by Marie Laval
They had made good time since leaving the mountains at dawn and were now within reach of Abalessa. There was no sign of Mortemer’s men or Drake’s gang. He had been right to make the long detour to the south. They were probably watching the north and east approaches to the oasis.
Drake’s gang…That’s what he called it now. Even if Harriet was reluctant to believe it, Drake was involved with the raiders. He knew it even if he didn’t understand why. Yet.
He looked at the woman next to him, a mixture of pride, admiration and astonishment welled in his heart. She had made it this far despite the heat and thirst, the harshness of the terrain and all the dangers they had encountered. As if she felt his gaze on her, she turned to him. With her Tuareg clothing and headdress, she could pass for a small, slender man, but Drake would pick her out in a crowd straight away. He couldn’t take the risk of taking her to Abalessa with him. He had to find somewhere safe for her to stay while he went into the village.
Musa pointed at the line of the horizon. Immediately, Lucas gripped the butt of his pistol and pulled on the reins.
‘What is it?’ Harriet lifted a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun.
He narrowed his eyes to peer in the distance.
‘It looks like a camp.’ He let out a sigh of relief, and immediately felt a quick, deep stab of regret. A nomad camp meant safety for Harriet. It also meant they would be parting ways. Maybe forever, if Mortemer managed to get hold of him.
He ordered Hakim and Musa to ride ahead and the two men spurred on.
‘Let’s wait here while they warn the nomads we’re coming,’ he said as he dismounted.
He secured the two camels, walked over to her and pulled her from her horse. She slid straight down from the saddle into his arms. Surprise and delight lit her eyes when he pushed her headscarf aside and tilted her chin up.
Over the past few weeks, he had learned to read her innermost feelings reflected in her eyes. From a light grey mist, they turned the colour of dull steel when she was angry. Then they were dark and stormy when she was in his arms. But right now they were luminous and filled with warmth. He could just lose himself in those eyes. He had already.
‘What’s the matter?’
He held her more closely, his throat too tight to speak, and marvelled at how perfectly she fitted against him. She was meant for him. The thought hit him, left him dizzy. He caught his breath, bent down and kissed her hard.
‘Nothing. Come on, we have to go.’ His voice was hoarse. Letting go of her abruptly, he turned away.
It was a small camp, with only a half a dozen tents—that meant a half a dozen families. The goats he saw earlier must belong to them. Children who had been playing on the dusty ground with sticks and stones scattered and hid inside the tents as they approached and a couple of men came to greet them.
He would make sure they agreed to let Harriet stay with them tonight.
Next to her, Lucas drew rein and jumped down before exchanging traditional greetings with the two nomads.
‘Ma Toulid?’ he asked, bowing his head. How are you?
‘Al kher ras,’ the taller man answered with a nod. I wish you well. That much she understood.
From the beautiful silver Agadez cross he wore on his chest and the intricate folding of his headscarf, she guessed he was the chief. While travelling with the caravan, she had seen most men wear similar crosses. Lucas had explained that fathers bestowed them on their sons at their coming of age ceremony. The four branches of the cross symbolised the four cardinal points essential to nomads, because they never knew where they would die. The largest, heaviest cross belonged to the most important men in the tribe.
The men spoke then Lucas asked her to dismount.
‘They say you can stay here.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to stay here. I want to be with you when—’
His face was harsh, his voice uncompromising.
‘This isn’t about what you want, but about what is safe—for you, for all of us. Nobody will expect you to be here and now they have offered you hospitality, these people will protect you should—’ He stopped, sighed with impatience. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to have to worry about you.’
Of course. He would have enough to do making contact with her father’s captors and avoiding Mortemer and his men.
‘Listen to me, Harriet.’ Lucas stepped closer and took her hand. ‘You must wait here until someone comes for you. I am taking the ransom money. I will hide it somewhere until I find your father and negotiate with the keepers. Don’t worry, one way or another you will get back to Algiers.’
