"But, why do—"
"Do not speak!" he ordered.
The carriage sped away, and after many twists and turns down narrow streets, they entered a courtyard where heavy gates closed behind them.
"My father will hear of this," Mallory said, in what she hoped was a calm voice, for she was terribly frightened.
"You will be well out of Cairo before your father hears of your fate." The man roughly tied a scarf over her mouth and smiled in a satisfied manner when he was certain she could not speak. He then pulled her headdress in place so no one would see she had been gagged. "That will keep you silent, Inglizi woman."
She was jerked from the carriage and hurried to a waiting horse. The man lifted her onto the saddle, and two other riders closed in around them. The gates were flung open, and they rode through the streets of Cairo, heading toward the desert.
Mallory realized their plan had been carefully thought out and perfectly executed. She dared not think about what they wanted with her.
As they rode away from the city, she glanced back over her shoulder. She had faith that Safwat would go to the British consulate for help, but she couldn't find comfort in the knowledge that Mr. Abrams was her only hope of being rescued.
Even that faint hope diminished when they reached the desert and were soon lost in a wasteland of sand dunes.
Chapter 16
Michael rode at the head of fifty Jebeliya warriors. They passed by scrub-covered sand dunes, sighting an occasional oasis where they would rest from the heat and fill their waterskins. At night they slept beneath the stars. When they reached the hottest part of the desert, they slept during the day and traveled by night.
For four days, they moved steadily toward the coastal mountains until at last the sand dunes changed to craggy cliffs. They traveled fast, but on the homeward journey, it would take longer, because many in the wedding party would be riding camels and not the swift Arabian steeds favored by the Jebeliya.
Michael guided his horse through a deep valley, his eyes riveted on the highest point of the mountain. They rode past an abandoned monastery and into the high mountains, where the nights were cold and the days were as hot as the inside of a furnace.
By the eighth day, they encountered several riders, who welcomed them with high-pitched yells and by joyfully firing their rifles into the air. This was to be their escort to the Sawarka camp.
As they entered the camp, Michael saw groves of cypress and tamarisk trees. It was hard for him to comprehend how a race of people could survive for centuries in this isolated and hostile land. But they had more than survived, they were thriving.
As they moved on through the camp, the exuberance over their arrival mounted, and many people rushed forward to greet them with welcoming smiles. Michael saw pride on the faces of the Sawarka bedouin, a trait that he was to encounter over and over in this land.
When he dismounted, he was led to a huge black tent in the center of the encampment. He came face-to-face with a bejeweled man with a ready smile and a twinkle in his dark eyes. Michael knew this was Princess Yasmin's father.
"Welcome with honor, Akhdar 'em Akraba," Sheik Hakeem greeted him. "We have heard much about your cunning. Enter—enter, and relieve your hunger and satisfy your thirst. You have come far. Rest in my home."
When Michael entered the tent, he found to his surprise that it was larger than it appeared from outside. His feet sank into a rich Turkish rug, and there were low gilded tables and velvet cushions on which to recline.
"Sit, sit," Sheik Hakeem offered. "We will converse while we eat."
When both men were seated, Hakeem clapped his hands, and three veiled women immediately appeared through a curtained-off area, bringing food and drink. While they ate, Hakeem spoke about the glowing tales he'd heard of the green-eyed scorpion.
"I believe I should inform you that the accounts are greatly exaggerated. Every time the tale is repeated, it grows in magnitude. I can assure you I am neither a warrior nor a hero."
Hakeem waved Michael's denial away with a jeweled hand. "Are not all heroes part fantasy in the mind of less brave men? We need our heroes, Akhdar 'em Akraba." His dark eyes settled on Michael. "I know why you have come to our land. There is much talk about a great one being held by Sidi Ahmed. This is your father, is it not?"
"Yes. Do you know if he still lives?"
"It is difficult to smuggle information out of Caldoia, but it is said that the Turk, Sidi, guards his prisoner well."
