Swords of Arabia: Betrayal

by Anthony Litton

  It was as he turned, gesturing for his nephew to proceed him, that the first shots rang out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  He whirled quickly as those first shots were rapidly followed by many more. They were coming from inside the chamber, he saw – and being fired by men, members of the majlis, who should not be armed. He also saw, to his alarm, that the few guards stationed around the room, only lightly armed and taken completely by surprise, were falling where they stood. Gunfire outside the great hall told him that those guarding its doorways were also under attack. As he turned to shield Talal he saw Badr, angrily shouting something to two men who seemed to be the attacker’s ringleaders. He couldn’t hear the words over the growing noise of the smuggled guns now mingling with the screams of the wounded and dying, but saw the anger as a reflection of his own at what was obviously a betrayal by some of those closest to them.

  Moving quickly, his body shielding his nephew, he ushered the stunned boy across the dais towards the screens shielding his mother and grandmother. His experienced eye told him that the youngster would be safest out of the chamber and surrounded by the loyal guards who were stationed outside the small door through which the women entered and left the room. Gesturing to three of the guards who remained unscathed, to move onto the dais and surround Talal, he had them all move quickly to the screens. As he did so he cursed the rule about having no weapons inside the citadel; a rule obviously ignored by many in the room.

  He soon had even more reason to regret the ruling. As his small group rounded the screens, more firing erupted from the corridor outside the small door. Suddenly it burst open and several heavily armed men were seen clustered outside. The door was too small for anything other than single file, which saved Nasir and his group from death in the first shocked seconds. Then, however, two attackers slipped into the room – and, as though seeing no one else, immediately started to raise their rifles, their eyes locked coldly on the two women.

  Such was the shock of the five in Nasir’s group at seeing women threatened – culturally almost unheard of – that they paused in their headlong rush across the dais. Their reactions slowed them only a fraction of a second, but that short delay was enough for the two attackers to spit obscenities at the two women and raise their rifles to kill them.

  Firyal’s attacker dropped suddenly – killed by the gun Zahirah was holding. Nasir, seeing it, thanked Allah for his sister-in-law’s disregard for any ruling she disagreed with. She then turned calmly to face the second gunman who, stunned at his fellow-attacker’s death – it was discovered later that it was his brother – now turned his rifle back onto her, his face a mask of hatred. Fortunately, one of the still loyal guards had used the small delay and picked up the downed man’s rifle – and the second attacker fell dead at the feet of the princesses he’d tried to kill.

  Dragging the heavy screen in front of the two women, he gave silent thanks at its carved surface being heavily inlaid with ivory and precious metals, giving them extra protection from the bullets ricocheting about their heads. The small group quickly took shelter behind it’s protective cover. Stooping quickly, Nasir had picked up the second fallen man’s rifle and now killed two more of the insurgents as they stooped to enter through the small doorway. Their bodies blocked easy access for any more of the attackers. Unfortunately, they also prevented Nasir and the others from slamming it shut. All the two sides could do was trade shots across the fallen men. To compound the danger to Nasir’s group, the rebels had swiftly taken the initiative with some kneeling and others firing over their shoulders. His small band was heavily out-gunned, with their danger increasing by the second. Nasir was also acutely aware of the gun battle going on behind their unprotected backs in the main chamber. It would only take one or two of the attackers already in the room to see their predicament, and the tempting prize of the young emir so nearly within reach, and their position would quickly become indefensible.

  As though reading his mind, three fighters hacked their way through a group of the younger brothers desperately trying to protect the elderly Abdullah, and leaped across the dais. Horrified, Nasir, whirling around, had only a second to see Fahad, one of the group around the elderly prince, suddenly stagger and fall, blood pouring from his chest, before he became involved in his own life and death struggle, as he tried to protect the princesses and Talal.

  Zahirah, seeing the danger to her son, stepped forward to shield him from the bullets and swords she knew were coming.

  Talal, seeing what she intended, shouted “Mother!” and turned to look at her.

  Then something happened and, Nasir, watching, saw, once and for all, how truly bottomless was her love for the boy. It transcended merely his being a route to the power she loved, indeed needed. It went well beyond her love for him as his father’s son. It was, in its bottomless purity, the love of a mother for her child. A love whose duty was to protect, yes, but also to be wise enough to see what her child needed to enable him to grow as he should.

  What did she herself see as her gaze locked with that of her son as he looked back at her? She saw a child as fierce as his father had been fierce; she saw his wish to protect her; she saw his proud look willing her to stand aside – to let him, as the man of the family, protect her; she saw also eyes which, unknowingly, looked at her with the eyes of a young boy to his mother, uncertain she would give him this freedom, but silently begging her not to shame him by seeming to hide behind a woman’s skirts; she saw a child doubting she would see his need; she saw also a boy who at this moment of transition into too early manhood, was also, perhaps, a little frightened, both of being granted his wish and of being denied it; but that too was right.

