded like Max.

God’s mercy! The ship is filling with water! someone else shouted.

Indeed, water was sloshing about the floor, dripping down from the seams of the deck above and washing in through the open ports on the side. Men got to their feet in a hurry.

Is there a candle? Light a lamp, someone. I cannot see in this infernal darkness!

God have mercy on our souls, this ship is in trouble! another voice cried in the darkness.

Someone began retching, and the crowded cabin grew more unpleasant from the stink of vomit mingled with the other fetid smells of unwashed bodies and cordage.

There was a brief flash of light, followed by the crash of thunder almost overhead. Talon decided it was time to get onto the deck above and learn what was happening. He fumbled in the dark for his cloak, wrapped it round his shoulders, then brushed past his comrades and forced the door open. The wind was driving against it with such force that it resisted at first, but by leaning hard into it he finally managed to push it open. Staggering out onto the short balcony of the deck in front, he made a grab for the railing just as the sea swept across the lower main deck. The wind-driven spray from the crested waves struck his face, stinging and cold. It was a stormy, gray, early dawn and there was barely light to see by.

Within minutes, despite his cloak, his clothing was soaked. Lightning flashed in a jagged line in the distance, followed by another crash of thunder as he peered out at the turbulent sea. He saw mountainous waves and the spume off their tops flying in the wind, mixing with the driving rain. His heart quailed. Each time a wave washed past, it left an ominous dark hollow that appeared to be about to suck the ship into it. He shivered, not only from the cold, but with fear.

Water streamed from the side of the ship and she tried to right herself from being canted over to starboard. The crewmen down in the waist were trying to control the huge spar that held the sail, hauling on the halyards with all their might but to little avail. Despite their efforts and the shouts from the captain, they could not turn the spar to where he wanted it.

Another wave swept over the deck and three men who were down in the waist were swept off their feet and into the scuppers of the other side. The straining ship groaned as she slowly righted herself and began to roll in the opposite direction, water now pouring off her sides with floating pieces of wood washing to and fro. One heavy wooden grating that was placed over the hold broke loose and followed the tide as it crossed to the port side. It crashed into one of the helpless men in the scuppers, crushing him to death. His scream of agony was cut off by the rushing waters that covered him.

Talon glanced up. There were dense clouds overhead and flashes of lightning that flickered across the sky, illuminating a scene from hell. The ship was turned into the sea now, with the wind on its port quarter. Waves smashed against its bows and sometimes carried right over the fore deck when the boat dipped into a hollow.

The sail above them snapped with a loud retort and began to flap with wild abandon. It shredded within a minute, while one of the ropes holding its bottom corner broke, either because it was rotten or simply from the strain.

Talon, watching the sail reduced to rags in front of him, felt a leaden feeling in his stomach. He realized that they were now at the mercy of the wind and sea, unless somehow they could salvage this sail or raise another and regain control of the ship. He looked up at the mast and saw that the huge lugsail that had originally been there was also gone, the remnants flapping like so many gray pendants, useless for sailing by.

He was aware that Max had joined him on the short deck and he tried to speak to him, but the keening of the wind blew his words away. Instead, Talon pointed to the deck above and began to make his slow way up the steps to the quarterdeck. Max elected to stay where he was. The wind was even worse on the steps, for there was no shelter. It tore at Talon with a fury, as though trying to tear him from his hold and cast him into the foaming water. Below at least, he had been able to take some shelter from the rise of the deck and the mast.

Talon had to crawl up the steep steps, hanging onto the ropes that led along either side, buffeted and shaken by the gusting winds and wondering if at any minute a wave would come and sweep him away. At the top he managed, despite the howling, tugging wind, to stand up and stagger over to the mast where he hung on grimly; from there he stared back at two steering men who were trying to control the bucking and swinging rudder bar. It was throwing them about like dolls. Even in this dim light he could see there was a look of exhaustion and terror on their bearded faces.

The captain was nearby, leaning over the front rail which he gripped with white knuckles. Get that God-smitten spar down and get the useless rags off it, he bellowed. Bend another sail onto it for your lives, or we are drowned.

His voice boomed above the storm, and the crew ran to comply despite the heaving and rolling deck. They knew their lives depended upon getting the sail replaced, or the ship might go sideways into the sea and roll over.

Talon held onto the ropes around the mast at the front of the quarterdeck in an effort to get his bearings. He realized that the ship was now pointing south, as there was a glimmer of light showing through the clouds off the port bow that indicated the beginning of dawn.

