Swords of Arabia: Betrayal

by Anthony Litton

  She nodded her thanks, her actual expression warmer than her feelings toward one who, inevitably, was a serious rival to her son. In the meantime, she’d been giving as much serious thought as time and events had allowed as to who would open the assembly. Were he older, it would be natural for Talal to lead the majlis. His youth however made that impossible at present. She and Firyal were, however, well aware of the danger of allowing any potential rival the opportunity such a position would give as a springboard for their own ambitions.

  “As the brother closest to Fouad I will naturally lead the gathering,” said Badr matter of factly, almost casually. as he turned and gestured to his guards who then left the room, his point made. “In these difficult times, it will, I think, show unity,” he said smoothly.

  Ay Allah, thought Zahirah, for once caught off guard by the speed of his attack. That would not, must not, happen she knew, but her mind was still immersed in her children’s grief, and she was momentarily, and unusually, unable to produce an adequate reason why not.

  “That would be excellent Brother!” lied Nasir, fighting to control his laboured breathing. “But, alas, Abdullah must open it; anything else would be unthinkable!” he added smoothly.

  Ay! The boy has certainly become the man! thought Zahirah, caught between gratitude for his quick thinking and... Something else. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, not yet; something that had first taken root when she’d observed his icy coolness, despite his wounds, on the race back to Narash.

  That it had caught Badr off guard also, was seen only by the briefest of pauses before he nodded reluctant agreement. He had little option once the name had been voiced. Abdullah, their great-uncle, was the eldest surviving sheikh of their family, and to deny him his place at the majlis would, now his name had been broached, be an insult of the highest order.

  Gracefully taking their leave of Badr, who turned and left the chamber to join his men, Zahirah and Firyal, seeing that Nasir had lapsed again into semi-consciousness, left him to the care of Nawwaf and Ayesha. Before she left, Firyal handed the girl a small glass jar that she’d had brought from her private rooms.

  “See that Lord Nasir is given this when he next regains consciousness. It will help him over the next few days.” She gave the girl quiet instructions on dosage and left the room with Zahirah.

  “It is a potion which will give him strength and clearness of mind for the coming days. It will come at a price, however,” she cautioned. “He will feel its less pleasant effects for many weeks, but will, in time, Allah willing, get rid of it from his body.” Zahirah nodded in gratitude. Nasir’s spirit she didn’t doubt, but his physical weakness was causing her concern. Without him, she knew, they were dangerously, perhaps fatally, weakened.

  Refusing to be separated from the children – for she knew that to hear of how rule is achieved and kept could do nothing but help them – she let them cluster around her feet as she, her mother-in-law, and Isaac, reluctantly taken from Nasir’s bedside, urgently discussed their next steps. They were all keenly aware that they needed not only to survive the next few hours, but also to make sure that time worked for them and not those opposed to Talal’s succession. To achieve both aims would require all their skills, and all those skills would need to be used as never before.

  Chapter Four

  The men, dirty and bedraggled, their beards wild, unkempt and lice-ridden, were brought, in some fear, into the Great Chamber and were halted some yards short of the dais where Talal sat. He was flanked by Nasir, who was propped up against many cushions, pale and obviously weak, despite Firyal’s medicine. Just below the dais stood Isaac ben Ishmail. Like Nasir’s, his pale features were closed and impossible to read. The little group of men stopped suddenly as they saw who was in the room. Talal himself rose and reached out a hand in greeting. “Uncles, cousins, I welcome you.” He courteously gestured for them to sit on one of the brightly coloured cushions placed in front of the dais.

  All four looked down uncertainly, unsure how to sit with any degree of dignity with the chains at their wrists and ankles. At a gesture from Nasir, the guards moved forward and carefully helped each figure to sit facing Talal. Then, his part done and after gesturing quietly for refreshments to be offered to his imprisoned kin, he sat gazing silently down on them, an expression on his boyish face of frank and friendly interest.

