Swords of Arabia: Betrayal

by Anthony Litton

  None of the inner council had been surprised when they were approached by British interests within scant weeks of their meeting with the Ottoman delegation. The invitation for an informal gathering had come from Jaber, the son and recent successor to the powerful Mubarak, the previous sheikh of Kuwait, their near neighbour. His letters’ careful, casual mention that some British friends may also be in his party, warned the Narashi that refusal wasn’t a realistic option. Certainly, not if they wanted to hear what – if anything – the British could offer before they confirmed their renewed alliance with their traditional allies, the Turks. For, despite Nasir’s unease, that seemed to be what the decision would be in the majlis, regardless of what he or most of the others of the inner council might want. In the meantime they had known the regents must attend Jaber’s gathering. Whether Talal should be risked outside the safety of his own lands was much debated, until Zahirah said flatly that he must learn to rule, and soon. And if she, his mother, was prepared to risk her son’s life, the matter should not be discussed further, and he should go. What it had cost her, only she knew. That she was rewarded by a grateful glance from her son who was developing as strong and fierce a spirit as that his father had once had, was reward enough for her.

  With the Narishi wishing that as little attention as possible should be drawn to the meeting, and the Kuwaiti ruler being as slippery as his father had been, the meeting was in the almost empty no man’s land that separated the two sheikhdoms. With a bitter irony not lost on either Badr or Nasir it was at a spot not far distant from that where their brother’s abortive first meeting with the Englishman Shakespear had taken place some six years previously. Dismounting in the heavily armed camp, set securely within a ring of low hills, whose crumbling rocky sides provided ample cover for the numerous guards surrounding the encampment, the Narashi chiefs were swiftly escorted to the lavish tent of their host. The interior fittings of the large tent rivalled even Firyal’s in colourful luxury with its rich hangings, and colourful, intricately woven carpets covering the sandy floor.

  Even when the traditional greetings were over and refreshments had been offered and consumed there was still no sign of any British presence. Neither of the two Narashi regents remarked on this absence. They were content to wait and see what the visit produced. The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough with inter-tribal gossip and friendly rivalry in a variety of war-like pastimes. Nasir’s men were delighted at easily winning the distance marksmanship competitions, but were less pleased to only draw in the short distance target shooting and to narrowly lose in the camel racing. That they’d been quietly ordered to do so by Nasir did little to sooth their wounded pride. The young chief’s orders were partly out of courtesy to their hosts but more to do with the fact that he had no intention of publicly showing how superb his men were fast becoming in all aspects of warfare. He had no wish to forewarn any outsiders of the growing Narashi strength and was determined that their rapidly increasing military prowess would be shown only where it mattered – on the battlefield.

  Later, they sat patiently drinking coffee from ornate brass coffee pots as the temperature fell. The approaching night closed swiftly around them and the setting sun started to colour the surrounding hills and dunes with the softest of blue, the clearest of gold and, finally, the rich, inky, starlit blackness of the desert night. Then, at last, their guards, stationed around the camp on the rocky outcrops surrounding it, alerted them to a party of approaching riders.

  “It’s the British!” whispered Talal to Nasir, as a party, also mounted on camels, rode into the encampment. “But they look so ordinary – and they are so few!” he added in disappointed surprise. His youthful expectation of a show to equal the gaudy trappings of the Ottoman emissaries was shattered as he took in their nondescript khaki clothing and quiet demeanour as the firelight lit the approaching emissaries.

  “Don’t be fooled, nephew,” grunted Badr. He had come into contact with the British on too many occasions to be either surprised at their current lack of display or, when they judged the occasion needed it, their ability to provide such a display that put the attempts of anyone else into the shade.

  “And be aware also, Talal,” added Nasir. “Should the occasion demand it, these ‘ordinary’ looking men can call on armies of men and fleets of ships that you can scarce imagine, and which would rival, even possibly better, those of the Ottoman. That they appear thus, is, I suspect, to keep their presence a secret from the Turks for as long as is possible,” he added astutely and, he later discovered, entirely correctly.

