Bowing his head slightly, he continued smoothly. “We hadn’t thought our alliance had lapsed. However. as I’m sure you are aware, the Sultan’s armies, along with those of his allies,” he emphasised gently but noticeably, “are rapidly pushing back the insolent British. And have recently done so on the very edge of Arabia!”
“Yes, indeed,” cordially agreed Badr. “And we congratulate His Imperial Majesty on his recent victories, including that of his troops repelling the attempted break-out of some of the British forces at Kut al Armara,” he added casually.
The whole of the delegation looked thunderstruck at his statement. They themselves, with the very latest in technology, had heard only scant hours previously of the attempt by some of the combined British-Indian forces to break out and thus avoid their otherwise inevitable surrender to the Ottoman armies encircling them. They were at a loss to know how the Narashi, with their primitive communications systems, were also fully aware of what indeed was a notable setback for the beleaguered force.
Smiling slightly at the effect his words had caused and, for once, silently thanking Zahirah and Firyal’s intelligence systems, Badr, followed by Nasir, rose.
“But enough of talk,” he said. “You must rest and refresh yourselves, for tonight we feast in welcome of our friends and tomorrow we can, perhaps, talk further.
“Indeed,” replied the Ambassador, gracefully accepting the inevitable and also rising to his feet. “I wonder, I know it’s a little late in the season, but we have heard much of the good hunting in your country. Would it be possible for some of your warriors to accompany some of our younger members on such a hunt? I know they would greatly enjoy the freedom it would offer, after so long being restricted to the demands of our caravan.” Hiding their surprise, the Narashi regents agreed and each party left to both privately discuss the meeting and to prepare for the night’s festivities.
Chapter Eleven
Anyone observing the laughing, joyous party racing on priceless horses across the desert’s flat, gravelly surface, their sleek hunting dogs easily keeping pace, would not have known that there was a war to the death being fought in similar deserts not far away. But the early morning air was fresh, the party were young and freedom had its own exhilarating taste after the confines of the town, so they raced each other in laughing competition, their falcons left safely with their slaves and attendants to follow on at a slower, safer, pace.
Ahead of them all was Talal, pushing his silvery horse ever faster in his bid to beat his young uncle for the first time in their friendly rivalry. The galloping riders were only yards from their target, an isolated patch of scrub, when he felt, rather than heard, a presence near his left shoulder and he hurriedly glanced around in irritation. It was Nasir, a grin of triumph on his face as he flashed past his annoyed nephew on his way to claim the prize.
Nasir’s own victory smile disappeared rapidly, however, as he himself felt the wind of an approaching presence and he glanced to his side just in time to see Kerim pull level and then, in the last yards, pull ahead and reach the patch of scrub ahead of them all.
“An excellent ride, my friend!” shouted the young officer, now dressed in the white flowing robes of his hosts, as he reined in his sweating mount and leant down to pat it’s neck affectionately, as the others reached him.
“It was, until the last few paces!” grunted Nasir, his own spirits returning as he saw his nephew wearing a very un-ruler like scowl.
“Hey, nephew, why the scowl? Don’t worry, you’ll beat me next time!”
“That’s what you said last time!” retorted Talal, his own good nature and high spirits returning in the sheer joy of being away from the town’s restraints. And, after all, he reflected, Nasir had himself been beaten, so the morning wasn’t totally without pleasure.
“You ride well, Captain,” he said courteously, turning to the young Turkish officer.
“I could say it was a host’s duty to let him be victorious, hence his win,” murmured Nasir
“I would feel insulted if that were so!” rejoined Kerim.
“I know. That’s why I said it!” rejoined Nasir and they both burst into laughter.