He could not tell if there were any other ships nearby, but they too would be concentrating on survival and could not come to their aid, even if they had so wanted. He looked back down into the waist of the ship and wondered how the horses were faring. The grating had been torn off one of the holds and he was sure the ship was taking seawater. That meant the horses would be knee deep in water and terrified for their lives. It would be pandemonium down below.

His companions were either at the front of the ship, in which case they were completely water logged by now, or in the space reserved for knights below the quarterdeck cabins, which were beneath his feet.

Other than Max, no one else had followed him out, and Talon caught a glimpse of Max being violently sick by the masthead. The top of the mast and spars moved in a huge arc from side to side that made him dizzy if he looked up. The ship’s motion took the hull over so hard that the sea was almost level with the top of its sides.

He clung with all his strength to the ropes and began to pray.

The men down in the waist of the ship were frantically trying to bend another sail to the spar that was lying across the ship’s sides, and they were making good progress despite being hampered by the wind and horizontal rain. Anyone could be swept overboard or smashed to death by some of the large objects that had broken loose. There was a shout from a steersman. Talon’s head whipped round and he saw one of the sodden men pointing ahead.

Laaand! Dear Lord save us, it’s land! he screamed, but it was not with relief. Talon could clearly hear the panic in his shout.

He strained his eyes against the gloom and the hissing rain to make out what the man was pointing at.

Another flash of lightning helped to illuminate a dark, ominous mass looming low out of the gray horizon. Sure enough it was land, and his heart sank. His eyes swiveled wildly down into the waist again, to the crew. The captain was leaning over the rail screaming at the men to hurry or they were wrecked.

The ship now wallowed so deep in the water that it was rolling less. Talon heard the screams of the panicked horses below. His blood went cold when he knew he could do absolutely nothing for them, including Jabbar, his old friend. Even if he could release his Jabbar he could not get him out of the hold. Despite the wind tearing at his face, Talon felt tears flowing and the horizon ahead of him blurred.

But he was quickly made to realize that his own life was going to be in question and very soon.

A shriek of alarm from the front of the ship; there was no mistaking the terror of the scarecrow figure pointing forward. Talon crossed himself.

Rocks ahead, only half a mile! The wind carried the rest of the words away.

The steersmen fell to the deck and began to cry and pray. The captain, however, was a doughty man who was not ready to give up. He left the rail, kicked the two men to their feet and forced them back to the tiller, screaming abuse at them as he did so. Then he returned to encourage the crew, who had now bent the sail onto a spar and were rushing in two lines to haul the sail aloft.

Talon felt a flicker of hope as the sail bellied almost immediately, making it difficult to hoist; with a last, desperate effort the men managed to haul it up and into place, and the ship took on a life of its own again. From being nothing more than a wallowing log in the water she gained direction, whereupon the captain rushed to the tiller and with his two men began to haul and push against the long bar to turn the ship out to sea.

The men in the waist were still making the lines fast and there were now people coming out of the cabins to cluster on the short decks at the back of the ship and in the poop. He saw Montague and Jeffrey come to join Max.

The knights and their sergeant were utterly dependent upon the skill of the crew, unable to help but not willing to go below and feel trapped. So instead they watched in fearful fascination as the crew and the ship battled for all their lives against the storm and the sea.

But the sail had gone up too late. The ship lurched and there was a rending crash from below. The mast whipped forward and then back, the shocking blow dislodging the spar. The sail began to fall.

The cries of fear from the sailors as they realized what had happened were carried to the knights and Max. The ship had not been able to avoid the rocks and had cut herself open on their razor-sharp points. As the stricken ship reared up, its bow torn apart by the rocks just below the surface of the sea, the men on the poop deck were tossed in all directions like rag dolls. Many went straight into the sea and disappeared from sight in the raging waters. Others managed to hang onto something, and Talon could hear their cries over the howling of the wind and rain.

He himself was nearly shaken off his hold, and he watched in horror as the main mast now split and tipped forward to fall in a tangle of canvas and rigging onto the front of the boat.

Talon called, Max, where are you?

I’m here, Talon!

The ship is doomed, and so are we if we stay here. It will sink quickly! Talon called out as he dove for the stairs leading down to where Max was clinging to railings. He glanced around, looking for something to hold onto, and his eye landed on the grating that had only a short while earlier killed a seaman. He wondered what had happened to the ship’s boat but realized it had probably been torn free of its lashings and washed overboard as matchwood long ago.