  The prisoners, fed only on near-starvation rations since their incarceration, fought back the almost overwhelming urge to devour the food and drink like animals at the trough. Instead, with a dignity that impressed those watching, they ate and drank little, before waving away the rest of the still yearned for food and drink.

  Nasir, breaking the silence, then greeted the men of his family. They were men he’d not seen since Fouad had had them thrown into prison more than two years previously, suspected of involvement in a plot which had almost cost Nasir his own life.

  “Brothers, cousins, I too, welcome you.”

  “A belated greeting, brother; one we have waited over two years for!” grunted one of the older men in front of them, though less forcefully than he once would have done. Already well into middle-age when he’d been incarcerated in his young half-brother’s dungeons, Abdul had aged swiftly in the dark, scarcely ventilated boxes set deep below the citadel’s surface. His face was now heavily lined and, always thin, his body was now almost skeletal under the dirty, stinking clothes which were the same ones they’d been arrested in. “So, at last, it is to happen! I am surprised it has taken you so long!”

  “What is to happen, brother?” queried Nasir calmly.

  “Don’t play with me, boy!” he spat, his voice regaining some of his old force. “I mean our execution, of course. I’m surprised it is to be done openly. We have been expecting it to be done more quietly, any time the past two years,” he added, his voice suddenly cracking just a little. This unexpected chink in his demeanour gave the onlookers just a small glimpse into an existence of such horror that every minute of every day and of every night was spent expecting that it may well be their last; an existence where every creak of their cell’s door could herald their sudden and violent death.

  “We have considered what to do with yourselves, our kin, in view of what you were suspected of...” Nasir continued into the small silence that had greeted Abdul’s words.

  “Suspected of, yes – but nothing was ever proved!” spat Mansour, Abdul’s son, his own thin face filled with its usual spite.

  “I think, kinsman, that had a full investigation been held, this conversation may have taken a different direction than it may,” said Nasir coldly. “So I would not play the offended innocent before us!”

  “Cease playing with us, cousin, and tell us why we are here; dressed in rags and stinking of Allah knows what in front of our own kin!” spat Salman. Like his absent uncle and namesake, he had a dangerously short fuse.

  Nasir looked across at Isaac. They both had misgivings about what they were about to do. They both also agreed, however, that if Zahirah’s plan worked then it was a master-stroke.

  “We wish, at Talal’s request, to offer you your freedom, Brother,” Nasir responded

  quietly, speaking directly to Abdul.

  Whatever the four prisoners were expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Their worn faces flared with sudden joy at the thought of again breathing air fresh from the desert rather than that eternally circulating in the dank filthiness of their cells, before they again breathed it in. Then, fearful caution set in. Breathing deeply to keep his voice steady and not shame himself in front of his young kin, Abdul spoke.

  “And what must we do for this gift, this belated gift?” he asked, with some flicker of his old bombastic self trying to compete against the long given up hope he felt starting to well up inside his tired body.

  “Merely let what is past, stay past. Commit to loyalty to Talal as Emir, if you feel able, and genuine neutrality if you can’t. That is all you need for us all to begin again, as kin,” respond
ed Nasir, as agreed beforehand, being the spokesman for the group.

  “And if we don’t?” Mansour predictably asked, raising an angry glance from his father.

  “If you don’t, then much is still too unsure for us to risk giving you your freedom and you will be returned to your cells,” responded Nasir flatly, silently half-hoping their stubborn pride – or hatred of Fouad’s line – would keep them immured.

  “And if we do agree – how can we be sure our lives will still be safe?” asked Salman. Of the four, though he fought to hide it, he was the most eager for freedom, and at almost any price; a yearning he couldn’t quite conceal.

  “You have our word, cousin, on behalf of my nephew, all our line and all in Narash; that should be sufficient,” Nasir again spoke calmly, resisting the urge to order them back to their cells.

  “Safe from all?” Mus’id, Abdul’s younger brother and the fourth member of the quartet, asked quietly.

  Nasir, knowing what, or rather who, was in his mind, replied. “Yes, from all. Indeed the idea to free you came in large part from the ladies Zahirah and Firyal.”

