They have camels," he gasped.
As he said it two riders burst from the clump of trees. Mansur came up short and stood panting, gazing after them as they rode diagonally across the hillside below him. They passed not more than a pistol shot from where he stood. Their mounts were both beautiful racing camels and carried bulky saddlebags and waterbags for a desert crossing. They were ghostly in the silvery moonlight, moving away in uncanny silence towards the open desert.
In desperation Mansur bellowed after them, "Stop! In the Caliph's name, I order you to halt!"
Both riders turned swiftly in their high saddles at the sound of his voice. They stared back at him. Mansur recognized them both. He had not seen the man with the European features, whom Istaph had called the /erengi, for some years. However, it was the Arab who commanded his attention. He had thrown the hood of his cloak upon his shoulders and, for a fleeting moment, the slanting rays of the moon struck full into his face. He and Mansur stared at each other for a heartbeat, then the Arab leaned forward over the neck of his camel and, with the long riding stick he carried, urged it into the long, elegant gait that covered the ground at an astonishing speed. His dark cloak billowed behind him
as he whirled away down the valley with his ferengi companion riding hard behind him.
A shock of recognition and disbelief paralysed Mansur's legs. He stood and stared after them Then, black thoughts swirled through his head and seemed to batter his senses like the flapping wings of vultures, until at last he rallied himself. I must get back to my father and warn him of what is afoot, he thought. But he waited while the camels dwindled into the distance, flitting like moths across the moonlit landscape, and then were gone.
Mansur ran all the way. He had to stop in the shadow of the walls to regain his breath. Then he went on swiftly but quietly among the tents so as not to raise the alarm. There were two sentries at the door to the Caliph's, but at a quiet word from Mansur they sheathed their swords and stood aside to let him pass. He went through into the inner chamber of the pavilion. A single oil lamp was burning on a metal tripod that shed a soft light.
"Father!" he called.
Dorian sat up from his sleeping mat. He wore only a light loincloth and his naked body was slim and muscled, like an athlete's, in the lamplight. "Who is it?" he called.
"It is Mansur."
"What ails you at this hour?" Dorian had recognized the urgency in his tone.
There were two strangers in our camp this night. They were with Sir Guy."
"Who were they?"
"I recognized them both. One was Captain Koots from the garrison at Good Hope, the man who pursued Jim across the wilderness."
"Here in Oman?" Dorian came fully awake. "It does not seem possible. Are you certain?"
"I am even more certain of the other man. His face is graven upon my mind until the day I die."
Tell me!" Dorian commanded.
"It was the assassin, Kadem ibn Abubaker, the swine who murdered my mother."
"Where are they now?" Dorian's voice was harsh.
They fled into the desert before I could confront them."
"We must follow at once. We cannot let Kadem escape again." The glazed pink knife-scar on Dorian's chest caught the lamplight as he reached for his robes.
They are mounted on racing camels," Mansur answered. "We have
none, and they were headed into the dunes. We can never hope to catch them in the sands."
"Nevertheless we must try." Dorian raised his voice and shouted for the guards.
The dawn was a lemon and orange glow in the eastern sky before bin-Shibam had gathered together a punitive party of his desert warriors and they were all mounted and ready to ride. They swept down the causeway from the camp to where Mansur had seen the fugitives disappear. The ground was sun-baked and stony and held no tracks of the camels passing, but they could not afford further time for the skilled huntsmen to search every inch.
With Mansur leading, they followed the direction in which Kadem had headed into the wilderness. Within two hours' ride they saw the dunes rising ahead of them, in flowing and fantastic shapes. The slip faces down which the sand cascaded were blue and purple and amethyst in the early light. The crests were sharp and sinuous as the back of a gigantic iguana.
Here they found the tracks of two camels trodden into deep saucers in the liquid sand where they had climbed the first dune and disappeared over the crest. They tried to follow, but the horses sank over their hocks with each pace and, in the end, even Dorian had to admit that they were defeated.
"Enough, bin-Shibam!" he told the grizzled old warrior. "We cannot go on. Wait for me here."
Dorian would not allow even Mansur to accompany him as he rode up the face of the next dune. His tired horse had to lunge upwards with each pace and only reached the crest with great effort. There he dismounted. From the sand valley below Mansur watched his father. He was a tall, lonely figure staring out into the desert with the early morning breeze blowing his robes out behind him. He stood like that for a long time, then sank to his knees in prayer. Mansur knew he was praying for Yasmini, and his own sorrow for the loss of his mother welled up almost to suffocate him.
At last Dorian remounted and came down the dune with his stallion sliding in the soft-running sands on braced haunches and stiff front legs. (tm) said not a word as he passed them, and rode on with his chin sunk n his chest. They fell in behind him and he led them back to kakanderbad.
