by Marie Laval
‘Not much. Only that he is the best guide money can buy.’ He paused. ‘The most arrogant too,’ he muttered between his teeth.
‘You don’t think he is in any way involved with the rebels, do you?’
Archie dropped his arm, turned to face her, deadly serious.
‘What makes you say that, dear? Did you hear, or see, anything?’
She shook her head, regretting her words already. There was nothing to back her suspicions, just a vague feeling born out of Saintclair’s obvious dislike of the French army and Lieutenant Mortemer’s insinuations.
Two more shots echoed on the hillside, and a short while later Saintclair walked back into the camp, a dead gazelle slung over his shoulder and a brace of hares in his hand.
‘Forget about it, I am just being silly,’ she said. ‘The man is far too selfish to be concerned with any cause but his own. He has no loyalties to anyone but himself, and all he cares about is his own pleasures—gambling, drinking, and chasing after women—he said so himself.’
And getting his hands on Barbarossa’s treasure, of course, she added silently. He probably had great plans to spend whatever gold he would find in the country’s most seedy taverns with a whole troop of bayaderes.
‘Now I remember, he did say a few things against the French army,’ Archie remarked.
Harriet stood on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss on his cheek. ‘Don’t think about it.’ She hesitated. ‘I know the two of you don’t get on. I find him hard to understand too, but we must try for my father’s sake.’
There had been a heated exchange between Archie and the Frenchman that morning when Saintclair found that Archie had gone for a walk in the Ksar on his own. He had called Archie a fool. Archie had retorted that he wasn’t answerable to anyone. ‘As long as I head this expedition,’ Saintclair had said, his eyes cold and his tone cutting, ‘you are under my care and you will do as I say.’
Something else Archie obviously resented was the fact that Saintclair took full responsibility for the ransom money. He kept it with him, either during the day or when they made camp or slept in taverns and inns. ‘I’m the one who should have the ransom gold since I am the one Lord Callaghan chose for his mission,’ Archie complained time and time again.
As night fell, Saintclair’s men gathered the horses and led them to a hastily cordoned-off enclosure near the camp. The sky was pricked with thousands of stars. A half-moon threw its shiny, opalescent light on the world around. Shivering with cold, Harriet nestled closer to Archie. Together they stood for a long time listening to the sounds of the night—the calling of birds and the rumbling of rocks disturbed by nocturnal animals hiding or hunting, the crackling of the fire behind them.
Was her father looking at the same sky wherever he was, a long, long way away, in the Sahara?
‘What do you think we will find when we reach Tamanrasset? My father…’ Her breath shook, caught in her throat.
‘Your father is a strong, healthy man, dear.’ Archie stroked her shoulders. ‘Don’t forget he worked in the most inhospitable places. He will be fine.’
‘I hope you’re right. Why do you think he went to Tin Hinan’s tomb? Why did he not stay in the Hoggar to study the rock paintings as planned?’
‘Your father was always a little… eccentric. Who know what he hoped to find there?’ Archie answered coldly. ‘You’ll have the chance to ask him yourself soon. In the meantime, something smells good around here and I am famished.’
It was true that a heavenly smell of grilled meat seasoned with fresh herbs drifted from the campfire. A pot of water was already boiling, ready for the tea. Everybody sat down, tore out strips of meat, and stuffed them into pieces of flat bread. Ahmoud poured sweet tea out into tumblers.
After the meal, two men stood up to take first watch. Ahmoud took out his dagger and started sharpening the end of a long stick. Saintclair pulled a cigar from his waistcoat, lit it with a firebrand and reclined against his saddlebag, his legs stretched in front of him. Shadows from the fire danced on his face, flames reflected in his eyes.
‘Why don’t you tell us about these lion hunts you and your father took part in?’ Archie broke the silence.
Ahmoud stopped carving the wood and glanced up at Saintclair.
There was a minute of silence.
‘Why would you like to hear about that?’ Saintclair asked at last.
‘It isn’t often one encounters lion hunters.’ Archie sounded a little envious.