  Seeing all this in the millisecond great insights often take, she nodded very slightly, handed him her gun and stepped aside to stand behind him as he turned swiftly and shot the first of the three attackers, now within feet of them, as he raised his sword to slash down at his head. Stumbling backwards the dying tribesman fell against the second of the attacking trio. He in turn was shot by Nasir before he could regain his balance. The third, seeing the fate of the first two, quickly sidestepped the defending group around Talal and slashed down savagely at the boy’s unprotected head.

  It was a killing blow.

  Or it would have been had it hit the young emir. It took the snarling attacker a moment or two to adapt to the suddenly changed circumstances of the confrontation; as long, in fact, as it took the pain from his now severed arm to reach his numbed brain, which was fractionally after his arm and sword hit the dais with a wet and sickening thud. His scream, which would have been entirely understandable, never got uttered as his throat was shattered by the bullets from a gun fired from behind the beleaguered group.

  Turning quickly, they saw the welcome figure of Mish’al, as he casually killed the last of the standing attackers gathered in the doorway. His men quickly moving the dead bodies blocking the small doorway, the young warrior hurriedly entered. Following quickly, his loyal guards came in and, on his command, took up positions surrounding the royal group.

  Nasir, at last seeing Talal was safe, was able to look across the dais to seek out who had saved the boy from the second attacker. “Fahad!” he shouted and hurried across to where the body of the young prince was slumped half on the dais, his sword, bloody testament to his timely intervention, still clasped in his outstretched arm. Alarmed, his young uncle saw that if Fahad was by some miracle still alive, he was still at great risk from the fighting swirling savagely round, almost over, his inert body. He moved swiftly and started to move him into the comparative safety of the rear of the dais. Quick as he was to step across to his kinsman’s side, however, Zahirah was quicker. Ignoring any danger to themselves, they turned Fahad over, both gasping as they saw the savage gashes across his face and the blood still pumping heavily from his chest, staining his white robes a shocking scarlet. A slight groan re-assured them that he was still alive, though for how much longer was far from certain, so serious
were the wounds he’d sustained. Nasir silently marvelled at the youth’s courage to have still been able to not only see Talal’s danger, but react to it.

  Mish’al, having seen they were at risk, had two men hurry over to and cover them as they lifted the near-lifeless body and carried him the few yards to the safety of the men now gathered round Talal and Firyal. Nasir was torn between his need to help his young kinsman and the urgent necessity that he join the fight – a fight he could see his supporters were in danger of losing, when he heard a soft voice at his side. Startled, he turned and saw one of Zahirah’s attendants had quietly entered through the small doorway, anxious about her mistress. The attendant, looking anxiously at Fahad, looked vaguely familiar to the young prince.

  Seeing her, Zahirah smiled in gratitude and, turning to Nasir, said “Go, Nasir. Ayesha and I will see to Fahad – and any others who are brought here,” she added, gesturing to the ring of steel surrounding them. She’d quickly realised that it was, until the fighting was over, and a victory certain, perhaps the safest place in the palace.

  He nodded gratefully and turned to go, stopping only to ask Mish’al and half his men to join him and, asking Talal to guard the womenfolk, in their absence. This latter earning him Zahirah’s gratitude – both for the request and the face-saving grace with which it was delivered to her son.

  Nasir looked grimly out across the large room, once the heart and pride of the citadel, with it’s beautiful proportions and vivid furnishings. Now, its entire area was wreathed in smoke so thick it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The difficulty was made worse by the stifling heat, always present, but made almost unbearable, both by the sweat of the men fighting and the attendants having stopped operating the large rush fans. The rich and once beautiful carpets were now ruined and slippery with blood, their gloriously patterned surfaces strewn with dead and dying men. Elegant eating ware was trampled unnoticed underfoot. As Nasir moved quickly across the dais to where the fighting raged fiercest, he listened to his friend’s urgent update. “Daoud is holding the walls and the town. There are many men gathered, but little fighting as yet. There are armed crowds gathered around the gates. They seem to be waiting for something.”

  This briefly puzzled Nasir, but he was unable to concentrate his thoughts as they reached the group surrounding Abdullah. This had thinned out dangerously. Of the half-dozen kin fighting to protect the venerable prince three, Rashid, Sultan and Habib, had already fallen. A shocked Nasir could see that the former two were already dead and the third so badly wounded he seemed certain to follow; and then the Lady Firyal will have yet another son to mourn, he thought with brief, bleak sadness. Only Sahir, himself elderly and scarcely fit for fighting, Zafar, his gentle soul angered by the attack and fighting as Nasir had never seen him do before, and the towering figure of Mamduh were still standing. Over their shoulders he could see a small group of merchants, including Ali Ben Youseff, stranded over by the far side of the room. Unused to battle, they had all been taken totally by surprise by the sudden violence and huddled together in a small group, obviously wishing themselves elsewhere. Nasir hurriedly sent three of his guards with instructions to guide the frightened men into the temporary sanctuary of the rear of the dais and protect them during the short but perilous move across the wide room.