  Then, greetings over, introductions made and ceremonial hospitality dispensed, all the leaders settled down for the main business of the gathering.

  “I never had the honour to meet your father, Highness, and regret that I didn’t. He was a great leader,” the head of the small British delegation, a tall, lean man with piercing grey eyes, said courteously, as he turned to Talal.

  “Had there been more meetings, perhaps you would have – and perhaps my father would still be alive!” flashed Talal, silencing the Briton and surprising his regents. Ay Allah, the son is truly turning into the man! thought Nasir, not at all put out that his nephew had got the meeting off to an awkward start.

  If, however, the British felt any awkwardness it didn’t show. “He is a sad loss to Arabia, particularly in these troubled and dangerous times. Much has happened since those meetings, though only a few short years have passed,” the Briton responded quietly, his well-bred voice remaining calm. “Much has changed,” he added quietly and with only a slight but unmistakeable emphasis.

  Badr nodded. “That is indeed so. Had they not, this meeting would not be happening, perhaps?” he interjected, mildly but pointedly.

  The delegation leader nodded, “Quite probably not,” he agreed. “But as things have changed and we are meeting here, His Majesty’s Government hopes we may build on what have always been cordial relations between our two countries,” he finished blandly.

  “We have always before been regarded as too close to our Ottoman friends to be of much interest, or indeed much trusted by, His Majesty’s Government, prior to this,” Badr responded, with just the slightest of mocking emphasis on ‘His Majesty’s Government’.

  “This is so, and, if we’re speaking frankly, as it appears we are,” responded the diplomat with a slight smile and inclination of his head to Talal, “it is entirely understandable. An alliance spanning generations is not one that is lightly broken. Nor,” he shrugged, “would those hearing that there may be a wish for it to be severed, lightly come to believe it,” he responded quietly.

  “So, why are we here?” asked Nasir, equally calmly.

  “Because it is possible that we may have some common interests. Having said that, many in our government are against this meeting even taking place. It was only with some difficulty that agreement was given,” was the unusually blunt response.

  “And the reason for this change of heart?” asked Badr, his face bland, as he smiled inwardly thinking he knew the answer. After all, total war being waged in the region by its two greatest powers was reason enough, particularly when those they were meeting with were coming off the worse.

  “Because of the late Emir Fouad’s heroic act at Jarrab,” was the reply, stunning the Narashi into silence. Indeed, it was only years of ferocious self-discipline that stopped their jaws dropping. “Oh, of course, the current situation would – will – bring changes in some of our alliances. The Narashi one, however, was not one we thought achievable, until we heard of your father’s brave attempt to save the life of our colleague – and my friend – Captain Shakespear,” the man added, the pain in his voice clear testimony of his loss.

  Badr and Nasir both fought to keep their faces expressionless. Both had been at Jarrab and both had witnessed the event referred to. They also had a very different interpretation of their brother’s actions, one that they felt was not only certainly more accurate than their hosts, but also one that would be dis
tinctly unwise to share with them.

  “Does this mean that you are reconsidering your refusal of my brother’s several letters to you on this matter? My dead brother,” Nasir added, genuine anger, banked down, making his voice flat and cold, as he made it entirely clear that he also blamed the British slowness for Fouad’s death.

  “We are certainly prepared to talk further about it,” a younger man started to say, slightly patronisingly, until quieted by a sharp glance from his superior.