Dorian dismounted in the horse lines and the grooms took his stallion. He strode to Sir Guy's tent with Mansur close behind him. His intention was to confront his half-brother and disclose his true identity, to throw in his face the ancient memories of his vicious treatment of Tom, Sarah and himself as a child, and to demand from him a full explanation of the nocturnal and clandestine presence of Kadem ibn Abubaker in the camp.
Before he reached the tent he realized that things had changed during their absence. A party of strangers was gathered before the entrance. They all wore seafaring dress and were heavily armed. At their head was Captain William Cornish of the Arcturus. Dorian was so angry that he almost hailed him in English. With an effort he prevented his anger boiling over, but it simmered dangerously close to the surface.
Mansur followed close behind him as he stormed into the tent. Sir Guy and Verity stood in the centre of the room. They were in riding garb, and were deep in conversation. Both of them looked up, startled, at the precipitate entrance of the two grim-faced figures.
"Ask them what they want," Guy said to his daughter. "Make them understand that this behaviour is insulting."
"My father welcomes you. He hopes nothing is seriously amiss." Verity was pale and seemed distraught.
Dorian made a perfunctory gesture of greeting, then glanced around the tent. The handmaidens were packing the last of Sir Guy's possessions.
"You are leaving?"
"My father has received tidings of the gravest import. He must return to the Arcturus and sail at once. He asks me to present his most sincere apologies. He tried to inform you of this change in his plans, but he was informed that you and your son had left Isakanderbad."
"We were in pursuit of bandits," Dorian explained, 'but we are desolate that your honoured father must leave before we have reached an accord."
"My father is also put out. He asks you to accept his thanks for the generosity and hospitality you have extended to him."
"Before he leaves I would be most grateful for his assistance. We have learned that there were dangerous bandits in the camp last night. Two men, one an Arab, the other a European, perhaps a Dutchman. Did your father speak to these men? I have had a report that they were seen leaving this tent during the night."
Sir Guy smiled at the question, but the smile was on his lips only and his eyes were cold. Verity said, "My father wishes to assure you that the two men who came to the camp last night were not bandits. They were
the messengers who brought him the news that has necessitated h
is change of plans. They were with him for a short time only."
"Does your father know these men well?" Dorian insisted. Sir Guy's reply was without obvious guile.
"My father has never seen them before."
"What were their names?"
"They did not give their names, nor did my father ask. Their names were of no interest or importance. They were merely messengers."
Mansur was watching Verity's face intently as she answered these questions. Her expression was calm, but there was a latent tension in her voice, and shadows in her eyes as though dark thoughts lurked in her mind. She avoided looking at Mansur. He sensed that she was lying, perhaps for her father's sake and perhaps for her own.
"May I ask His Excellency the nature of the message they brought him?"
Sir Guy shook his head regretfully. Then he drew from his inner pocket a parchment packet that bore the heavily embossed royal coat of-arms with the legend "Honi soit qui mal y pense' and two red wax seals. "His Excellency regrets that this is an official, privileged document. Any foreign power who attempted to seize it would be committing an act of war."
"Please assure His Excellency that no one is contemplating an act of war."
Dorian dared press the matter no further. "I much regret His Excellency's sudden departure. I wish him a safe journey and a swift return to Oman. I hope I shall be allowed to ride in company with him upon the first mile of his journey?"
"My father would be greatly honoured."
"I will leave you now to make your final preparations. I shall wait with a guard of honour on the perimeter of the camp."
Both men bowed to each other as the Caliph withdrew. As he left the tent Verity shot a single, anguished glance at Mansur. He knew that, at last, she was desperate to talk to him.
Sir Guy and Verity, escorted by Captain Cornish and his armed seamen, rode up to where Dorian and Mansur waited beside the eastern road to escort them. Dorian had brought his anger firmly under control. They set out again in company. Although Mansur fell in beside her, Verity stayed close to her father, translating the polite but inconsequential conversation between him and Dorian. But as they topped the first rise, the wind off the sea blew into their faces, cool and refreshing. As though to adjust it, Verity loosened the scarf that held her high hat in
place. She seemed to lose her grip on it, and the breeze snatched it from her head. It tumbled away down the hillside, rolling like a wheel on its stiff brim.
Mansur turned his horse and raced after it. He leaned far out of the saddle and grabbed the hat from the ground without checking the stallion's speed. He turned back and handed it to Verity as she rode to meet him. She nodded her thanks, and as she replaced it on her head she used the silk scarf to veil her face for a moment. She had contrived to separate them from the rest of the party by at least a hundred paces.
"We have but a moment before my father becomes suspicious. You did not come last night," she said. "I waited for you."
"I could not," he replied, and he would have explained further, but she cut him off brusquely.
"I have left a letter under the pedestal of the goddess."
"Verity!" Sir Guy called sharply. "Come here, child! I need you to interpret."