  He then turned and slashed down savagely with his sword at one of the attackers swirling round his kinsmen. Sickened, he saw Abdullah fall, his head exploding from bullets smashing into it. The killer followed within seconds as Mamduh, raising a gun taken from an insurgent he’d beaten to death, shot him even before he had time to gloat.

  Suddenly, to Nasir’s horror, he saw Talal appear with a dozen or so guards and the group jumped off the low-lying dais and fought their way through towards the dwindling band of loyal princes, now being pushed back against the far wall of the chamber. Nasir’s acute sense of battle told him that his own forces, even with the addition of those brought by Talal, were slowly losing the fight. All that the extra guards could do was delay things, and that only for a short while. Four of the guards closely surrounded the young emir as he reached his uncle’s side. Nasir, who wasted no time in remonstrating with the boy, pulled him to his side as, slashing and hacking, they were all pushed back. Feeling the walls of the chamber at his back he knew they’d run out of space. Desperately he manoeuvred until he and the dwindling handful of men with him were in a corner, giving them a little more space, though only delaying the inevitable for scant minutes, perhaps only seconds, longer. Pushing the boy into the comparative safety of the corner itself, he turned and prepared to kill as long as he could to protect him.

  Suddenly his spirits rose as he saw Badr, and several of his supporters, fighting through the crush of sweating, bleeding men to reach them. Swiftly his brother’s ruthless slashing and shooting at any in their way brought them facing Nasir’s dwindling band.

  Within seconds he’d reached them but Nasir’s thanks froze on his parched lips. The guns of Badr and his men were pointed not at their enemy, but at Nasir himself.

  Suddenly it became clear – too late, he realised who was behind the attack.

  “Well, brother!” Badr spat mockingly, seeing him trying to protect Talal behind him as he raised his own revolver. “Two for the price of one bullet, even sweeter,” he sneered.

  Nasir, seeing what he intended and its inevitability, moved slightly aside and gently brought Talal to stand by him. “If you are to kill us – see both our faces,” he spat, his arms round the boy’s shoulders. “The boy is his father’s son and will not die hiding! You must see his eyes as you kill him,” he said with cold finality. Although he could feel a slight tremble ripple through the boy’s small frame, he was proud, glancing down, at the calm courage he saw in the young emir’s face.

  “It matters little that it will now take two bullets. I have plenty,” mocked Badr, preparing to fire.

  Chapter Twenty

  The first bullet took Badr in the chest; the second in his neck. Before he hit the ground he was dead.

  Nasir looked quickly round to see who’d saved them. His eyes fell on Nawwaf, at the head of a small group of Nasir’s closest fighters, lowering his pistol as they forced their way through the now splintering groups of men and formed a protective ring around Nasir and Talal.

  “You have a timely habit, my friend, of killing my brothers!” laughed Nasir weakly, tightly gripping his friend’s shoulder as he recalled the time, three years previously, when the loyal warrior and childhood friend had previously saved his life by killing another brother.

  Nawwaf grimaced. “Not the way I’d wish it put, but if that’s what it takes to keep you alive, then that’s what I’ll do!” he shot back, as his eyes scanned the chamber for more threats to his life-long friend.

  He needn’t have worried. Badr’s men, seeing his death, lost any will to continue fighting and were quickly throwing down their weapons. Within seconds what had been a war-zone became little more than groups of vanquished men trying desperately to survive the next few minutes. Some, before Nasir could intervene, were shot, stabbed, or clubbed to death by bitter loyalists.

  “Enough!” shouted Nasir and hurriedly ordered Nawwaf and Mish’al to protect the threatened survivors. “We will decide what is to happen, and to whom, once our blood is cooled,” he said quietly.

  So, it was over. Later, when there was time to reflect, re-live the horror and the shock, the survivors were stunned to find that the entire gun-battle and the bloodbath which followed had lasted less than one half of one hour.

  Immediately after it, however, there was no such reflection, just gratitude that they had survived and an overwhelming grief for those of their family and friends who hadn’t. With an infinite weariness as the fighting stopped, some rose from where they’d been sheltering, some dropped their weapons and embraced others, carefully, for there were many and grievous wounds, even amongst the living. Some, of course, could never rise again.

  The princesses had b
een escorted to their apartments by Mish’al’s guards. Talal, who still refused to join them, stood with Nasir, shock on his young face, as they looked out onto the blood-soaked scene before them. Giving instructions for each body to be carefully checked for signs of life, Nasir ached to leave the blood drenched room. His body was bowed with weariness and his soul with sorrow and he felt as though he’d aged thirty years in the thirty minutes he’d just lived through. He knew, though, that he couldn’t leave. With Badr dead, he and Talal were the embodiment of Narash and they must be seen to be leading, not skulking, in some safe back-room of the palace. So, just as the lowliest slave, he and his nephew helped with the moving of the wounded, the careful shrouding of the dead, and the collection of all the weaponry. Neither they, nor those watching, felt any incongruity; they were powerful, yes, but in Narash, power still came with heavy responsibilities.

  Suddenly there was renewed uproar and they all reached yet again for their weapons as the great doors burst open.