  “If we receive an indication from yourselves that you would be interested in talking further, we would be honoured and happy to enter into more detailed discussions, with our discretion assured, naturally. We recognise that even our talking to each other places Narash at some risk “

  “Not to mention our lives!” responded Badr with a short laugh. He had no wish for an alliance with the British. Besides sharing Isaac’s dislike of their high-handedness, he had particularly close links with the Ottoman and had no wish to have them disturbed. That said, he was too much of a negotiator not to realise that even the hint of their talking to their enemy would, despite the danger, add immeasurably to their bargaining position with the Turkish representatives in the future days when they returned to continue their discussions. That the whole process would be measured in only days, or at most, a few short weeks, he had no doubt. All parties wanted a swift decision one way or the other. Time, in war, was not necessarily as plentiful as one would wish, he thought ruefully.

  Talal itched to tell the delegation that they were too late. With his father dead, he wished no more truck with their mighty empire or its smooth talking representatives. He remained silent, however. His youthful fury was already being tempered by the rigours of ruling and he knew that the British were too powerful to dismiss lightly. Nothing showed on his face as he stared back at the British delegation, his slight frame relaxed and his clear black eyes carefully free from any expression. He knew, however, with absolute certainty that, whether or not the future saw them formally together in an alliance, he would never forget, nor forgive, their part in his father’s death.

  “We risk much if we move away from the side of the Ottoman,” Nasir said, nothing in his voice giving away the fact that he thought the Ottoman ability to protect themselves, let alone their allies, was far from proven.

  “Yes, His Majesty’s Government recognises that and hopes that they may in some way be able to replace the protection you lose from the Turkish Sultan. Any such decision is, of course, entirely Narash’s to make, but events are moving swiftly so we feel a speedy decision is needed,” the British emissary added quietly, deliberately increasing the pressure on the Narashi representatives.

  Indeed they are – and not in your favour either, thought Badr cynically. But that is good, he thought. If a man is on his knees before you, you can extract a high price to let him rise again.

  “We would need to discuss this further with others with influence at home,” Nasir said suddenly. “You mention that time is of some importance. Much of it would be saved if our next meeting, should there be one, was held, if not in our town itself, at least within our own borders.” And have the decided extra advantage of excluding their sly northern neighbour from those discussions, he thought happily. Like the rest of the Narishi leadership, though he valued their cordial relationship with Kuwait and its ruler, he didn’t necessarily trust them beyond a certain point. It wasn’t that to get his throne Jabir’s father had waded through the blood of two of his half-brothers and their supporters, such action was, in Arabia, too usual to raise an eyebrow. It was well known, indeed, that ancestors of their closest ally the Rashid had, as well as killing adult brothers and cousins, slaughtered their male children at the same time. Their real reason for wanting to distance their Kuwaiti neighbours from further discussions, was the regents’ inability to see what Kuwait would gain by Narash allying with the British. They would, at a stroke, lose the advantage of having the only British-held harbour of any size in the north of the Gulf, which couldn’t but lessen their influence with the imperial power.

  The Narashi would, however, leave that riddle for solving another day. Now they needed to see just how serious the British were about an alliance – and what they were willing to pay to get it. After a few minutes demurring, the British agreed to the suggestion, and, a date was fixed for three weeks ahead. As with this meeting, it would be held in total secrecy, this time in one of the Narashi inland oases.

  Content with what had been achieved, the Narashi party left the next morning, and their spirits were high as they crested a chain of low-lying hills just outside their own borders.

  Watching from the top of one of the small hills, well-hidden amongst it’s scattered rocks, the marksman saw his first bullet miss Nasir by scarcely an inch. Continuing to watch carefully, he saw that the second he sent smashed into the rider’s lower abdomen where it was unprotected by the saddle pommel of his camel, sending him crashing to the ground, his mortally wounded camel crashing down with him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ha! Either dead or mortally wounded, it doesn’t matter, exulted the marksman. His nameless paymaster would be pleased and give him much gold, thought the renegade happily, a scant second before his own life was ended by the bullet which smashed into his skull.

  Talal, Nawwaf and others, surrounded by the boy’s guards were, for a second, all stunned into shocked immobility by the suddenness of the attack. Not so the guards, who immediately moved even more closely in around Talal, ensuring no other enemy could get a clear line of fire to him. Other riders rode swiftly across the sandy flatlands to the small rise to check it was clear of any other marksmen.

