The young, smartly turned out officer in charge of the marines was escorted up the steps by Isaac Ben Youseff who’d gone down to the harbour to greet him. Stopping in front of them, the officer saluted, seemingly oblivious to the astonished stares of many of the onlookers, intrigued at the vivid redness of his neatly trimmed beard and hair. “This is Lieutenant Saunderson of his Britannic Majesty’s Marines,” Isaac explained.
“You timed your arrival well, Lieutenant,” smiled Nasir, shaking the young man’s hand. He then introduced the rest of the group.
“We are pleased by your arrival,” Zahirah said, also smiling. “It is both swift and timely, though more than a little unexpected, as we’d not yet had time to confirm our decision to enter into an alliance with yourselves,” she continued, probing gently.
“We were informed that your inner council had agreed, so we felt certain that the assembly would follow, hence our being in the area to receive confirmation,” replied the young officer blandly.
Zahirah merely smiled. She could see that the officer, though young, was already well-schooled in diplomacy.
Smiling wryly, Nasir said “As Isaac may have already told you, the last few hours have been somewhat busy. But we would hope that your Captain and others would be free later to join us in a short ceremony to mark our new friendship. It can only be a token in view of our sad losses but, we would hope, it will be the first of very many celebrations.”
The lieutenant nodded, and having been assured they needed no further help, saluted and returned to his ship.
The small group watched him go, with mixed feelings.
“How can we be sure they were here to protect us? Isn’t it equally possible that they were here to impose their will, should we choose the Ottoman?” asked Zahirah, bleakly. “We had the Rashid and the al Saud at our gates and the British at the mouth of our harbour, all potential conquerors who would bend us to their wishes! We have entered dangerous times, brother. It seems the British are, at present, strong enough to protect us, if they arrive, and in time, by water. But what if our fight is far to the interior? And what of the future? What if they have to choose between us and the al Saud? What will happen to our friends of yesterday – the al Rashid? What will our fate be if they emerge stronger than the al Saud? Will they seek vengeance? And the Ottoman? Should they win this great war of theirs, or even, at its end, retain influence in Arabia, will we survive their anger?”
“You sound frightened, sister,” said Nasir, surprised at seeing what he took for weakness in his formidable young sister-in-law.
“Frightened, Nasir?” she responded, in genuine surprise. “No, not frightened; I merely assess what we may have to face. But with you by my son’s side, and our friends around us,” she added, raising her voice a little and smiling at Mish’al and Daoud, “how can I fear? But we would all be well advised to be very aware of just how great the obstacles to our survival are – and be well prepared to face them!” Whether they come from without – or within, she thought, her black eyes unreadable, as her gaze lingered briefly on Nasir. She took in his easy air of command, and saw him clearly as the man he’d now become, the rock on which Fouad’s line survived or fell. All callow youthfulness had been burned away and in its place was a powerful, self-confident warrior, with a towering presence and a reputation which was growing well beyond the borders of Narash itself. He reminded her very much now of Fouad, his dead brother. Threats to her son came from many sources, sometimes from the least expected quarter, she thought. It didn’t matter, all would be watched and struck down if they became too great a risk – where-ever they came from and whoever they were.
Her thoughts were clear and her contingency plans already carefully laid, so she was content as she and the rest of the small group turned from the ramparts and went down to supervise the clearing of the Great Chamber to have it prepared for the brief, muted, welcoming ceremony. They’d survived what had turned out to be the most violent and unpredictable events during the past year – but all were aware that their fight, their real fight, was only just beginning.
Author’s Note
No published novel is the product of a single person and Swords of Arabia: Betrayal is no exception. I have a long list of those whose input helped shaped the final work, but I’ll mention only two: Jan MacLardy, whose insightful comments helped sharpen up many aspects of the plotline, and Nick Elliott whose unfailing eye for the missed full stop or the illicit use of a comma was invaluable. Should you need similar help he can be reached on [email protected].
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Author’s Note
Swords of Arabia: Betrayal Page 15