Michael stared out the tent opening to the desert beyond. "I will find a way into Caldoia—this I swear."
Hakeem stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps in this I can help you. My bedouin are allowed in Caldoia if they remain only in the marketplace. Of course, they always take Sidi a gift of great value and leave the city before sunset."
Hakeem saw Michael's hopeful look, and continued, musingly. "It would be dangerous for me to smuggle you inside." When he saw Michael's face fall, he smiled and clapped Michael on the back. "You will find that my bedouin like danger. Would the green-eyed scorpion care to venture forth with my bedouin?"
This was what Michael had been waiting to hear—a way into the forbidden city. "I will consider it an honor to ride with your people. But I would not want to put men at risk."
"Risk adds spice to an otherwise dull life. I would rejoice if I could tweak Sidi's nose."
"I could go immediately after I have delivered your daughter to Prince Khaldun."
"Not so hasty, my young friend. First, preparations must be made, that will take time. Also, do you remember I mentioned we must provide Sidi with a valuable gift?" He shrugged. "I have recently married off my eldest daughter, and now my youngest is to be married. Poor father that I am, to pay bride's price for two daughters. I can hardly be expected to present a gift to Sidi as well." Michael smiled. "If you will allow, I shall provide the gift."
Hakeem's eyes sparkled. "And do I not have a gift that will widen Sidi's eyes? You must see this." He reached behind him and brought out a carved wooden box. Flipping it open, he handed it to Michael. "I will sell you this for a mere trifle."
Michael looked at the knife crafted of turquoise and silver and smiled at the cagey old fox. "How much?"
"Whatever you think is generous."
Michael laughed aloud and reached into the pouch about his waist. He counted out ten gold pieces, and Hakeem nodded in approval. "It is sufficient. Your generosity is second only to your bravery, green-eyed hero."
Michael stared at the old thief with growing respect. "And your wit is only surpassed by your cunning."
Hakeem smiled. "I have a feeling the stories about you are not all that exaggerated."
Again, Hakeem clapped his hands, and a lone veiled woman appeared from behind the curtain. She was dressed in white silk that shimmered in the lantern light.
"I was told, green-eyed one, that you are considered like a brother to Prince Khaldun."
"That is so."
"I was also told you were honored by seeing his mother unveiled."
"This also is true."
"Then behold the face of your brother's wife—behold my daughter, Yasmin." He motioned to the woman, and she dropped the veil.
Michael looked into the softest brown eyes he'd ever seen. They were so luminous he could read the innocence in their depths. Her hair was as black as midnight, and ebony braids entwined with golden ropes. Michael saw that Khaldun's fears had been groundless—Yasmin's face had not been tattooed. She was so lovely, Michael could only smile.
"My brother is a most fortunate man."
Yasmin coyly ducked her head. She had never seen an Inglizi, and she hadn't known that a man could have green eyes. "Can you tell me about my husband? It is said that he honors you above all men."
"I can tell you that Prince Khaldun is loyal, a good warrior, and an imposing prince."
"Yasmin!" her father scolded. "Do not bother our guest with your silly chatter." His words were harsh, but his eyes were soft. He h
ugged his daughter. "When this one goes, she takes her father's heart with her. I would give her only to a prince."
Michael thought she was indeed a bride worthy of a prince.
"Leave us now, daughter. Lord Michael and I have much to discuss."
After she had taken another quick glance at the man with the green eyes, she moved behind the curtains.
Hakeem leaned toward Michael. "How would you like to go with my men on a raid of a bedouin village that supports Sidi? The devils struck at my cousin's camp ten days ago, and they slaughtered innocent women and children."
"I would be honored to accompany you. But when?"
"We shall strike in the morning. There will be no interference in your duty to Prince Khaldun since you shall return before the wedding party departs for Kamar Ginena."
Michael nodded, knowing the old fox was testing him. "I will go with you, but only if your men do not harm women or children."
"I will instruct them not to do so, but they will take what spoils they can."
