Assassination in Al Qahira

by James Boschert

  Later, at his palace, Abbas had held a conference with Talon, Bilal, and Panhsj. “The family honor is at stake. We have only the rudiments of a polo team. You Suleiman, and you Bilal, and of course myself, but who will we use for the other three?”

  Talon and Bilal had not been short of ideas in that regard.

  Talon dragged his thoughts back to the present, his instincts telling him to pay attention. The sultan was saying something and he strained to hear.

  “This is a game of great importance. The match is to be friendly, and is to finally settle disagreements that have arisen. I prefer to have my lords working for me, instead of against each other. Let this be the end of the grudge, my lords. Play well.”

  He then threw the fist-sized ball of willow wood on the ground so that it landed deep among the cluster of men and horses, whereupon the fighting began. Talon had been prepared for this, but even so, he noticed that the players on the other side were using their mallets as weapons, striking at man and horse in a manner that indicated that this was a grudge match indeed. Around him, men tried to get at the ball and clear it from the melee of pushing and shoving horsemen. They cursed and hacked at the ball, which bounced around between the horses’ feet.

  Abbas managed, with the help of Haytham, a syce only thirteen years old who was a fearless player, to tap the ball free of the struggling mass of riders. Then the game immediately opened up, as men began to chase Talon and Haytham at a stretched out gallop down the field towards the opposition’s goal. Talon knew a feeling of exhilaration as Rakhsh pounded after Haytham, who was racing down field on his white mare, hitting the ball well. But Talon knew that with the uneven ground he would sooner or later lose control of the wildly bouncing object, and then the rider behind him would have to take it. Talon could barely hear the crowd screaming at them as they charged down the hard packed, dusty field.

  He turned in the saddle to see who was following, and saw that Bahir was right on his tail. Rakhsh responded to the light touch on the bit from Talon and eased his pace just enough to keep in line. Haytham had lost the ball and was trying to stop his horse on its haunches as he crossed over the ball, taking a wild swipe with his mallet.

  Talon concentrated on the bouncing object as he kneed Rakhsh closer to its line of flight. They came upon the ball at a fast gallop and Talon managed to tip the ball forward, but not enough to strike it the rest of the way between the two posts that represented the goal.

  As he slowed to try again, Bahir rode right into Talon’s left side. The force of the other horse drove him off the line of the ball. Talon turned and drove Rakhsh back into Bahir’s horse and they swayed off in the opposite direction. This time, Talon stood on his right stirrup and leaned far out, managing to tap the ball once again, but it bounced out of reach. The dust was everywhere by now as the group of other players, with one of Bahir’s team in the lead, raced down upon the now stilled ball.

  Bahir and Talon were knee to knee until Talon broke free. To Talon’s shock, Bahir suddenly lashed out at him, striking at his face with the haft of his stick. Talon managed to deflect the blow enough that the haft of the mallet struck the top of his forehead instead of his nose. The blow was absorbed by his turban, but nonetheless it knocked Talon back in his saddle and he pulled up Rakhsh, feeling dazed and groggy. He shook his head to regain his senses. Meanwhile, Bahir had ridden off to join the milling and shouting men who had regained the ball and were chasing it in the opposite direction.

  Conscious of being left out of the game, Talon put Rakhsh into a gallop to catch up with the others, who had all but disappeared in a cloud of dust towards their own goal posts. He was too late to help his team. He heard a huge roar from the crowd and the game was stopped. A man between the goal posts was waving a flag to indicate a goal had been scored. Talon was riding towards the middle of the field, still trying to clear his head, when he was accosted by Abbas as he galloped back to the center of the field from the other direction.

  “What happened to you, Suleiman? They have the first goal and we need all our players with us,” Abbas said sharply. He was obviously put out by the speed that the first goal had been scored against him.

  “I am sorry, my lord, but your enemy struck me in the face,” Talon said, shaking his head one more time.

  Abbas looked hard at him. “Yes, by the Prophet, he did. You have a large lump growing, and there is blood on your forehead, Suleiman. I might have known he would not play well. Will you be able to continue?”

