The other man nodded, smiling, and, turning his horse, led his small party back to the main body of men. Watching him, the group on the walls had little doubt that he would soon return at the head of the full force – and then they’d be in a fight for their very lives. Despite the imminent threat, they watched with sadness in their faces as their one-time friends and allies rode away from the town. Soon, they knew, they would return as enemies; enemies moreover, equipped with modern rifles that would take a heavy toll on the lives of those defending its walls.
“If they have no big guns then we can make a fight of it,” said Mish’al quietly. “If they have...” he shrugged and his voice trailed off. He’d spent his life fighting but, although still young, he’d already seen how recent advances in the weaponry reaching Arabia were starting to change the way wars had been fought across its lands for millennia. He had seen the impact that big field guns had on walls of towns which had stood for centuries, and had no illusions as to how long theirs could survive such a bombardment.
“Yes,” nodded Nasir sombrely. “Let us hope they chose speed to reach us and they ha...” The words died in his throat as he saw a break in the ranks and then two large field guns being wheeled into position.
All on the ramparts watched in utter silence as the two big guns were manoeuvred to face the town. Nasir observed that many of the guards lining the walls exchanged hurried glances with each other. He scarcely blamed them. Even those who’d never seen one of the fearsome guns in action had heard the horror stories from those who had. He knew their morale would take some rebuilding in the light of what he, and they, knew would soon happen.
Then suddenly the ranks of the attackers rippled, their sudden alarm clearly visible from the walls.
Chapter Twenty Two
The watchers in the town were puzzled. What had, moments before, seemed a fierce, unbreakable wall of mounted men intent on attacking the town, suddenly seemed ill-at-ease, moving from the hunter to the hunted.
Then an armed guard rushed up to the royal group on the walls, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. Nasir, recognising it for what it was – one of the tiny message slips inserted into the small metal container on the leg of the emirate’s official carrier pigeons - hurriedly took it from the guardsman’s hands. Like all who were involved with the birds, the man was illiterate; the less they knew of the content of the messages enclosed the safer Narash – and the men themselves – were. The young regent’s hands shook slightly as he read the brief message. The shock on his face was enough to alert the rest of the small group to its seriousness.
“It’s ibn Saud!” he gasped, passing the message to Zahirah. “He is heading here at the head of hundreds of men – and will be here in minutes!”
“Ya Allah! He must have fought free of the entanglements we laid for him,” spat Zahirah, “and realised that if he doesn’t strike now, before we’ve formally confirmed our acceptance to one or other of the great powers, he may never have another chance! But how has he got so close, unnoticed?” she asked, some of the shock she was feeling leaching into her voice.
Nasir shook his head, “I don’t know,” he replied, his own voice and features both now back to their usual calm. “But he arrives just in time to thwart the Rashid – his hated enemy. This should give us great joy to watch,” he added, relishing the thought of the two life-long foes engaging in a bitter battle in full view of the town’s walls.
“Let us hope that they are not in alliance – and, if not, that their meeting here like this today, doesn’t cause that idea to occur to them,” said Zahirah warningly. Seeing the shock on her young kinsman’s face as he digested her words, she continued, “Why not? Both desire Narash; both would fight the other to a standstill and maybe still not win the prize. But together...”
Nasir knew she was right. As ever, her acute sense of being able to see all the possible ramifications of any given action, or set of circumstances, had quickly allowed her to realise what would be, for Narash, the worst of all possible worlds.
“I doubt that will happen, though,” he replied, after a moment’s thought, “their mutual distrust is too great.”
“Let us hope so,” she responded quietly as they both continued to watch the drama playing out in front of them. Both were content to watch as spectators, determinedly putting what could happen if they were forced to become participants from their minds.
They quickly realised, however, that destiny appeared to have other ideas. Far from delaying any attack on the town, the news of ibn Saud’s imminent arrival spurred the attackers on. The majority of the riders turned and faced towards the south-west to be face-on when ibn Saud arrived. The remainder quickly positioned the two guns and unleashed a barrage towards the town. Their first hurried shots fell short, blowing a huge hole in the roadway and spewing up tons of sand and rocky debris, which showered down on the walls, some narrowly missing Nasir and the others as they stepped back from view.