As he landed on the deck where Max, Montague, and Jeffrey were gathered with the others, he saw men on their knees praying, while others gripped onto some handhold for a feeling of safety; but other than Max and his two companions, no one seemed to know what to do, and they looked to Talon for some form of leadership.

The ship groaned and tipped at a steeper angle as water flooded into the bows. The kicking and screaming of horses trapped below was a cruel sound and Talon wished he could block it from his ears, as he knew that they were to soon die.

There was no sign of the captain or the two steersmen. Most of the men were frozen with fear because they could not swim. Others were crawling about in a wild panic.

Quickly! We must take that grating or we are lost! Talon shouted. Indeed, as he spoke the grating broke loose and began to drift away.

Talon grabbed Max by the arm and dragged him to the steps leading down to the sloshing water on the deck; reaching it, he pulled Max in with him. Although he was already soaked, the cold of the water still made him gasp. He saw a rope that hung off the grating and grabbed it.

Max, Montague, Jeffrey, get on the grating, unless you want to drown with the others! he shouted.

They did not need further persuasion. They dove for the grating and pulled themselves onto it. Just as they did so another wave curled over the waist and tore the grating away from Talon, ripping the rope from his grasp. He made a desperate lunge for their outstretched arms but fell into the water and was carried off the ship. He went under for a moment but then struggled to the surface, gasping and choking, in time to see the grating flipped over by yet another huge wave that tossed two of his companions into the sea.

They went under, and the back surge brought the grating closer to where Talon was trying to keep afloat. Somehow Montague had managed to hang on. Talon made a desperate lunge to reach his only means of salvation. He grasped wood and hung on grimly. At first Montague was not aware that he was there until Talon shouted for help. Then the burly man turned and threw a hand out to grab Talon by the shoulder. Montague heaved Talon onto the wooden raft where he lay gasping, trying to find his breath. Then he looked around.

Montague, where is Max? Max! Jeffrey! he called. Where are you? I am here! I am here! Can you hear me? Dear God, please save them, they should not die like this! he cried.

Montague added to the shouts, but the shrieking wind tore their words away. In the distance they heard a faint call came back to them, but even with the help of a gray light of dawn, Talon could see nothing, and only when the waves lifted his raft up high could he catch a glimpse of the stricken ship. What he could see through the lashing rain and spray was that she was now down at the aft section, which had almost disappeared, leaving only the remains of the bow and the shattered mast pointing into the sky.

He could see nothing of the crew and passengers. He guessed that some of the remaining survivors might be clinging to the mast and bows but they would be few, and their time nearly done. At one time he thought he saw a person struggling in the water a hundred yards away, but there was no way he could affect the direction the raft was drifting. In his despair he called on God many times to be merciful and spare others. But although the storm was clearly abating and the rain had eased, the waves were still high, with windblown spray sweeping across them.

He was soaked; his teeth began to chatter and his body shook with cold. Then a hand came out of the water as though a body was beckoning him to the depths. He started back in fright, but he recognized the sleeve and snatched at it and hung on. Montague had seen as well, and he reached out and seized the extended arm in a vise-like grip.

Max’s head surfaced and he blew a huge spray of water out of his mouth, gasping for air with his mouth wide open. Talon and Montague continued to pull on Max’s arm, and then Max recovered enough to seize hold of the grating edge and support himself long enough to take more breaths. He looked up at them and bared his teeth in a grimace; then, with their help, he scrambled onto the grating where he lay flat, pressed against Talon.

Dear Lord, have mercy on us, he groaned as he looked about him.

The ship is finished. I do not see Jeffrey anywhere or anyone else. God be kind to their souls! Talon shouted, pointing with his chin at the dark silhouette of the doomed ship. There was a distant cry, and then the wind and the roar of the seas prevented them from hearing anything more. The ship slipped under the waves. Talon wept for Jabbar as he watched.

The three men remained gripping the sparse handholds of the grating with fingers locked, while the waves continued to wash over them and the sea drew them farther and farther away from the scene of the wreck. They called out until they were hoarse, but there was no response from anyone. Talon prayed that they would not end up being drawn out to sea; none of them could survive for very long in this condition. Yet he was equally afraid of being dashed to death on the rocks of the hostile coastline their ship had foundered upon.