  “Yes, my lord…now that I know the rules,” Talon said with a weak grin.

  Abbas laughed grimly.

  “Good.” He turned to his team. “Men, look to yourselves. We have not a game but a war to win.” There was a light of battle in his eyes as he went for the throw in with the others following him.

  Bilal rode alongside Talon. “I fear that this is just the beginning, and now I worry that it might become much worse, Suleiman.” He showed Talon a welt on his forearm.

  “I too, Bilal. I shall be watching for our lord’s safety, as I smell something bad here.”

  The fight for the ball went one way and the next for what felt like many minutes. The crowd, having heard about the enmity and witnessed the blows, appreciated that this was a serious grudge match and screamed their support for one side or the other.

  Talon and Haytham became the men the other players would try to pass to, but often they themselves needed to extricate the ball and take it up field. There were times when Talon could almost feel the ground with his foot, Rakhsh was leaning so far over as they went into a turn. He or Haytham would be tapping the ball, leaning out at impossible angles, literally hanging on by their ankles hooked onto the saddle, their horses seeming to be there just when it could have meant a fall, and then they would rush off in another direction.

  The second goal was scored by Haytham, with the help of a long pass by Talon, who lofted a long hit from under Rakhsh’s neck that dropped the ball right in front of the boy. Haytham had placed himself near the opposition’s goal on hearing the shouted instructions from Talon. Holding position, and quite unmarked, the boy just leaned down and almost stroked the ball through the posts from only thirty paces, then nimbly danced his horse out of the way of the charging steeds who swept past him, too late to stop the ball from going in. The crowd shrieked their approval of a very neat maneuver, and Talon grinned at Haytham, who laughed with excitement.

  As they cantered their horses back to the center line, Abbas nodded to Talon and Haytham approvingly. “That was good team play, Suleiman. You are right about the boy.” He smiled at Haytham as they rode. “Well done…now let’s get some more.”

  The boy was flushed with pleasure at the compliment. The players were already covered with a fine coating of dust, and it was difficult to swallow. Talon wrapped his kafeya tighter around his face.

  The game became harder, as the opposition team, instead of going after the ball, seemed to concentrate upon incapacitating Abbas’s riders.

  In spite of this, they managed to get another goal, and this time it was Abbas himself who scored with a long high shot that sent the ball about fifty feet into the air and down between the opposition goal posts. The crowd was ecstatic, and roared their approval. Money began to change hands again among the crowd.

  The faces of Bahir and his team mates was all the reward Abbas and his team needed, but their looks were murderous. Bilal again rode alongside Talon and said, “It will not be long before they try something ugly, Suleiman. Be on your guard.”

  His face was sweating profusely, his back streaked with sweat; he mopped his neck with the tail of his turban. It was the end of a chucker and the players were given some time off to obtain fresh horses, and then it was back onto the field and the game continued.

  “By Allah, I am too old for this game, I swear it,” Bilal gasped at one point when they were changing horses for the second time. Talon took back Rakhsh, as he felt he would need the responsive animal for this round.

&n
bsp; He was right. The game became even more vicious, and the first casualty was Jawad, one of Talon’s archers and a superb rider, even if an inexperienced player. Jawad was trying to tap the ball in a half circle to change direction, leaning far off his horse which itself was over at a sharp angle in a tight canter. One of the opposition rode straight into his horse, bringing it down in a tumbled heap with Jawad caught beneath the animal.

  Jawad’s scream of agony was muffled by the noise of the pounding hooves. Few saw the attack because of the thick dust. But when the game had stopped and the dust had settled, it was obvious to everyone that there had been a bad accident.

  Talon was furious. He dismounted and ran to the prone man, whose frightened horse galloped back to horse lines. Jawad lay on the ground in a tight bundle, clutching at his arm which was twisted at an unnatural angle, and he was pale under his dark features. He rocked back and forth, crying with the pain. His turban had fallen off and Talon could see that his face was screwed up in agony and there was a rapidly growing welt on his cheek.