  The four prisoners’ surprise that they had the support of the two powerful women, neither known for showing gentleness to those they considered enemies, was quickly followed by relief and a growing joy that they would, could, at last, be freed. And given that their very freedom was due, in part at least, to two of those they feared the most, meant, perhaps, that they would live long enough to enjoy it. Seeing their involuntary glances towards the half-screens, as always in place at any important meeting. Nasir shook his head. “The Ladies would wish to meet you at another time, should we reach an agreement.” He saw them relax a little. No man wished to be seen at his weakest and dirtiest by any woman, particularity two as powerful and vengeful as those two.

  “So, do we have your word that you will become our friends again, plot nothing against us; and should you so desire, support our kinsman as your Emir?” he asked, cynically, little doubting their answer, or it’s worth. He asked the question into yet another of the silences their new found hope had plunged the captives into.

  Each looked at the other, though their decision had already been made. They were not fools and had little doubt that this offer was the last they would receive. None wished to return to their dark cells, images of which would always haunt their sleepless nights for as long as their lives lasted.

  They nodded; after all, words were cheap and even if they weren’t, they would pay almost any price to regain their freedom.

  Nasir nodded to the guards who moved forward and removed the men’s chains. When they’d done so, the duo left the dais and briefly embraced them. “Water and fresh clothes are ready for you, as is more food and drink. When you are refreshed we will talk further, and the ladies Firyal and Zahirah have expressed a wish to meet with you. To show their joy that we are as one again,” he added, to forestall any questions. Though there would have been none. There was, after all, little the men wished to say or do that would risk their new-found freedom; not yet, anyway.

  ***

  Some time later, the four prisoners, already looking years younger having been fed, watered, been allowed to wash, have their beards trimmed and provided with clean clothes, were shown into the small audience chamber attached to Firyal’s large airy apartments overlooking the harbour.

  Seated with Zahirah on the small dais, she smiled as they entered and, waving away her attendants, she gestured to the light food and drink placed on small tables before a jumble of large cushions placed near the dais.

  “Brothers, nephew, cousin, we greet you and welcome you back into our family,” she said, rising with difficulty and gesturing they be seated. As a mark of the informality of the meeting, both she, scorning any help, and Zahirah, left the dais and also seated themselves amongst the cushions, where they all engaged in light conversation.

  Then, after several minutes, Abdul cut through the social pleasantries. “Sisters, my apologies for any haste, but I think you can appreciate our wish to return to our homes, see our loved ones,” he said seriously. He showed no trace that he was aware that his audience knew that at home, he was in fact regarded indifferently, an indifference he fully returned. Preserving the proprieties was important however, as he thrust through to the main reason for his interjection. “We understand that we are – to some extent at least – indebted to yourselves for our release, and we thank you,” he continued, as the two women shrugged away any major part in the granting of their freedom. “We were, though, somewhat surprised!” he continued and then paused, leaving an opening for the two to explain, if they so wished, why they’d reversed their well-known aversion to the quartet. Firyal did so wish, to an extent anyway.

  “Whatever small part we may have played, it was merely that both we and our family in Narash are too small to survive if we’re divided. We hope that by the gesture taken by my grandson and Nasir, you will see that we mean neither you nor your families any harm, and we hope that any past misunderstanding, on either side, could be laid to rest,” she ended. The slight upward lilt turned the last part of her sentence into a gentle question should they wish to hear – and answer it.

  “The price for our release is our support for Talal as emir.” Abdul stated bluntly. “I’m surprised, frankly that the family have chosen him, the times being what they are,” he added.

  Firyal, glad that, despite the recent devastating changes, the quartet were still as cut-off from events as she’d ordered many months ago, shook her head. “My grandson is not yet confirmed by a family council.”

  “Ah – so the price of our release is our supporting the boy!” half-sneered Mansour, sensing a weakness in the two women who were still, he had not the slightest doubt, his bitter adversaries, and would always remain so.