Talon beat his head on the wood and wept. What is to become of us? he cried. Thank God we are saved together, but we will die from this freezing cold, if we are not soon dashed upon the rocks. His arms and fingers ached and he kept his eyes mostly shut against the stinging salt and constantly splashing water.

He must have lost consciousness through exhaustion. Later he lifted his head and looked around with bleary eyes. It was well past sunrise, and his fingers and arms were locked in a cramped grip on their wooden platform. Max was still beside him, but he was either asleep or unconscious, and Montague was lying still as a corpse, although Talon could tell with relief that his companion was breathing.

Looking up, he saw low clouds scudding by, but there was now a glimpse of blue above as well. All the same, it was a cold, gray morning that greeted him. He turned his head painfully to the left and right to try and find out where they might be.

Then his heart lifted. Ahead, about two hundred yards away, was a short beach upon which breakers were crashing. On either side of the sandy stretch were black, wet rocks and cliffs. The rocks seemed menacing, despite the fact it was at least land. The breakers marched in ranks to crash against the rocks and toss spray high into the air. He saw that their raft had drifted into a narrow cove, framed with low cliffs on either side of a short beach. But they were headed toward the rocks and that was death, so he unlocked his cramped fingers from their hold and pushed at Montague and Max until they awoke and then showed them the danger. They needed no other persuasion and began to paddle as hard as their exhausted limbs could move to try to guide the unstable raft toward the thin strip of beach. They were still too far away to risk swimming; in his present frozen and depleted state, Talon knew that he would not survive and doubted that either of his companions was in any better condition.

They managed to change the direction of the grating sufficiently to feel that the rollers were now going to take it onto the beach, so Talon paused for a moment and took stock of their surroundings. Montague and Max, heads down, continued to paddle weakly.

The realization came to Talon that they were quite alone; there were no others from the ship that he could see. Still, there was a lot of flotsam accompanying the raft toward the beach. Many objects that had floated off the ship were bobbing alongside, including, he realized with a start of horror, some bodies of their former companions and crew, luckless people who could not swim and had not found a means to survive.

He stared in dismay at the several bodies that were nearest to them. One of the closest was that of the former crewman. Face down in the water, his body was limp and drifted loosely as the swell pulled it this way and that.

Talon whispered a prayer for the dead man then turned his attention toward the shore. As the grating came into more shallow water, it was seized by a wave and driven forward toward the beach on a long swell. It struck the sand, tossing the three men into the surf. Rolling in the water, Max seized Talon by the collar and held onto him. They crawled out of the retreating wave onto the dry sand, where they lay inert for long minutes, gasping for breath. Eventuall, Talon lifted himself off the wet sand on hands and knees, and gave thanks to God for his deliverance. He looked at Montague and then over at Max. His companions were lying on the sand, their chests heaving, too exhausted to move.

Talon felt deadly tired; his bones ached, and he was again feeling the cold from a wind that was blowing ashore. There was no shelter on the open sand. The wind whipped the spray from a crashing wave so that it stung his face.

Max sat up. We have to find a cover or we will perish in this wind, he said.

Montague pushed himself up onto his hands and knees; then staggered to his feet.

You are right, Max, but where? he grunted.

Talon got slowly to his feet, too tired to say anything. All three stared wordlessly out at the calmer sea of the inlet, amazed that they had survived.

There is no shelter on the beach. We must go inland. Max pointed weakly up the slope.

They tottered up the low rise of the sandy beach to see what lay beyond and saw what appeared to be the remains of a boat lying on its back, partially buried. Talon tripped and fell to his hands and knees in the soft sand. He felt weak and close to fainting. He lifted his head and saw a dense copse of low trees about a half mile ahead. Closer, he saw that a small stream emptied into the little bay, which explained the cloudy currenthe had vaguely noticed while still in the water as their raft pushed to land.

There, that boat, we can find shelter under it, Montague gasped.

Talon looked in the direction Montague was pointing. He noticed that the boat was not seaworthy; its underside was stove in. Right now he did not care; it provided them with the only shelter available from the cold wind, and they needed cover urgently. They dragged themselves through the narrow gap of one side. The other side was buried in the sand. It smelled of old fish, but he did not care. Talon pushed deeper into the underside to get fully out of the wind, then he and his companions curled up together for warmth, and the three of them fell immediately into an exhausted slumber.