  Talon was quickly joined by Abbas and the other team members.

  “It was no accident, my lord. I saw it happen. I was behind that man when he rode straight into him and then struck him as he went down. It was like he wanted to kill him.”

  Abbas’s face was dark with anger. He pivoted his horse in one swift move and rode hard into Bahir’s horse, not even bothering to stop at any distance. Bahir exclaimed angrily as his mount staggered back, but then seeing the murderous expression on Abbas’s face, he reined his horse away even further. Abbas followed, shouting and pointing back at his man, who was now being helped off the field.

  “Your man tried to kill him. What are you trying to do?”

  “It was an accident, and you know it,” Bahir shouted back at Abbas. “If you put children on the field, you must expect them to get hurt by real men,” he sneered. But he kept his distance. His men rode up to gather behind him, and the threatening group deterred Abbas from continuing.

  “My man saw what he did and it was not an accident. By Allah, I shall defeat you anyway, you scum!” Abbas shouted. He turned and cantered back to his lines to arrange for a substitute.

  They rode back onto the field in a somber mood. “Each of you must pay attention to their dirty tricks. Protect one another. Suleiman saw what they did, and it was malicious, so be careful. I want to win this game.” Abbas said. His lips were set in a tight line under his beard, and his dark eyes flashed with rage.

  The crowd murmured, but the Sultan did not interfere. The game of Polo was for men, not children, and while this one seemed inordinately rough, it was a good game and he wanted it to continue. In any case, the crowd would have rioted if he had decided it was enough at this point. They were wildly excited; betting was frenzied as the citizens of Cairo scented blood.

  The trumpet blew to resume the game and the ball was thrown in from the center by a herald. Bahir was now a goal down, but for some reason Talon had the feeling that his team was not really concerned about the goal difference.

  On more than one occasion, he noticed that two of the opposition players were homing in on him, but each time he managed to evade them by urging Rakhsh to outpace them. And once, with the help of Bilal, they managed to ride one of the opponents out of play. This enabled him to head for the goal by tapping the ball along as the others rode furiously after him. The ball rose into the air just in front of him and he tapped it again, moving it ten feet forward, and then tapped it one more time at a flat out gallop.

  Then an opportunity presented itself that he could not resist. The man who had attacked Jawad earlier was galloping directly towards him, almost in line with him and the ball, which was bouncing lightly in front of the galloping Rakhsh. He took his time and made sure his mallet connected just as the ball rose a couple of inches in the air. He struck hard and the ball was hurled forward to drive itself into the shocked face of the man coming towards him.

  Talon actually saw teeth flying as it struck the oncoming man right in the mouth. The shock was too much for the player. He toppled over the back of his horse to tumble to the ground in a heap.

  Talon guided Rakhsh nimbly out of the way of the oncoming horse and galloped down field, hoping that someone would take advantage and hit the ball to him. Sure enough, Abbas drove the ball down the field to drop it a few dozen yards in front of the goal. Talon merely tapped it in to score. He slowed Rakhsh to a trot, and patted the still eager but blowing animal on his foam-flecked neck, talking to him gently. Rakhsh’s ears flicked back and he tossed his head as though to say, “I am not done yet, let’s get on with it.” Talon laughed with delight.

  As they rode back to center, a jubilant Bilal rode over and shouted. “You took all his teeth out, Suleiman. What a dreadful thing to do! Ha, ha!” He clapped Talon on the back, as did the other jubilant team members, including Abbas who was roaring with laughter as he said, “He got what he deserved there, Suleiman. Did you mean to do it? I wonder about you sometimes. Allah is sweet with his punishments. He is going to look like a dog with no teeth for the rest of his life.”

  They barely heard the delighted screams of the crowd who had seen the whole thing, despite the rising dust. The man was still stumbling off the field holding his bloody face when they arrived at the center to be met by a glowering Bahir and the remnants of his team.

  “I saw that, Abbas. There will be a reckoning.” He pointed with his mallet at Talon.