"That is acceptable."
"Excellent! You must rest now, for we leave in two hours' time."
"You do understand why I must get to Caldoia without delay?"
"I do. But it is ambitious to face the devil in his lair without being prepared. There are many of the bedouin tribes that would gladly give their lives to see him dead. He is of the Ottoman Turks, and would see all desert dwellers enslaved. He has slowly armed the warlike bedouin so they can rise against us."
"I know. It was my father's mission to discover who was inciting war. Is Sidi Ahmed the one who has been shipping guns into Egypt?"
"He is the one. He once offered us guns, but only if we would fight as his army. I refused him, as have many other tribes. Still, he gathers a large army. Those who accepted his guns are massing in numbers. I believe they will first come against those of us who have opposed him. You can see why it's dangerous for you to go into Caldoia. And you can see why we're prepared to help you."
Michael stood. "I'll bide my time until I enter Caldoia. But don't make me wait too long. If my father is there, every day must be hell for him."
"The guards at the gate look for anything and anyone suspicious," Hakeem warned. "They will surely be looking for you, green-eyed one. But enough of this, for you must rest now. I'll have my servant show you to your tent."
Michael hadn't realized how tired he was. He lay back on the soft lambskin and was soon fast asleep.
He was awakened some time later by a smiling Yanni. "The others are ready to go on the raid. They wait only for you, Lord Michael."
* * *
The Sawarka hit the enemy camp just before daybreak. The guards at the outpost had been quickly eliminated, so they were unable to raise an alarm. Hakeem's men rushed the camp, catching the tribe still sleeping.
Michael had thought he'd come only as an observer, but he soon found himself in the heat of the battle. He swung his sword true, and fought like a man possessed. All he could think about was that this tribe was the enemy, they were the tools of Sidi, the man who held his father prisoner. In his mind, every enemy slain was a strike for his father's freedom.
At the end of the battle, bodies littered the camp. Hakeem had kept his word, and none of the women or children had been harmed. They had been allowed to scatter into the desert to hide.
Hakeem had one of the survivors brought before him, because a plan was forming in his mind. The Turks were a superstitious lot, and he would plant a grain of fear in their minds that would grow into a legend. "Ride to your Turkish master and tell him and all his people that the green-eyed scorpion has made him an enemy. Tell the people how Akhdar 'em Akraba's powers allowed us to come into your camp and overcome you without one casualty because his magic protected us."
The man stood before Hakeem, quaking, his eyes darting about the crowd of faces, looking for the green-eyed devil. "Kill me now. I do not wish to look upon the face of the scorpion," he cried.
Michael did not know that Hakeem had used him to strike fear into the enemy. He dismounted and watched what he thought was an interrogation of a prisoner. He was astonished when the man trembled and dropped to his knees as Michael's eyes met his.
"Surely I have looked upon the face of death!" the man cried. "I beg you to kill me quickly."
To Michael's surprise, the man crawled to him and buried his face on the ground. "Mercy, oh, green-eyed one—have mercy."
Michael jerked the man up and glared at him. "As you showed mercy to the women and children you have massacred?"
Hakeem smiled, seeing that the man was now wild with fear. Unknowingly, Michael had furthered his scheme. He ordered his men to place the prisoner on a camel and send him into the desert.
"He will spread the news of your victory today, my friend," Hakeem told Michael.
"It was not my triumph, but I have slain my father's enemies."
"Our prisoner will tell of your magic, and that is what is important. This tribe will think long before attacking me or my friends."
Michael was not certain what the wily Hakeem would do next. He liked the old sheik, but he did not completely trust him.
* * *
Michael remained in the Sawarka camp for two more days, while preparations were made for the bridal journey. In that time, he became acquainted with a way of life that he'd never known existed. The men were continually holding contests, mostly with swords and on horseback. The women seemed to do all the work, while the men trained as warriors.
He doubted that any of Sawarka bedouin could read or write, and yet they had a knowledge about life that was not in any book.