  Showing no sign that the very core of the reasons behind the meeting had been reached, Firyal shrugged dismissively and replied grandly. “We are family, Nephew; why would we wish to bargain like traders in the souk?” She was happy to ignore both the fact that she and Zahirah did so virtually every day, and that the men seated opposite her were well aware of their activities.

  “Then, why? Why release us, if not to support Talal in the council?” probed Abdul, keenly aware of what, despite their elegant denials, must be the real reason behind their seeming generosity,

  Zahirah interposed quietly. “If you feel it right to support Talal, then you will do so; it would be unseemly of us to link support for him to your being released. For our part, it’s simple enough. My son and many others wish to try and break through the endless cycle of brother killing brother, uncle killing nephew in the endless circle of blood-letting, that is all.”

  Abdul, watching her closely, didn’t believe for a moment her disinterest in getting their support, but admired the faultless way she spoke as though this were the case.

  “An admirable ambition, sister, most admirable. So – we are free to go, leave the citadel and seek out our families?”

  “Of course, whenever you wish;” she paused, then continued, “although I imagine that as the majlis is due to start shortly, you would wish to attend it, at some point, and have a voice in its affairs.” Her response was bland, but ended with the slightest emphasis. “And,” she added, her words casual, her gaze anything but, “before you leave, perhaps we may discuss how any in the family may aid you to rebuild your lives after so long apart from us all.”

  Then, with blinding clarity, the wily old sheikh saw exactly what Zahirah’s intentions were, both during the majlis and beyond. His subtle mind raced as he realised other things too, all of which told him clearly which road they should – had to – travel. Whatever amount of honey coated the words being uttered in the friendliest, the softest, of voices, he knew with crystal clarity that there would be no release for any of the four from their imprisonment – except, perhaps, by death – without their agreement to back Talal. It was equally clear that a price, and probably a satisfyingly high one, would be paid
for that support. Finally, and, in a curious way, the deciding factor in the proud old sheikh’s mind, was that all of this had been conveyed in the most subtle and face-saving way imaginable.

  Knowing all this, and ignoring the puzzled looks of his slower witted companions, he returned her look with one as equally insincere as he responded. “Indeed, such assistance would be most appreciated, most appreciated. And, you are correct, of course, sister, we would not wish to avoid doing our duty by the family. We shall, of course, attend the gathering, and give our views; and,” he paused and coughed delicately, “we would of course be more than willing to impart any views that yourself or the Lady Firyal would wish the family to hear.”

  The principals on both sides clearly understanding each other, Zahirah continued, as Firyal’s strength started to fail her, and outlined their thinking – and their offer – to Abdul and the others.

  Chapter Five

  “Lady, do you intend to observe the majlis?” asked Zahirah with genuine concern in one of the few moments they were briefly alone. Although it was scarcely dawn of the day of the scheduled assembly, the sun only just touching the waters of the busy harbour, they were both already up as there was still much to do; almost too much. She knew the elderly Sheikha too well not to see behind the stoical mask now firmly back in place, right into the heart of the massive, un-healable anguish that the increasingly frail princess was suffering at the loss of her favourite son.

  The younger woman was unsurprised, however, by Firyal’s answer. “Yes, I must. We both must be there to do our best to ensure Fouad’s decision about the succession is endorsed.”

  Zahirah nodded. Despite their devastation at the loss of Fouad, they had both wanted the majlis to meet even sooner than it was now scheduled: some three days after Zahirah and Nasir’s return. They knew also, however, that until all the family decision-makers were present, it was unwise to hold one. Besides Ali and Habib, other key men such as Muqrin and Mus’id were away in the emirate’s inland oases and had to be given time to return. Both women knew that they could have rushed through Talal’s succession, made it a de facto ascension of power by virtue of their forces controlling both the citadel and the garrison’s loyalty. They were keenly aware, however, that in the absence of such important family members, his taking of that power would lack some of the legitimacy they needed for there to be fewer challenges in the future. That there would be some, of course, regardless of how his succession was managed, was something they saw as inevitable.