Talal watching them, was amazed at their camaraderie. They were obviously the closest of friends, and yet family history told him they had known each other for only a few hours some three years previously. Of course, he thought, the circumstances in which they’d met and in which that friendship was formed, were somewhat stressful, and the occasion of the type that marked men, and bred a closeness not otherwise obtained. Nonetheless his gaze had more than a hint of wistfulness, as the party awaited the arrival of their attendants and the camels carrying the precious falcons, the reason for the morning’s outing. Despite his youth and friendly nature, he had, since his elevation to his father’s throne, found it hard to make friends. The only ones he had were from before his becoming ruler and even those now felt a little reserve in his presence, treated him with more respect and less open affection. Only his brothers and sisters ignored his new rank and continued to treat him as a much loved older sibling.
Though respect would sometimes be welcome, thought Talal, ruefully rubbing the back of his head, still sore from where Khalid, his six year old half-brother, had hit him with a stick and run off laughing.
He’d already learned the first lesson of ruling: that it was a lonely eminence and it was one he was not yet entirely sure he wanted. He was also far from sure that he had his father’s – or mother’s – absolutely natural drive for power, almost regardless of the consequences of that drive.
But, laughing, he shrugged the thoughts away. Today, he was a boy! And as a boy he intended to enjoy the day’s hunting. Who knows, if he focused enough on the sleek raptors he could forget the large number of guards riding as closely as he would let them.
Nasir turned and laughed as another rider joined them. “Well seen, nephew! We have been expecting you for some time! What kept you?”
“Most amusing, uncle, most amusing,” scowled Fahad. “If my horse hadn’t stumbled I’d have won; most definitely I would!”
Nasir laughed, though the younger man spoke with some justice. In a family of superb riders it was generally conceded that he was one of the best. “You insult me by your laughter, I am very tempted to give you a beating!” Fahad announced grandly.
“Well, if you think you can best me,” murmured Nasir.
“I don’t – that’s why I’ll not do it!” laughed Fahad, as happy as the rest to be out and riding free.
Boys grow swiftly to manhood in the deserts, they have to. Even with swift maturity expected, however, Fahad had stood out from the rest. Ever since his role in saving Zahirah and his cousins he’d seemed older than his years. Now, at seventeen, he was regarded as a full man; so much so, he was soon to take a second wife.
Their slaves having caught up with them, each took their own hooded bird onto the gauntlet protecting their left hand and wrist from the savage claws of the falcons. Then each rider gently stroked its feathers to calm the hooded bird and let it know that it was back with its owner. Even Kerim had a hawk on his wrist. A fierce hunter in his own lands, he’d arranged to have his own birds follow him out when, after a brief and eventful posting in Turkey itself, following the fall of al Hofuf, he’d been again sent back into Arabia.
Then a cry from one of their slaves alerted the group to its arrival near the spot where the trackers had come across a small colony of desert hares, one of the prime targets for the savage falcons, and a good start to the day’s sport.
Everyone quickly quietened as they removed the hoods from their falcons’ heads. Uncovered, the birds were ready at a moment’s notice to be unleashed. Once free, the raptors, one of the most perfect killing machines nature had yet devised, would race high and ever higher, streaking into the sky’s vast, blue emptiness until they were scarcely a dot in their owner’s eye. When they sighted their prey, often almost out of sight, far, far ahead of the hunting party itself, t
hen, then would come the stunning reverse and they would flash downwards at ever increasing speed. The winged killers would be scarcely visible to their viewers’ eyes as they would be far, far away across the desert. Then, appearing only as a briefly seen shadow from below, their claws would rip down through fur, or feathers and plunge deep into the skin and down on into the flesh of their victim. For, once released, they rarely, if ever, failed to kill.
“Come, Talal, release your bird and let’s see how he performs!” Nasir said pointing to the sleek, beautiful, bird, its feathers of varying shades of brown, on his nephew’s wrist. It had been a gift from Nasir himself to his young kinsman, who had been overjoyed at the expensive present, unaware of his uncle’s ulterior motive. For, by the long hours of patient training the young bird had needed, Nasir hoped indirectly to help the boy develop the patience he would also need once he eventually came of age and became in fact, as well as in name, the ruler of his father’s kingdom. The magnificent looking bird was a saker, one of the most prized of the falcons used in Arabia. It was its first outing after the many, many weeks Talal had spent in slowly, very slowly, getting it used to his arm, and to himself as its owner.