“They realise they have limited time. Were I they, I would send in men as soon as the guns have the range, rather than wait until they’ve smashed down the walls,” murmured Mish’al, in response to a hurried question from Nasir. The next few minutes proved him right. As two shells smashed into the walls, one of them punching straight through its massive thickness into the courtyard behind, mounted men started racing towards the gap. Yet others maintained their cordon round the town, while sending sorties at different points against its walls. It was a tactic that Nasir grimly knew was aimed at stretching and quickly weakening their defences.
Then suddenly, everything changed yet again. The riders swung away from their race towards the town and headed back to their own lines. Though relieved, the watchers were puzzled until a dust cloud fast approaching from the south-west heralded the arrival of the al Saud.
“Ya Allah! They must have flown here!” Mish’al gasped, as stunned as the rest of the watchers. He was scarcely exaggerating. Expected, in any event, almost within minutes, the Saudi war leader had yet managed to arrive even more swiftly. The mixed feelings of the defenders were clearly not shared by the attackers. Consternation was clear in their every action as they hurriedly manoeuvred the big guns to be facing their approaching enemy. They’d quickly realised that the very speed of their hated enemy’s approach meant he could have no field guns with him.
“Shall we attack them?” Mish’al asked, his warrior’s soul aching to wipe out the insult of the guns shelling his town.
Looking at the now partially exposed flank, side on to them, Nasir was sorely tempted to agree and order a swift sortie. However, he quickly decided against it. Their first duty was to defend the town. Any setback in their attack on the Rashid would leave it vulnerable to either Rashidi forces or those of the al Saud, the latter now swiftly coming into view.
Shaking his head regretfully, he returned with the others to the ramparts immediately above the gateway, now safe, at least for the moment, from the heavy shells. He watched the unruly ranks of the al Saud warriors which, the group on the tower saw, were at least the equal of the combined Ottoman/Rashid forces, come to a halt, out of rifle-range of their enemies rifles; though, not, Mish’al noted hopefully, from that of the bigger guns. Despite the young warrior’s fervent hope, however, the field artillery remained still as each side silently watched the other, assessing their opponent’s strength, factoring in its own options for the next few, crucial, minutes.
Watching them, Zahirah was suddenly certain that there would be a battle. Both wanted Narash so badly that to leave now, being so close, was not an option. They would either join forces and attack the town – unlikely, but possible – or they would fight. Because of the history between them, she knew that it would be an unusually savage battle – particularly so when the prize, Narash itself, would then be in the victor’s grasp.
The next minutes were a tense time for the watchers in the town. All preparations to withstand a siege had already been done; already checked and re-checked a half-dozen ti
mes. They had nothing left to do but watch the two opposing forces outside their town; one a bitter, lifelong enemy, the other, until recently a close and valued friend, both now seeking to crush Narashi resistance and take the town.
Bleakly, the watchers knew that whichever side won the battle, Narash itself would be unlikely to survive the victor’s race to its walls. The big guns would be decisive and whether they were still held by the Rashidis after the fight or had come into the possession of a victorious ibn Saud, they would, they knew, be turned swiftly on to their walls.
“Fetch me Daoud!” said Nasir suddenly, seeing that his garrison commander wasn’t yet back from a routine reconnaissance around the walls. He determined to re-check everything yet again; nothing, after all was ever completely perfect, but he knew that everything would have to be to have even a chance of survival in the forthcoming fight that all now saw as inevitable.
After several further tense minutes, during which they watched the two opposing sides as neither made any move to either attack or retreat, Daoud hadn’t appeared and Nasir looked around impatiently, just as a dusty, blood-covered messenger arrived. Nasir recognised him as one of the garrison’s longer serving men.
“Lord Nasir, Daoud bids me tell you that the Rashid have sent warriors from the boats; they were seen creeping along the coast to the north. He thinks they are attempting to infiltrate the town.”