It was night and the sky was clear

And the moon was pure at its center

And it led me along discernment’s sphere

Teaching me by its light and direction

—Shelomo Ibn Gabriol

Chapter 2

The Caravan

The line of camels plodded slowly along the almost trackless desert, heading towards the distant palm trees on the eastern horizon. Their heads were tilted back against the curve of their long necks and their eyes mere slits in their puffy lids. The sun was well past the mid-afternoon peak, and although much lower in the sky, it was still burning the sand, the backs of the men, and the rears of the camels. They moved as though sleepwalking through the shimmering haze towards the promised water and shelter of the oasis.

There were about thirty camels in all. Their shadows reached ahead of them: distorted silhouettes projected on the myriad of rock-strewn sand dunes, almost as though the camels were accompanied by elongated phantoms. It had been a long, hot day for the men and animals; the late spring sun already threw out its scorching heat after the cool of winter.

Haidara Abdul 'Ikrimah, the owner and master of the caravan, was seated upon the swaying back of one of the lead camels. He wiped his brow with his kafeya, a loose cotton rag he used to cover his lower face; he was a portly man who sweated profusely from the afternoon heat. He glanced nervously back at the train, shading his eyes, to check that there were no stragglers. Haidara hated to have the caravan spread out over half the desert in its virtually unprotected state.

His drovers, men and a few boys, were hardened people of the desert, but he was only too aware that they lacked the soldiering skills to resist a determined attack from robbers, especially the fierce Tuareg, who were known to come out of the deep desert without warning to kill the riders and loot caravans such as his. It had been many weeks since they had left the safety of Barqa, and longer still since they had left the region of Magrib, that last promontory of North Africa from where the land known as Al Andalucía could be seen across the narrow strip of sea. This had meant many sleepless nights and long days of trying to stay awake when what he wanted most was to sleep. He could have paid for an armed escort, but he was a miserly person, and besides, those particular trained men, the Berbers, were more trouble than the dubious protection they were supposed to offer.

His precious cargo of minerals, hides, and wool bales was destined for Al Iskandrȋyah, the royal city of Egypt. His caravan had left the south coast opposite the Iberian Peninsula some two months previously. Some of the silver had come from the sultanate of Granada, as had the pelts of wild animals. Other goods were from the fabled city of Cordova. He even carried books that he knew would fetch a high price in the literary quarters of the city. There was an almost insatiable need for books of the kind that came from Al Andalucía these days, as the supply from other libraries was drying up—for reasons he did not care to investigate.

Weeks before setting out, he had made the journey across the sea to Granada in southern Al Andalucía, where he had bargained for fine cloths, as well as bear and wolf skins. He had obtained amber and silver from the cold northern lands of the infidels, brought south by some of the more adventurous Jewish merchants. Now he was making his annual pilgrimage to Al Iskandrȋyah to sell his wares. He prayed every evening that the prices were as good as last year, when he had made a killing.

He observed the trees ahead with some relief. As they approached the dense clump of palms clustered around the bir, or waterhole, still a mile away, he became aware of the sound of the sea to his left. The faint booming of the surf told him that he had less than a week more of travel following along the coast line, and then he would be in the great city. He would have a bath and then a woman and then a hot meal. Perhaps he would have all three at once! Then he would enjoy a bed that did not consist of sand. He smiled to himself.

He knew this area they were crossing had once been inhabited by pirates who preyed upon defenseless merchants, both on land and sea. They had been cleaned out of the bay some time ago by the troops of the new young Sultan in Egypt, Salah al Din. Haidara muttered a prayer of thanks to Allah for having provided the young man with the courage and will to take care of these vermin. It saved him an extra month of travel, as he would otherwise have had to make in a wide detour to avoid the place.

When they were still a half mile from the trees, Haidara, ever cautious, beckoned to one of the riders behind him. It was difficult to make out the boy’s features, as his face was swathed in what had once been a white linen kafeya, now turned brown like the sand, leaving only his eyes and the bridge of his nose open to the harsh climate. But Haidara knew which one he was.

"Dhakiy, go forward with ‘Utbah and check that no one has taken our camp for the night. If you see anything, get back here as fast as you can. There will be no one else there, Insha’Allah."

I go, master! the boy called back.

With a shout to his companion, he maneuvered his camel adroitly past the lead animals and slapped it with his stick to get it to lumber into a heavy trot, while the other boy shouted with excitement and beat his camel, kicking its hump with his heels and whacking its furry neck to get it to catch up.