There was another silence. Harriet held her breath, aware of a sudden tension around the campfire, and wondered why Saintclair appeared so reluctant to talk about a lion hunt.
‘Tell them about your first hunt—our first hunt,’ Ahmoud suggested. His lips stretched in a gentle, encouraging smile.
Saintclair let out a sigh. ‘Very well…’
‘We were both boys of fourteen,’ he started, staring into the flames. ‘After days of incessant pestering, we were finally allowed to accompany our fathers to the hunt.’ He glanced up at his friend.
‘I will never forget the exhilaration I felt when we left Bou Saada that day. It was before dawn, so early there were still stars in the sky and the sun wasn’t even visible above the horizon. We were a party of ten, armed with spears, sabres and rifles, although we didn’t intend to use those to kill the lions, and we rode into the hills where there were reports of a pride of lions raiding herds.’
‘Why not use rifles?’ Harriet asked.
‘Rifles are the coward’s weapon. Lions deserve the spear or the knife,’ Saintclair answered matter-of-factly.
Ahmoud and the other men nodded in approval.
‘By the time we got to the hills, the sun was rising. We knew the lions would be resting after a night of hunting. We left our horses on a sheltered riverbank and started climbing up a rocky hillside. The scouts who had been dispatched ahead pointed to the entrance of a cave—the lions’ lair. The plan was to attract the lions out in the open and spear them. We climbed as silently as we could on a ledge above the cave.’
He turned to Ahmoud. ‘And then we made noise, enough noise to wake all the djinouns and mountain spirits for miles around. We banged rocks together, shouted and screamed. Finally, the male came out. He roared in fury, followed closely by his lioness.’ Saintclair closed his eyes.
‘We speared the lion but the lioness bounded onto the ledge where we stood and sprang on my father.’ He smiled. ‘I was never so frightened in my life. I jumped on her and used my own knife to cut her throat. Underneath, my father didn’t move. He was covered in blood. The lioness had swept across his chest with her paw. In utter panic, I pushed her body aside and just when I thought he was dead, he opened his eyes and laughed. ‘From this day, my son,’ he said, ‘you are coming to every hunt.’ And I did.’
‘The lioness’ hide still hangs in your house, you know,’ Ahmoud said. There was sadness in his brown eyes. ‘People in Bou Saada called you Ahar ever since—like your father.’
‘I bet they call me a lot of other names too,’ Saintclair retorted, his voice bitter. He threw a couple of sticks into the fire.
Archie let out a whistle. ‘Impressive. Not many men, let alone boys of fourteen, can claim having killed a lion with a knife. I can sleep soundly now.’ He yawned, pecked a kiss on Harriet’s cheek. ‘Don’t be too long, dear.’
He got up, gathered his bag and crawled into one of the tents pitched nearby. She too yawned, but didn’t move. Her eyes were drawn to the hypnotic dance of the flames, her senses soothed by the hissing, crackling and sizzling of the fire. Ahmoud was absorbed once again in scraping and sharpening his spear. The other men smoked or lay down, arms behind their head, eyes lost in the starry sky.
She wrapped herself more closely into her burnous.
Saintclair threw the butt of his cigar into the fire.
‘I’m planning to ride flat out to Bou Saada tomorrow,’ he said. ‘You should get some rest. I don’t want to waste time because you can’t keep up.’
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Stung by his condescending tone, she straightened her spine.
‘If you don’t want to waste time, then we shouldn’t go to Bou Saada in the first place,’ she said. ‘We hired you to take us to Tamanrasset, not to pay your family a visit. You know very well the danger my father is in. A few days could make all the difference.’
‘Unfortunately, I don’t think a few days will matter much to your father at this point.’ There was weariness in his voice. ‘And I told you I was worried about Mortemer and wanted to check on my mother and sister.’
She tilted her chin to look at him, defiant. ‘What about your father? Can he not look after them?’
Ahmoud stopped working and looked at her, then at his friend. Saintclair got up.