Nasir cursed. “Does he need more men?” Even as he asked, he wondered where he’d get them from out of the ranks of the already over-stretched defenders.
“No, he has sufficient, he says, he sent the message merely to warn you.”
Nasir nodded, grateful as ever to the burly garrison commander. Whilst he doubted the loyalty of many, he had never had a moment’s uncertainly about Daoud’s commitment.
He found out later that the experienced fighter’s suspicions had been aroused when he’d received a message from a guard in one of the twin fortlets, guarding the harbour’s mouth. The man, sharp-eyed and alert, had noticed how empty the Rashidi boats, placed out in the Gulf but straddling the harbour mouth, were becoming. He’d messaged guards on the harbour wall and Daoud, being informed, had personally led the reconnaissance that found them, having killed the guards, scrambling over a lightly guarded and vulnerable portion of the north wall. The defending force had arrived in the nick of time, catching some of the would-be infiltrators on both sides of the walls and thus weakened. They swiftly killed those who’d got into the town and chased off the remainder. It had been very close run and an oversight from which the defenders learned, which was to help them when another great attack threatened the town some years later.
In the meantime, re-assured by Daoud’s message, Nasir moved to rejoin the others in their grim-faced watch of the drama unfolding outside the walls. Neither side were moving, either toward the other or away, so the watchers knew something was going to happen – and soon.
Then suddenly, everything changed, yet again!
Just as Nasir had turned back to the viewing platform, everyone, defenders and attackers, were stunned by a huge explosion coming from the harbour. All eyes swivelled to the sheltered waters which, ultimately, were the cause of all the fighting. It took several seconds for everyone’s brain to interpret what their eyes were seeing. A huge, grey shape, black smoke billowing from its sides, was astride the harbour mouth, framed between the two little forts perched on their rocky pinnacles. Even as they watched, a second explosion rocked both the town and the teeth of everyone within earshot. Panicked horses reared and threw riders; berserk camels raced, uncontrolled, away from the sound, many unseating their riders in the process; panicked crowds poured into the narrow alleyways of the town. It was only seeing their ruling emir and his family calmly looking across the waters that helped calm and steady them. Afterwards all the royal party quietly agreed that it was total shock that had immobilised them, gave them the air of glacial calm that their people needed. All felt, however, that sharing this knowledge would help no one.
A warship! But whose? was the frantic question racing through both Zahirah and Nasir’s minds. The smoke wreathing the sides of the huge vessel obscured its nationality, with a strong off-shore wind obscuring the flag flying from its masthead. It was just possible that an Ottoman warship had slipped through from the extreme north of the Gulf and somehow avoided the British battle fleets. Their wish to reclaim Narash was certainly incentive enough. If it were a Turkish ship they knew the Rashid would be entering the town within minutes – and as occupiers, not friends.
Their situation could scarcely be better if it was a British ship. With no time to have confirmed their acceptance of the British alliance the vessel may well be outside their harbour as an invader, not succouring friend.
It was Daoud, hurrying up the steps, blood spattering his beard and robes, after his killing spree with the Rashidi infiltrators, who gave them the identity of the new arrival. “It’s a British warship, Lord Nasir,” he gasped, breathless from his run from the town’s northern walls.
The smoke was, in fact, now clearing from around the ship and they all saw the British ensign flying proudly against the vivid blue of the sky.
“They’re lowering boats!” said Talal excitedly, his keen eyes spotting the hurried activity on the decks as two boats, loaded with what they learned later were marines, were dropped over the side. They watched them as they began to row swiftly towards the shore.
“Look!” Mish’al, whose attention had never left the land forces encircling them, said in excitement. “They’re leaving!”
The others turned and saw he was right. The two opposing sides had seen the British flag and realised that their opportunity to seize the town was gone. They were too late by a few short hours. The Rashid forces left first, turning away to head westwards to Hail, their capital. The Saudi forces also turned – all except for three riders whose horses trotted towards the town itself.