What did he mean, someone would come for her, and one way or another she would get back to Algiers? Filled with panic, she reached out for him.
He squeezed her hand briefly. His lips stretched into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Everything will be all right, I promise.’
And then, she knew.
‘You’re not expecting to make it, are you?’
‘Of course I am. If you think I’m giving up on that treasure map you owe me, you are mistaken.’ He smiled again.
She watched him climb on his horse and ride away in a cloud of dust with Hakim and Musa. He never looked back. As their silhouettes became smaller and disappeared in the hazy light on the line of the horizon, she did nothing to stop the tears from falling nor did she try and stifle her sobs. And when she collapsed onto her knees, she didn’t even feel the sharp rocks cut through her skin.
The nomads welcomed her, fed her goat milk, dates, and bread. It was a relief that she could only speak a few words of their language, because they had to leave her alone. The women and the children sometimes came to look at her as at some strange creature—their eyes huge and filled with curiosity—and touch her skin and her hair.
In the evening, she sat in front of the chief’s tent along with the other members of the tribe for the ritual of tales and music. The chief pulled a few pebbles out of a pouch and settled down to tell the first story. This time, however, Lucas wasn’t there to translate. All she could do was listen to the insistent, hypnotic melodies the imzad player was creating on her instrument and which tore her heart apart.
She clutched her fingers in her lap, closed her eyes, red and raw from crying. When the music was over and the night had gone cool, a woman tapped her shoulder and gave her a mat and a blanket. She pointed to one of the tents, and Harriet understood this was where she was to sleep.
But sleep didn’t come. As she stared at the roof of the tent and listened to the light snoring of the two elderly women sharing it with her, the calls of night birds, the bleating of the goats and the rumbling of the camels, she whispered endless prayers for Lucas.
Her thoughts drifted to her father. Did he feel she was close or had he given up any hope of being rescued? Was he even still alive? She pictured his face, tanned and weather-beaten from his many expeditions in Italy, Greece and North Africa, and his calm, intelligent blue eyes, and the way they lit up when he talked about artefacts or documents he’d discovered. In many ways more a teacher than a parent, he had been a demanding father, braving his elder sister’s disapproval to make sure she received a sound education.
Aunt Elizabeth claimed he had brought her up as a boy. ‘Your father forgets girls don’t need to read ancient Greek, trace maps, learn how to make a fire in the woods or—God forbid—kneel in the dust to retrieve bones or pieces of old pots,’ she often complained. Harriet didn’t listen. She carried on studying hard to make him proud and was sometimes rewarded with a smile or a nod of approval.
Despite his frequent travels abroad and his fascinating stories, his life had always appeared somewhat ordered, transparent, almost mundane. Yet, there were many things she didn’t know about him… He had been troubled before leaving for Algiers, he had even argued violently with Archie, which had never happened before. And what was the significance of the ring she remembered seeing on his finger—the snarling silver wolf?
He h
ad discovered something important while studying the Hoggar rock paintings, something that had made him want to break into Tin Hinan’s tomb. What was there that he so wanted to find? Was it the Garamantes’ emeralds, the clue to the location of the mines, or something entirely different? She sat up and held her breath. She knew what she had to do. She would go to the tomb and find out for herself.
At last the dawn sky paled and became a clear, transparent mauve. She crept out of the tent. A little apprehensive, she asked the Tuaregs for directions to Tin Hinan’s tomb, putting together the few words of their language Lucas had taught her. After discussing between themselves for a long time, they pointed in a north westerly direction, gave her a gourd of water, a bag of dates, and insisted that a boy show her the way.
‘Tannemert,’ she said, putting her hand on her heart.
She climbed on her horse and followed the boy. He walked fast. He ran ahead at times, but there was always a wide grin on his face as if he wasn’t tired or didn’t feel the effects of the heat. He finally stopped and pointed to a small rocky hill standing out in the plain, next to a dried-up riverbed lined with trees, shrubs and grass where a flock of gazelles grazed.