With her hat again firmly on her head, the brim tilted to a saucy angle, Verity kicked her mare forward and trotted up beside her father's horse. She did not look directly at Mansur again, not even when, with an exchange of compliments, the two bands of horsemen parted. Sir Guy went on towards Muscat while the Caliph and his escort turned back to Isakanderbad.
By the merciless light of midday the goddess's expression was melancholy and her beauty marred by the ravages of millennia. With one last glance around the temple to make certain that he was unobserved Mansur went down on one knee before her. Windblown sand was piled along one side of the pedestal base. Someone had arranged five small chips of white marble in the shape of an arrowhead. It pointed at a spot where the sand had been recently disturbed, then carefully smoothed over again.
He swept away the sand. There was a narrow crack between the marble base of the statue and the stone flags of the floor. When he lowered his face to floor level he saw that a folded sheet of parchment had been pushed deep into the crack. He had to use his dagger to prise it out. He unfolded the sheet and saw that both sides were written upon in an elegant, feminine script. He refolded the sheet, hid it in his sleeve, hurried back to his own tent and went into the inner room. He spread out the letter on his sleeping mat and pored over it. There was no salutation.
I hope you will be there tonight. If you are not I will leave this for you. I heard the alarm a short while ago and the horsemen riding out, and I must believe that you went with them. I suspect that you are chasing the two men who came to my father this night. They are generals in the army of Zayn al-Din. One is named Kadem ibn Abubaker. The other is a renegade Dutchman whose name I do not know. They command the Turkish infantry who will lead the assault on Muscat. The news they brought my father is that, at this very moment, the fleet and the transports carrying Zayn's army are no longer lying in Zanzibar roads. They sailed two weeks ago, and they are already at anchor off Boomi island. My father and I will return on board the Arcturas with all despatch so that we are not trapped in the city when the Turks attack. It is my father's purpose to join Zayn's fleet, so that he might be present when Zayn enters the city.
Mansur felt his heart turn cold with dread. Boomi island lay a mere ten sea miles from the entrance to Muscat harbour. The enemy had come secretly upon them, and the city lay under a terrible threat. He read on quickly:
Zayn himself is aboard the flagship. He has fifty great dhows and seven thousand Turkish soldiers on board. They plan to land on the peninsula and march on the city from the landward side, to surprise the defences and avoid the batteries of cannon on the seaward walls. By the time you read this, they may have already launched their attack. Zayn has another fifty dhows crammed with troops and the munitions of war following. They will be in Muscat within the next week.
Mansur was so stricken that he could barely bring himself to read the rest of the letter before rushing out to warn his father.
It is with deep sadness and guilt that I must tell you that my father's offer of assistance to the junta was a ruse to lull them and to keep the desert sheikhs in Muscat until Zayn could fall upon them and capture all of them together. They will receive no mercy from him. Nor shall you and your father. I knew nothing of this until an hour ago. I truly believed that the offer of British protection my father made was genuine. I am ashamed by what he has done to his brothers, Tom and Dorian, down the years. I knew nothing of this either, not until you told me of it. I have always known he was an
ambitious man, but I had no idea of the true extent of his ruthlessness. I wish there was some way in which I could make amends.
"There is, Verity, Oh, yes, there is," Mansur whispered, as he read on.
There is more that it pains me to relate. I learned tonight that Kadem ibn Abubaker is the villain who assassinated your mother, Princess Yasmini. He boasted of the heinous murder. Tonight he wanted to kill your father and you also. My father prevented him doing so, not on grounds of compassion but lest the plot he has hatched with Zayn al-Din to recapture the city be jeopardized. If my father had not stopped him, I swear to you on my hope of salvation that I would have managed to warn you somehow. You cannot know how deep is my repugnance for the deeds my father has committed. In one short hour I have come to hate him. I fear him even more. Please forgive me, Mansur, for the hurt we have done you.
"You are not to blame," he whispered, and turned over the sheet of parchment. He read the last few lines.
Last night you asked me if I did not feel anything between you and me. I would not answer you then, but I answer you now. Yes, I do.
If we never meet again, I hope you will always believe that I never intended to cause you hurt. Your affectionate cousin, Verity Courtney.
They drove the horses without me
rcy, riding in full force back to Muscat. They were still too late. As they came within sight of the city towers and minarets they heard the cannon fire and saw the dun smoke of battle sully the sky above the harbour.
With Dorian, al-Salil, at the head of the troop they drove the exhausted horses through the palm groves, and now they could hear musket fire, shouting and screaming below the city walls. Onwards they raced, and the roadway ahead was crammed with women, children and old men fleeing the city. They turned off and galloped on through the groves, while the din of battle grew louder. At last they saw the glint or spearheads, scimitars and bronze Turkish helmets surging forward towards the city gates.
They flogged the last ounce of speed from their horses, and in a tight column they raced for the gates. The Turks ran through the palm grove to head them off. The gates were swinging closed.
Wilbur Smith - C11 Blue Horizon Page 66