‘I’m getting some sleep and I suggest you do the same,’ he said. But instead of going into a tent, he walked away from the camp and disappeared into the night.
Ahmoud shook his head slowly and sighed.
‘You shouldn’t have said that, Miss,’ he said.
‘Said what? That this unplanned trip to Bou Saada was a waste of precious time?’
He shook his head. ‘No. About his father.’
‘Why?’
‘He was murdered, along with my own father and almost a hundred villagers from In Shba five years ago. Saintclair never, ever talks about it.’
‘Oh…’ Harriet put her hand in front of her mouth, looked in the direction where Saintclair had gone. ‘I am sorry, I had no idea. Who killed them all? Bandits?’
‘The French.’
‘You mean, the French army?’
Ahmoud nodded.
‘I suppose I might as well tell you. You will hear about it when we get to Bou Saada anyway.’
He took a deep breath.
‘It was five years ago last September. After fierce fighting in the Bou Saada province the French were tipped off that Abd-el-Kader’s men were hiding in the hills and that the local population was helping them out. So they burnt down villages and fields, killed dozens and dozens of people. Those who managed to escape took refuge in the hills and hid in one of the caves. As soon as he got word of what was happening, my father rode out. Saintclair’s father decided to go with him, hoping that together they could help with negotiations between the rebels, the villagers, and the French. When they arrived in the hills, they made straight for the cave where the villagers were hiding instead of letting the French know they had arrived. The soldiers found the hiding place, built huge bonfires in the entrance to the cave and set them alight.’
‘Bonfires, whatever for?’
Ahmoud stopped his work. ‘To smoke people out so that they could shoot them. The soldiers fuelled the fires throughout the night and had fun shooting at the children, men and women who stumbled out, gasping for air. My father and Saintclair’s were among the first to be shot when they came out to talk to the soldiers.’
He concentrated on his carving for a while.
‘The following morning, the fires had died down. When they got into the caves, the soldiers found only dead bodies—women, children, old men and peasants, but no rebels.’
‘That’s barbaric! The officer in charge should be disgraced, court-martialled. Who was he?’ Harriet’s voice rose in shock and indignation.
Ahmoud sighed.
‘It was Lieutenant Mortemer.’
She gasped.
Now she understood the open hostility between the two men, and the reason for Saintclair’s visit to Bou Saada.
‘But surely you and Saintclair complained to the authorities? Your father, Saintclair’s father, all those innocent people killed. Mortemer must be made accountable for his actions.’
Ahmoud spat on the ground.
‘It was the French governor himself, Maréchal Bugeaud, who pioneered this way of dealing with rebels. He won’t discipline his men for doing what he has done before.’
‘But I am sure there would be a public outcry if people knew about this and—’
‘There is more,’ Ahmoud interrupted, his face grim. ‘Lucas believes he is as much to blame for what happened as Mortemer.’
She stared at him. ‘Why would he think that?’
‘He was the one who led Mortemer to the cave.’
Chapter Eleven
Harriet sat still, trying to comprehend what Ahmoud had just said.
‘Lucas had been away for some time, scouting in the south, and mapping out new roads. Mortemer tricked him. He found him one night in a tavern and told him it was the rebels who had ransacked and burned the villages. It happens sometimes, when Abd-el-Kader wants to force people to side with him and fight the French.’
‘The emir hurts his own people?’
Ahmoud shrugged. ‘This is a cruel war, Miss, with men determined to win on both sides. Anyway, Lucas knew the area so well it wasn’t hard for him to point out the cave to Mortemer before riding back to Bou Saada. He only heard about the fires and the shootings the following day.’
Harriet pressed her hand hard against her heart, her throat too tight to speak. What did he do then?
As if he understood the silent question in her eyes, Ahmoud answered.
‘He left, disappeared. Nobody knew where he was. When I eventually found him, he had explored the far south and stayed with a Tuareg tribe for a while. He never went back to Bou Saada. Not once in five years—not even for his father’s funeral.’
She smiled tentatively. ‘You forgave him for your father’s death.’