‘Tin Hinan,’ he said and they started towards it.
Her heart beat fast, her throat was dry with excitement. At last, she was within reach of the sepulchre of the mysterious Tuareg queen. She spurred the horse into a gallop. The gazelles fled, jumping high above the grass and bushes, and disappeared in the hazy heat lingering over the plains.
At about fifteen feet high, and with a circular base, the tomb was both higher and larger than she had imagined. Rubble and debris covered the ground all around, a sign that it had been broken into—maybe by her father and his men. Without waiting for the boy to catch up, she jumped down from her horse and walked slowly around the tomb, holding the reins. Many of the larger stones piled on the tomb had ancient Garamantes writing on them. Some had drawings too.
The mid-morning heat was already blistering. Sweat trickled down her forehead and along her spine. She unscrewed the top of the gourd, lifted her scarf off to drink. She frowned, looked around, and held her breath. She wasn’t mistaken. A faint, regular tapping sound was coming from inside the tomb.
‘Hello? Is there anyone in there?’ she called in English, then French.
The tapping stopped. She sighed, disappointed. She had imagined it. But as she started walking around the tomb, she heard it again. It sounded like someone banging rocks together, or digging inside.
‘Djinouns,’ the boy said next to her, breathless and his eyes wide with fear.
‘No,’ she said, with a reassuring smile. ‘No djinouns.’ Someone was definitely in the tomb, but it wasn’t an evil spirit. She handed the boy the reins of her horse and pointed to the top of the tomb.
‘I have to go up, see who’s in there.’
He shook his head, stepped back. ‘Djinouns.’ And he ran away.
There was no point in going after him. He would probably come back with men from the tribe who might force her to return to their encampment. She calculated she had about two hours to explore the tomb and find the source of the noise. She tied the horse to the branch of an acacia tree, next to a patch of coarse grass, and prayed there was no lion around. Alone and tied up, the animal wouldn’t stand a chance. Then she scrambled up the slope as fast as she could, filled with irrational hope. The banging seemed to be getting louder the higher she climbed.
She understood why when she reached the top. The tomb was open. Large, thick slabs of stone which would normally cover it had been pushed aside. She stared down at the entrance of a chamber and at a rope ladder secured on metal pikes leading inside the tomb.
‘Hello? Who’s in there?’ she called.
The banging stopped for a few seconds.
‘This time I have truly lost my mind,’ a man’s voice said before the noise started again.
Her heart flipped. She would recognise that voice anywhere.
‘My God, Father, is that you? Father, it’s Harriet!’ she called, leaning over the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the man inside the tomb.
‘Harriet?’
The first thing she saw was the man’s mop of matted, unruly grey hair. Then he tilted his face up towards her. He had a wild, grey beard and smears of grime and dust on his tanned face. A pair of blue eyes blinked against the sunlight. In his dirty and ripped grey shirt, and black breeches, he was tall, gaunt, almost skeletal. She let out a cry of joy.
‘Father, you’re alive. I have found you at last!’ She knelt down beside the hole, pulled her scarf off, held out her arms to help her father up.
‘So I haven’t lost my mind.’ With surprising agility for a man so tall, he climbed up the rope ladder. She stood up and stepped aside to let him out, and when he was finally in front of her, she threw herself in his arms.
‘There, there,’ he said, as he patted her head, her back, before holding her at arms’ length. ‘Let me take a good look at you. You look well, a little thin maybe. How extraordinary to see you here, and in Tuareg clothes! You would give your aunt a serious shock.’ He blinked a few times, shook his head. ‘I don’t understand why you’re here.’
‘I came to rescue you.’
He let out a laugh. ‘You are rescuing me? You are wonderful, I’m so proud of you.’ He enclosed her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. ‘But I don’t need rescuing, I am quite all right, as you can see.’