Haidara raised his hand and called back to the men behind him to stop. They slowly bunched up and then, without being told, they formed a half circle and squatted on the sand in the shade of their patient camels to await the return of the boys. Some fingered their bows and checked on their arrows.

"We are about three days, maybe a week out from the city, and Insha’Allah we will arrive with no unwelcome interruptions," Haidara commented to no one in particular. He waved his fly whisk idly in front of his face, peering towards the distant trees through the shimmering heat.

It did not take long for the boys to do a cursory inspection of the clump of trees clustered around a small spring of sweet water. It was a very cursory inspection. To their untrained eyes there was no one there and had not been for some time. They did find the remains of a fire, but it was cold. There were no other signs of recent human visitation that they could detect.

They trotted their clumsy charges back to the waiting caravan and shouted that all was safe. The caravan moved in noisily; the scent of fresh water energized everyone. The camels and men followed the well-worn routine for setting up camp. The snarling, roaring camels were forced to their knees. The more recalcitrant ones were hauled down painfully by a string attached to their noses, protesting loudly, while the favorites were gentled down by their drovers. They were relieved of their loads, hobbled by their front legs, and taken to be watered downstream from the oasis. Later they were fed from the fodder carried by other camels.

Only then were the fires lit, and the meager fare, consisting of dates, thin strips of dried goat’s meat, and a creamy mixture of camel’s milk and crushed grain, was laid out on hastily thrown mats.

Now, however, it was time for prayers, led by Haidara, who always assumed the lead place for his men. He had performed his ablutions dutifully with the available water in the tiny stream. Hitherto they had been forced to perform their ablutions with sand, as there had been no water available. God gave dispensation to those in hard desert conditions, but now there was the luxury of water and they were all content.

After the meal, and with the sun a great red orb on the edge of the burnt western horizon, the two boys Dhakiy and ‘Utbah were allowed to explore. They decided to go the short distance to the bay about a half mile away. They followed a path, excitedly looking for a sight of the sea, which they had not seen since they left the coastal city of Barqa two weeks before. Neither noticed that the track was well-worn and had been in use very recently. Nor were they aware that they were observed as they came near the beach. It was only when they breasted the sand bank where the track ended and the beach of loose sand began that they realized they were in trouble. With a shout of surprise Dhakiy slapped ‘Utbah’s shoulder and pointed. There, in front of them, was a construction that could only just be called a hut. They stared at it in silence for a moment, trying to grasp its meaning.

But their pause cost them. A man jumped up a few feet in front of them and grimaced horribly in silence. Both boys were frozen in terror for a second, which was enough. Hard hands seized them from behind and pinned them, helpless to move. Then, just as quickly, hands were clapped over their mouths before they could scream. The man who had jumped out in front of them now shambled towards them.

He spoke a strange language and looked terrifying. His beard was very long, and he had a tangled mass of filthy red hair sprouting out of his head. His eyes, terrifying blue bulging eyes, glared at the boys, who were just getting over their shock and trying to cry out in alarm. Dhakiy was so frightened that he wet himself.

Do not make a sound and we will not harm you, one of the people said in a low voice.

Dhakiy twisted his head and gazed up at another wild looking man in similar garb.

The man, still holding him firmly in a vice-like grip said again, Be quiet, both of you, we mean you no harm. But if you scream we will have to kill you.

The same man addressed the other two in a strange language, and they all turned their eyes over their shoulders at the distant trees as though expecting to see other curious visitors. The man holding Dhakiy said something briefly to his companions, whereupon the boys were marched down the beach, well out of sight of the oasis. The boys’ legs and hands were tied with some old rope. The men dumped them without ceremony on the sand and then squatted, facing them.

Where have you come from? Where are you going? the man who spoke their language asked. He was burnt a golden brown from the sun, his wild, knotted hair was light brown, and he had disturbingly intense green eyes. He spoke the language hesitantly but well, with a slight accent as though he had not used it for a while and was just getting used to its flavor again.

We…we are with a caravan. We are going to Al Iskandrȋyah, Dhakiy said shakily. He was terrified, but the men did not behave threateningly, even though they did look wild and unkempt. Burned by the sun and with rags as clothing, they nevertheless smiled reassuringly at the two frightened boys.

Our master is Haidara Abdul 'Ikrimah. He is a great warrior and will come and cut off your heads if you do not let us go! ‘Utbah squeaked. His teeth were chattering.