Talal shook his head and said courteously. “No, as our guest, Captain Celik must be allowed to unleash his bird first.”
Kerim nodded in response to the courtesy and, seeing that the slaves working ahead had flushed out the prey, he unleashed his bird, a fierce, beautiful, strongly marked peregrine, with a word of encouragement. Though an older bird than his host’s it was also on its first outing of the season, only just coming out of its annual moult some weeks after the saker. Kerim was keen to see if its hunting skills had carried over from the previous year, when it had been one of his most prized hunters. He knew that, unlike the larger sakers, his bird was very unlikely to attack on the ground; a bird of the air, it preferred to attack other winged creatures whilst still in flight. Today though, she would play her part in harassing the hares and other game until the fleet-footed Saluki caught up with them and killed the quarry.
They all watched transfixed as Kerim’s bird soared into the sky, its strong wings making little of the effort needed to rise so high and so swiftly. Then, far ahead of the riders, it saw its prey, as the hares, now flushed out and hemmed in by the attendants, scurried in increasingly frightened, zigzagging spurts, desperately seeking to live. Then the raptor swooped into its plunging dive.
As expected it didn’t dive onto and kill any of the frightened quarry, its comparatively small size precluded it doing that safely. Instead it swooped down and flew just above the heads of the increasingly frightened and disorientated hares until, exhausted they fell easy prey to the salukis, whose strong jaws set in narrow, long nosed, heads, made short work of killing their prey.
Kerim’s family had links across Europe and he had flown his hawks in many of the European countries, but he loved the falconry of Arabia most of all. His blood raced as they swept across the flat desert floor, the sand raising in spurts under the hooves of their horses, his heart responding to the savagery and the stark simplicity of the Bedouin sport, stripped of all unnecessary trappings and, to his mind, beautiful in that savage simplicity.
Game was plentiful and the morning’s kill was good with most riders bringing down game. The high-spot came just before they broke off the hunt to rest during the blazingly hot midday hours. Houbara, or bustard, were spotted and everyone held their breath in anticipation of the coming spectacle. Almost twice the size of a saker they made formidable prey, and good eating if caught. A small family group were observed by the sharp-eyed beaters, scurrying along the shallow floor of a dried up wadi, one of the birds favoured ways of avoiding being spotted. Startled, two rushed across the sandy river bed and took off. Talal, his eyes shining, unleashed his falcon with a whispered word of encouragement and watched, breathless and transfixed, as he followed her effortless climb high into the endless sky. She’d already spotted the larger bird, even as she sat on Talal’s wrist and her soaring flight rapidly closed the distance between them. Positioning herself above her prey, the falcon hovered for a second or two and then raced down, aiming to catch the larger bird’s neck and break it with one twist of her powerful, savagely curved beak. The wily houbara banked sharply, avoiding the smaller bird and its slashing, death-dealing beak. Swiftly pulling out of its swift descent, the saker herself wheeled sharply and swung back upwards to attack again. The houbara, as if sensing its aim, dived sharply and landed on the desert floor. The watchers drew in a collective breath. They knew the fight was far from over. A fierce fighter, the larger bird often out-fought its hunter, emerging the victor from a savage conflict it hadn’t sought. The riders were near enough to watch the final moments of the bloody battle. The young saker landed at the side of the houbara and lashed out with its beak. Avoiding the bustard’s attempt to turn and eject its bowels onto her wings, a favourite trick, which could disable her instantly, she jumped onto the bird’s back. Then she locked in her claws and with one savage, twisting, wrench of her beak, broke the houbara’s neck. Ensuring the victorious saker got a small portion of the fresh kill, Talal took her back onto his wrist, his eyes blazing with pride and excitement.