“It’s ibn Saud!” said Nasir suddenly, as he recognised the powerfully built rider who was slightly ahead of the other two. They came to a halt just out of rifle range of the walls. Whilst ibn Saud and one of the riders waited, the third rider walked his horse slowly forward, until he was directly under the walls.
“I have gifts from my master,” he said, looking nervously up at the heavily armed figures just three or four yards above his head.
“Who are the gifts for?” asked Daoud suspiciously, glaring down.
“I have been ordered to say only that they are gifts from ibn Saud.”
Nasir moved to angrily order the man away, but was stopped by Zahirah, saying quietly “Let him in.”
Surprised, he nodded the order to Daoud who hurried down to oversee the opening of the gates.
The man looked around him with increasing nervousness as he was hurried up the steps to stand before them. His nervousness increased when he saw guards move to close guard the family, a precaution against any hostile act.
“You say you have gifts – who are they for?” Nasir asked quietly
“Yes, Lord. I have two. One for the Lord Talal and... one for the Lady Zahirah,” he gulped on the last name.
Nasir looked at Zahirah in astonishment, but her features showed nothing of her thoughts. She merely nodded and asked the man to show the gifts.
He opened the pouch he was carrying and held out a small package to Talal.
“It may be a trick, the gift could be poisoned in some way,” cautioned Mish’al.
Nasir shook his head. “No, ibn Saud is many things, but he wouldn’t stoop to poison to achieve what he wanted.”
Talal opened the package and gasped with astonished pleasure when he saw its contents, as did those gathered round him. It was a beautifully crafted dagger. The curved blade gleamed and flashed in the sunlight and the hilt was highly polished and studded with precious stones. Ibn Saud’s Wahabbi followers would be angered, Zahirah thought, had they been able to see the luxury of the deadly weapon and the worldly indulgence it showed.
Talal’s eyes flashed with pleasure, his boy’s heart more entranced by the savagery it promised rather than the elegant, glittering beauty of the object itself.
The gift-bearer then, with obvious unease, handed a similar sized package to Zahirah. With a nod of thanks, she opened the package. Again, although she, as ever, remained impassive, the bystanders gasped as the glittering object was exposed. It was a beautifully engraved revolver, again studded with precious stones. Its grip was ivory and engraved with Arabic characters.
“Lord Abdul Azziz is most generous,” she said quietly, passing the gun to Ayesha, who’d just joined them.
“H... He... He bade me give you a message, Lady,” said the man, his unhappiness increasing rapidly.
Her black eyes, wiped clear of all expression, looked at him, giving him no clue as to how the gifts had been received.
“Give me his message,” she prompted, as the messenger seemed in no hurry to proceed.
Nodding unhappily, the man did so. “He said to say that he’d hoped to give you the gift in person, but events have delayed the pleasure of a second meeting. He bids me say that when the day does arrive, he will be happy to show you how the weapon works – so you can ensure it fires properly the next time” The onlookers sucked in their breath at the message’s audacity. while she herself merely nodded quietly “He also bade me say the gift is given with respect, not mockery,” the messenger added, hurriedly.
She nodded again and said quietly. “Thank the Lord Abdul Azziz, and assure him that I will be happy to receive his instruction – if that day arrives and if I should still need it – and if he, as a result of my skills, should be still in a position to offer it.” The man, and everyone else who heard, gasped again. Her meaning was clear enough and the messenger only hoped his master would not lose his famous temper when he delivered it. Dismissed, he hurriedly left the town, thankful to still be alive.
She watched him ride away. As she did so, she was aware that the figure of the Saudi war leader hadn’t moved. She could see, even from the distance separating them, that his gaze was locked onto the tower where she stood. She stood staring impassively back. Even though they were so far apart, onlookers could almost feel the power of their two gazes as they raced across the sand and locked one on the other. Then the moment passed. ibn Saud, with a brief salute, turned his horse and rode to re-join his men, and Zahirah turned to greet the British arrivals who had docked at the harbour steps and were now being escorted to the tower.
Swords of Arabia: Betrayal Page 14