He paused, looked around. ‘You didn’t come here all on your own, did you?’
‘Archie and I hired a guide in Algiers, and—’ she started.
‘Archibald is here?’ He looked around, narrowed his eyes.
‘Yes…No…It’s a long story.’
She took his calloused hand, almost dizzy with relief. She had found her father and he was alive. Now they had to escape for his captors, and fast.
‘When we heard the news about the Tuareg attack on the expedition, we were so afraid you had been killed too.’ She swallowed hard.
‘It wasn’t the Tuaregs who attacked us,’ he replied, his face stern. ‘It was a gang of men who had been following us ever since we left Algiers. We managed to lose them in the Hoggar, but they picked up our trace again. The Tuaregs tried to help but they could only save me. It was too late for the others.’
His voice shook. He swayed as if suddenly too weak to stand. In the harsh daylight, his face was thin and crisscrossed with deep lines. Her throat tightened. These last few months in the mountains and the desert had taken their toll. He looked so much older, so much frailer than the last time she’d seen him.
‘Why are you still in there?’ She gestured towards the entrance to the tomb. ‘I thought the Tin Hinan’s keepers didn’t want anyone inside the tomb.’
‘We made a deal. They let me work here every day on the condition I give them something very precious in return—something they, and I, have been after for a long time.’
‘The emerald mines?’
He nodded and surveyed the vast, empty plains around the tomb. ‘Where is your guide, Harriet?’
She bowed her head, kicked a few pebbles with the tip of her boot and blinked back the tears. ‘He left me at a Tuareg camp while he went into Abalessa with the ransom, searching for you.’ She lifted her head.
‘What ransom?’ He frowned.
‘Lord Callaghan generously donated a thousand pounds in gold for your release. We were supposed to give it to the Tuaregs in exchange for your safe return.’
Her father snorted. ‘The cunning old devil,’ he muttered.
She shook her head, surprised at the harshness of his tone.
‘Oh Father, there are so many things I don’t understand,’ she sighed. ‘I killed a man, an Englishman… he wore a ring, like the one I remember you wore, once, a long time ago.’ She stared into his face. ‘What is this all about? I need to know.’
His eyes became hard. He took her elbow and led her to the entrance to the tomb.
&nb
sp; ‘Later, girl, I will tell you everything later. For now, let’s go inside. It’s far too hot to stay out in the open, not to mention the fact we make ideal targets.’
‘Where are the keepers of the tomb?’
‘They leave me here every morning and come for me at the end of the day.’
He went down the rope ladder and he held it straight for her to climb down.
‘It’s much bigger than I first thought. I almost cleared five of the twelve chambers, including the queen’s.’ He glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Careful what you step on, there are scorpions around.’
There was just enough light to see outlines of jars, caskets, swords shields, and spears. She coughed. The air was thick with dust and a musty, choking smell.
‘Cover your face with your scarf. These chambers were sealed over fourteen hundred years ago. It’ll take some time to get fresh air inside.’
He led the way down roughly carved steps into a round room filled with all sorts of objects and artefacts. In the middle was a bed with human remains wrapped in some kind of shroud. A diadem and two delicate, brittle ostrich feathers adorned the skull.
Harriet found it even harder to breathe in there. She pointed to the bed.
‘Tin Hinan,’ she whispered.
Her father nodded.
He knelt next to the bed. Next to the body were dozens of necklaces and bracelets, flasks and jars. He gestured towards two large stone urns.
‘This one is filled with coins—Roman coins.’ He lifted one and handed it to her.
‘Constanti…’ She read the tiny writing. ‘Emperor Constantine.’
‘The other is filled with emeralds.’ Her father plunged his hand into the tall urn and lifted the precious stones out. ‘There are emeralds scattered around her body too.’
‘The Garamantes’ emeralds.’
Even in the semi-darkness, she could see her father’s eyes shine with excitement. He took a tablet leaning against the wall.