I am sure he is a great warrior and we are much afraid, the one with the green eyes and a scar on his jaw said. He smiled, but neither boy was reassured.

How many men does he have, this great warrior chief of yours? he asked them quietly.

We are two hundred men and all warriors. You will not stand a chance against us.

I counted nearly thirty camels, so perhaps you are lying? he replied in a soft voice, but his eyes became cold. Then he said with a menacing tone, If you do not stop saying stupid things to us I will throw you into the sea and you can swim to Al Iskandrȋyah. And you know very well the sea monsters will eat you before you get anywhere.

There are twenty of us all together, ‘Utbah muttered. He shivered at the prospect of encountering sea monsters.

How far is Iskandrȋyah? Tell me the truth, because if you do not, you will be cut into little pieces and we will eat you. We have not eaten meat for a very long time, the green-eyed man told them, making big eyes at them; they believed him.

We are maybe three days, maybe a week from the city, perhaps a little more, Dhakiy whimpered.

The man turned to his two companions and spoke in a low voice. They nodded, whereupon they picked up the boys and carried them towards the ramshackle shelter they had first seen.

The sun had set by now, leaving only a strip of red glowing on the distant horizon, and darkness was sweeping in from the east. Dhakiy gave a whimper of fear as they were dumped on the sand inside the shelter. ‘Utbah muttered scornfully at him. Why are you so afraid of them? We shall escape, and then they will be in trouble.

"Insha’Allah. You should just be patient, my young warrior. We will come back for you later. Now be quiet and do not upset this man, the man who spoke their language said, pointing to the hairy one in front of them. He likes to eat children, especially boys, and he has not eaten one for a long time, so he is very hungry."

We are not children! spat ‘Utbah. We are men.

Ah, I forgot. Pardon me, little warrior.

The man’s teeth flashed in the gathering dusk and he was gone; the big man who was squatting in front of them was looking them over balefully. Dhakiy shivered and wriggled closer to ‘Utbah, who was trembling himself. They were silent.

* * * * *

Now that the sun had gone down, Haidara felt at ease. There was fresh water and no one to share it with, so he could spread out and enjoy the cool side of the oasis when morning came. Had there been others, he would have found himself and his caravan on the outside perimeter of the place for later arrivals, and the early comers would have had the benefit of the shade of the date trees the next day and not him.

The group of men had enjoyed a leisurely, if meager, dinner; and then, having posted two guards, the rest had sat around a fire to enjoy the precious dark coffee beans brewed over the embers of the fire in small, slim brass containers with long handles. The aroma of the brewing black liquid permeated the small oasis. Haidara intended to buy another sack of coffee while in Iskandrȋyah; his present hoard was almost finished.

Haidara noticed that the boys were missing, but assumed they were still down by the water and would be back soon. In any case, he knew this area and there was unlikely to be any danger from other people this far into the desert, especially since it had been cleaned out of pirates. Any threat would be in the form of another caravan, and he was quite sure they were alone.

So he relaxed with his men, and the murmured conversation continued until the sky was ablaze with stars from one end to the other. There was no moon, but the light from the stars, which seemed to be almost within reach, was enough to throw the distant ridge of mountains to the south and west into dark relief, while the sand and rocks in the middle distance became large black shapes on the pale desert floor.

Nearer at hand, the palms rustled under the light cool breeze wafting from the sea that caressed their fronds. It brightened the glow of the embers of the dying fire, causing the flickering flames to throw up men’s shadows that danced among the tree trunks, creating a crowd of dark phantoms which shared the camp with the living.

Long before midnight, everyone was wrapped in his cloak and asleep on the ground or among the baggage piles, except for Haidara, asleep in his tent, and the two sentries. These two men were leaning against trees at opposite ends of the camp, staring outwards, one to the dark eastern horizon and the other one back along the track from the west where they had come from. They were barely awake themselves.

The first hint either had that there was danger about was when a knife slid around the first man’s throat, and a vice-like grip came down on his right wrist. A voice whispered,Do not move. Do not shout, or you will be sent on your way to account for your sins to Allah. Nod if you understand.

The sentry gingerly nodded against the blade of the knife that dug into his trembling throat. He was forced down onto his knees and then bound. His head covering was conveniently used to blindfold him, and then he was gagged. The rough hands sat him down and propped his back against the tree trunk. He was admonished not to move or he would die.

The trembling man did exactly that: he sat as still as a log.

* * * * *

The next morning, Haidara