  Still shocked, the group gazed speechlessly at Nasir, sprawled face-down on the dusty ground. Then as he tried to rise, brushing sand off his clothing, his rifle still smoking in his grip, he stumbled and his friends thought him wounded after all. But no – his long robes were caught under the fallen camel and he was stuck half-upright. His party’s concern turned to grins as he stumbled and cursed as he tried to tug himself loose from the dead beast.

  “Ya Allah! Nasir – that was close!” gasped Talal, hurriedly dismounting and, pushing aside his worried guards, tugged the robe free and stooped to help his uncle up. “How did you know he was there – and move so quickly – and fire your rifle?”

  “Myself, I thought it was a little slow,” murmured Nawwaf from above, as he manoeuvred his camel between the two and the range of low hills. They appeared empty, but he would take no chances. They all laughed at Nasir’s outraged expression, though in truth it was more relief than humour. They were all shaken by how close the young prince had come to being killed, surrounded as he was by loyal warriors, and in lands believed to be friendly.

  His robes clear of the dead camel’s weight, Nasir stood up. Quickly checking and nodding approvingly as he saw that there was no sight-line putting Talal at risk, he replied simply. “It was the sun flashing on his rifle barrel as, I imagine, he raised it to shoot.”

  “But to move so fast, Nasir!” said Talal admiringly.

  “I’m glad, Nephew that you, unlike others, thought I’d acted swiftly!” he replied, glaring across at his childhood friend, who, now the full import of what had nearly happened had sunk in, was as grave as the others. “But,” he added, his now expressionless gaze turning to his co-regent, “in truth, the real question is – why me?”

  His nephew, after a moment’s confusion, paled as Nasir’s words struck home. “You mean – the shots should have been aimed at me?”

  “Exactly. Your guards were covering you from all sides, but a shot from above us, would still have found you,” Nasir replied bluntly. “I was the lesser target, so why me? There seems little reason,” he added, gazing coldly at Badr, growing suspicion clear in his eyes, “Little reason.” he repeated, but said no more. “Come we must get back to the town – and hope this is not the start of something more dangerous!” So saying, he mounted one of the ever-present spare came
ls and the party raced back to Narash, the blood pounding in their veins as they thought of what could be happening in their absence.

  ***

  “Yes, it makes no sense – unless, that is, they wanted exactly what has happened,” Firyal commented quietly as, hot, dusty, tired and fearful, the party had reached the town. Finding it peaceful, Talal and his regents hurried to join Zahirah and Firyal.

  She saw that Nasir had already reached the same conclusion.

  “It was a very clever move,” added Zahirah, outwardly impassive as ever, though knowing bullets had passed within feet of her son had shaken her as nothing had since Fouad’s death. “To sow mistrust between the two regents is a certain way of weakening Narash, yet still leaving Talal in place, until whoever is behind the plan is ready to strike and reach for the throne.” She paused a moment and then continued quietly. “If we’re right, there will soon be an attempt on your life, Badr,” she said, carefully showing appropriate concern.

  Badr, who appeared to be slowly coming to the same conclusion, nodded sombrely.

  “Indeed, sister, indeed, I fear you are right. We must hope whoever it is, isn’t successful!” They thought at first he was merely stating his obvious wish not to be killed, but then he continued quietly. “My death would cause great pain to those who were responsible – and the revenge of my people could well bring down all that we would want kept safe,” he finished, quietly but with a clear warning.

  Unfortunately, his listeners knew he spoke no more than the truth, which was one of the reasons he was still alive. They couldn’t risk the instability his death would cause. Not yet, anyway. So, for a while, he was safe.

  In the meantime there was much talking and many plans and alliances to be made to prepare for the day when the British delegation arrived - and when the moment of decision could no longer be delayed.