  “It was you who told me that this was a game for men and not for boys, Bahir. Your ‘boy’ deserved all he got,” Abbas responded.

  Now Abbas was two goals up, and the game had only a few minutes to go. His ecstatic team members were yelling encouragement at one another through their dirt and sweat-caked faces when the ball was thrown in again, their confidence fully restored, ready to finish it. Everyone was panting from exertion, covered with dust and wound up tight with the tension of the game. It could go either way at this point, but Abbas and his men were determined not to lose the advantage.

  Talon raced up field at the shouted command of Abbas, with Haytham close behind him in anticipation of a long pass, which soon came. The ball appeared out of the cloud of dust like a missile and flew past Talon’s ear so close he felt the wind. With a whoop he gave chase, the boy yelling and screaming advice right behind him, their horses extended at a fierce gallop. The ball bounced once and then Talon connected with a lazy strike that lofted it high into the air. There it was, flying like a bird over the opposition goal posts in a sudden silence from the crowd. Then they roared. The supporters of Abbas went wild, screaming and waving and hugging each other, while those supporters of Bahir glowered and swore; money changed hands once more.

  Haytham rode alongside Talon and embraced him with tears streaking down his sweaty, dust-caked face. Talon laughed, slapped the youngster on the back, and grinned at Abbas and the others as they gathered around to congratulate him.

  “We have won the game my friends,” Abbas said with satisfaction. “But they still have to blow the trumpets, so we must fight on till then.”

  Talon almost missed the moment when danger threatened. His glance backwards told him that something bad was about to take place from the intent faces of two of the better players on Bahir’s team, who now ignored the ball altogether and rode very hard in intercepting lines towards Abbas, who had not noticed them.

  Talon twitched his reins and sat deep. Rakhsh responded well. He promptly sat on his haunches and turned so fast Talon had to grip hard with his thighs to prevent himself being left behind. He never took his eyes off the two men, who were now riding on a collision course with Abbas, who in turn was getting ever closer to Talon. Abbas shouted something to Talon, but Talon just pointed with his stick at the men.

  Realization dawned on Abbas’s face, but it was too late. The men crashed into his horse, which staggered from the force. Talon had to haul Rakhsh out of the way as the three men careened past in a thunder of hooves. Rakhsh sat back on h
is heels, then jumped into a gallop to catch up, and Talon was able to race alongside the man on Abbas’s right and engage him, but it was still too late to prevent what happened next. The men had planned it well. The riders were still close enough to the main party of polo players to be unnoticed by anyone watching from the sidelines. The two attackers took full advantage of this fact.

  Inevitably, because one of the riders was riding across its path, Abbas’s horse stumbled and began to go down. As he sensed his horse falling, Abbas made to get his feet out of the stirrups and prepared to dive and roll, his only defense in these circumstances. However, the men on his left and right both struck at his neck and head from either side. His horse somersaulted and Abbas was not able to get free in time. Talon watched in horror as time seemed to slow and Abbas was carried beneath the falling body of the horse. He did not scream. He could not. His body was crushed under the weight of the horse that lay there for seeming endless moments before finally it rolled clear and staggered to its feet to stand shaking, its reins trailing and its saddle askew, leaving Abbas lying in a huddle on the ground.

  Both the men who had carried out the attack reined in fast and leapt off their horses to run back to the still prone body of Abbas. But Talon was faster; he jumped off Rakhsh at the gallop and landed at a run next to Abbas. He halted a couple paces in front of the prone body. He knew they were coming back to finish Abbas off and he needed those vital seconds it would take for Bilal to come to his assistance and stop them from completing their work. His heart pounding, and his breath rasping with the effort, he braced himself for the fight to come.

  The men hesitated, but then with a muttered curse they came on. One drew a knife from his sash and held it low along his thigh as they moved towards him. Talon was aware of the eerie quiet that had befallen the crowd. People were aware that Abbas, the nobleman, had crashed and had seen, despite the dust, how the horse had carried him down. But the events happening on the ground were still obscured by the pall of dust hanging over the area.