Watching him, Nasir, regretted again that such hours were few for the boy, and cursed again the fate that had taken his father, ensuring his son’s childhood would rarely be entirely carefree.
Shortly before mid-day, the party reached the encampment set up earlier by their servants and, dismounting, gratefully plunged into the cool shadows of the large awnings erected in front of the tents. There they ate heartily of the meal of dates, goat’s cheese and the hot, cooked meat of some of their prey taken earlier that morning. Spirits were high, even amongst those whose birds had yet to make a kill. All joined in the laughter and friendly banter as the whole party, their birds safely tethered to their blocks, or stands, their hoods firmly in place, relaxed and whiled away the hot midday hours under the awnings of the tents. Only the guards, who ringed the encampment, were alert and vigilant.
In honour of their visitors, the Narashi princes had provided not the usual workmanlike tents in everyday use, but richly decorated ones, with lavish interior hangings. They had been commissioned many years previously by Firyal, to the fury of the town’s more puritanical inhabitants, which she ignored. She was well aware of the value of display. She was still proud of the beautiful tents and it was only with the strictest of warnings as to their being well looked after that she’d agreed to their being used.
“Though why I give any belief at all to the promises of rough and ready men to be civilised, I am at a loss to know!” she smiled as she arranged their packing for the journey.
“You realise it was no idle suggestion about the hunting party from our general?” Kerim, said eventually to Nasir, his open, honest features troubled, after they’d eaten and they’d walked a short distance from the tents.
Nasir nodded, “I supposed as much. It was to talk to me about your embassy, am I right?” he queried, as he watched without comment the guards that the ever vigilant Nawwaf had sent, take up positions on some of the small hills and rocky outcrops overlooking the spot where they’d stopped to talk.
“Indeed you are. They know about our meeting in al Hofuf and that we formed a bond there, and, I hope, became friends.”
“And they hope you will influence me in our soon to be made decision?”
“Yes, but I won’t try Nasir, even if I thought I could influence you, and have told them so. That would be to transgress what I feel is our friendship,” responded Kerim frankly.
“I appreciate that Kerim and, yes, I too feel we are friends, firm friends, but in all honesty you would be wasting your time. I am only one of the two regents and with less influence than Badr. Not to mention others in the palace who will also be able to influence the final decision much better than I,” he replied, equally frankly.
Kerim shook his head. “I think you underestimate your standing, Nasir. Also the
trust some of those others hold you in.” Seeing his friend’s enquiring look, he continued. “The trust is clear, even with us today. Do you think the Lady Zahirah would allow her son out of the palace with you, if she didn’t hold you in the greatest regard?” he asked bluntly.
“Possibly,” conceded Nasir. “That doesn’t mean she, or anyone else, would listen to my views on such high matters as our future alliances. I am a regent as a counterweight to Badr, because the pro-Talal faction, and others, wanted, needed, someone they could trust as one of the boy’s guardians; someone strong enough on the fields of war and elsewhere to protect him.”
“Perhaps they wouldn’t ordinarily consider your views about alliances and external matters, though I’m less certain than you,” countered his friend. “Don’t forget, though, that you are one of the few with direct experience of our Ottoman army. Alas in painful circumstances, I must admit.”
Nasir nodded, his handsome features turning grim as he recalled the chaos and indiscipline of that night. One of the few who had borne themselves with both discipline and courage was the young officer standing by his side. After a moment, he said unexpectedly. “I would not be offended if we did talk with honesty, Kerim. You have an entire empire in which to bury any mistakes of policy. We in Narash have very little such space, so it is a decision we must take with great care!”
Kerim nodded, relieved that they could talk, and talk openly. “So there is a decision to be made? You may actually leave your alliance with us and be neutral or indeed, join the British side?” he asked, hiding his surprise, which in truth was very little. Many of their once solid alliances were now crumbling, and often, as now, with the fault lying with his own country.
Swords of Arabia: Betrayal Page 7