Since coming to the camp, Michael's excitement began to grow. At last he had hope of finding his father. He and Hakeem made plans to enter the city of Caldoia soon after the wedding.
"You should know, Lord Michael, that we cannot just ride in and take your father to freedom. There must be war, and we don't even know the location where your father is being held. We must know this before we attack."
The night before they were to depart for Kamar Ginena, the sheik presented Michael with a gift, a black robe and sword of the Sawarka tribe.
"If you are like a brother to Prince Khaldun, you are like a son to me." He took a huge emerald from his finger and handed it to Michael. "This is to remind you that you are as one with my people." He smiled and clapped Michael on the back. "All who see this ring will know it as mine. Those in Caldoia who see it on your finger will accept you without question as one of my bedouin."
"I cannot take this," Michael insisted. "It's far too valuable."
"Nothing is as valuable as friendship."
Michael had learned much in the Sawarka camp—most of all he had learned to respect the old sheik. While Hakeem had tricked him into buying the silver knife, he had given him a gift of a much greater value.
A rooster crowed, announcing the impending dawn, and already the heat was punishing. Clansmen emerged from their tents to prostrate themselves on the sand for morning prayer.
The camp was filled with the sound of children's laughter as they rose from their beds to begin their appointed chores.
This simple people knew a peace that many would never encounter or understand. If Michael had not gained the friendship of Khaldun, he would never have known this world existed, and he certainly would not have been allowed to walk among them as a trusted friend.
The whole camp turned out to wish the travelers a happy journey. The heavily guarded caravan moved away from the encampment carrying gold, jewels, and the most precious jewel of all, Prince Khaldun's bride.
Slowly, they wound their way past granite hills, and into the ocean of sand. Tirelessly, the camels left their tracks in the desolate wilderness.
As the sun reached its zenith, the desert was strangely silent, but for the tinkling of bells that decorated the camels.
At night, the women's tents were set up within a ring of safety, while the tents of the men were putside that circle. Michael had no
contact with the women, except for Yasmin's serving woman, who kept him informed on how the princess was faring.
When the caravan was a day's journey from Kamar Ginena, Prince Khaldun rode out to meet them. He greeted Michael with enthusiasm, but kept casting furtive glances at the tent that Princess Yasmin occupied.
From behind her filmy veil, Yasmin watched the prince with anxious eyes. She had heard he was fair to look upon, but she could not see his face. She glanced at her servant. "Surely he sits his horse well."
"I see he does, Princess Yasmin."
"He appears to be very tall."
"He sits tall on his horse," the servant agreed.
"If only I could see him, talk to him. I have loved him for so long, but until now he has been faceless. Oh, Abba, I do so want to see his face."
At that moment, Khaldun turned his head, and she saw his finely chiseled features. "Abba, he is beautiful. Will we not have beautiful children?"
"That is so, my princess."
Yasmin lowered her head. "He is too handsome to have only one wife. He will surely take many wives after me."
"That is his right, but you will be head wife and the princess. The lesser wives will honor you, as will Prince Khaldun."
"Yes," Yasmin said sadly. "But I want more than honor, I want his heart."
Michael sat in the shadow of the campfire, staring at his friend. "Well, aren't you going to ask me?"
Khaldun tossed a stone in the fire and watched the sparks fly. "Ask you what?"
"I told you I have seen the face of your bride."
Khaldun's eyes showed his anger. "It isn't right that you should see my bride before me."
Michael suppressed a smile. "It was her father's decision."
"It should not have happened."
Michael became serious. "Princess Yasmin's thoughts were only of you."
Khaldun stood and walked away from camp, and Michael followed him. "The bridegroom squirms," Michael observed.
Khaldun turned to his friend. "You must tell me, I can wait no longer. Is her face tattooed?"
Michael laughed. "I can assure you, it is not. I believe the moment you see her, you will lose your heart, because she is very fair."
Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) Page 13