Ahmoud’s face was solemn. ‘What happened wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to know who was in the cave and what Mortemer was planning. He believed the rebels would be arrested.’
He stood up, bowed his head to bid her good night. ‘I’m taking second watch, so I’m going to have some rest now. You can’t stay out here, mademoiselle, you should go to your tent.’
He was right, of course, yet she was reluctant to leave the comfort, the warmth and light of the campfire. Shivering, she walked to the tent she shared with Archie. Even though it was safer that way, she felt awkward about it. She lifted the flap, listened a minute to Archie’s regular breathing, and satisfied that he was fast asleep, crawled to her side to pull her blankets down. It was pitch black. Praying that there was no bug, snake or scorpion lurking around, she sat on her makeshift bed, pulled her boots and cheche off, and wrapped herself in the blankets.
Ahmoud’s story preyed on her mind…and on her heart. Something had shifted, mellowed inside her concerning Lucas Saintclair. It wasn’t pity, but a feeling that went far deeper. It was sorrow and compassion. How could a man live with such a burden, knowing that somehow he had been instrumental to his father’s death—and the death of innocent children, men and women?
What must he be feeling tonight? He must be wondering how his mother and sister would react when they saw him. Did they hold him responsible, did they hate him? Surely they couldn’t hate him as much as he hated himself.
She closed her eyes and drifted into sleep. She dreamt of a lion—standing, majestic, on top of a crag, peering into the distant steppes. His eyes were the same pale, crystal clear blue as Lucas Saintclair’s eyes.
It was just before dawn. The light was grey and blue, but already birds sang and men talked in hushed voices outside, probably busy getting the campfire ready for the morning meal. She stretched, raked her fingers in her hair and pulled a face. The last couple of days’ riding in the heat had taken their toll. She was filthy.
Maybe she could take advantage of the river? Spurred by the prospect of bathing in cool, fresh water, she pulled the blankets down and rummaged in her bag to find clean clothing and her bar of soap.
‘Is it time to get up?’ Archie peered at her over the covers.
‘Not yet,’ she whispered.
‘Good.’ He closed his eyes and rolled over to the other side.
Walking past the fire over which water boiled in a tin pot, ready for tea and coffee, she breathed in the enticing fragrance of bread warming on hot, flat stones.
She followed the riverbank upstream for ten minutes or so, until she found what she was looking for. The perfect spot, she thought, a smile of triumph on her lips.
It was a narrow valley where the river curved into a bend, secluded by thick bushes and reeds. After a quick glance around to make sure she was alone, she stripped and walked naked into the water. It was so cold it took her breath away. She gritted her teeth, clutched her bar of soap and walked into the river until the water reached her hips. Getting rid of the grime and sweat of the past few days was worth the torture…
Holding her breath, she dipped into the water before standing and lathering soap over her body and her hair.
The light was changing. A transparent gold dust touched the hillside, the top of the trees. The sunrise streaked the sky with red, orange and pink hues, reflecting into the river. She was alone in the world, in a bubble hovering between sky and water.
Then she heard the growling. Stones tumbled down the hillside seconds before a male lion jumped onto the river bank, sleek and agile. It approached the river and started drinking. It hadn’t seen her. Yet.
Her heart thumping with terror, she ducked under the water very slowly, careful not to make any ripples on the surface. How long would she have to hold her breath? How long did it take a lion to quench its thirst after a night spent hunting? What if it saw her and came after her? Did lions, like cats, hate water? Her lungs started to burn, she felt close to choking. When she couldn’t hold on any longer, she popped her head above the water and took a long, long breath.
The lion had gone.
‘You are one lucky woman,’ a voice called from the bank.
Still breathless, she spun round. Saintclair crouched near the water, a knife in one hand, a pistol in the other.
‘How l-long have you be-been here?’ she stuttered, her teeth chattering from cold and shock.
‘Long enough.’
Had he watched her undress and get into the water? Actually, she’d rather not know.
She moved her legs and arms, numb and stiff with cold.
‘Is it safe? Has the lion gone?’ She looked towards the hillside.
