by Peter Grant
“That’s good.” Taghri hesitated. “If you wanted to get into a harbor like Quwain to look around, what sort of goods would you take with you to sell there?”
“Luxuries sell well there, sir, and foodstuffs. Also, because so many ships are based at or visit Quwain, its shipyards and chandlers import lots of the sort of supplies we’re using here.”
“I see. How much of those supplies will be left once the work here is done?”
“Not much, sir; maybe thirty to forty tons. We’ve used ten times that or more.”
“That should do. If you loaded the excess supplies into one of the boums, d’you think she could sail into Quwain and sell them without arousing suspicion?”
“Oh, yes, sir! They’ll welcome anyone bringing goods like that.”
“And if she did good business, and promised to come back with a lot more supplies, they’d be interested?”
“No doubt about it, sir.”
“That’s good. Here’s what we’re going to do…”
Elhac brought back a letter from their agent in Alconteral, the sergeant-major’s son, Fihr. He reported good progress in ordering everything the unit needed, and gave an accounting of how much they’d spent so far. Tahgri frowned when he saw the figures; but he’d authorized all the purchases, so he couldn’t complain. Nevertheless, he was already over his budgeted amount for supplies. He made a mental note to be more careful in future. After all, there were still salaries, bonuses and death benefits to be paid when the operation was over.
There was another letter for him. He broke the seal on the scroll and opened it, to find that Princess Gulbahar had written to him. She did not know where he was, but had learned that Fihr was his factor in Alconteral, and so had asked him to forward her message.
I’m sorry you’ve been absent these past few weeks. I look forward to your return. Nobody seems to know where you are or what you’re doing – or, if they know, they aren’t telling me, which is infuriating! What are you up to, mysterious man? If it’s a secret, I understand, but I’ll still be frustrated! You’ll have to come and see me as soon as you get back, to tell me what you can. Meanwhile, I’m praying to Kokat for you, that she may bless your endeavors.
Kokat? Taghri shook his head in exasperation. If the Princess was a devotee of the goddess of chaos and uncertainty, and was praying to her on his behalf, who knew what might go wrong next? As if he didn’t already have enough challenges and problems to deal with!
The doctor tells me I’ve fully recovered from the strain of being taken captive, and held for ransom. He says there will be no medical problems as a result, for which I’m grateful to the gods. I’ve written to tell my father the good news. He was very pleased and grateful to hear of my rescue. He wrote to the Governor, although I don’t know what he said in his letter. He’s also written to you. The Governor will hold his letter for you until you return.
My father will be coming here during the autumn to convey his official thanks to the Sultanate for its assistance, and to take me home. He wants to meet you – I think he has some sort of reward or recognition in mind.
So she’s not pregnant, Taghri thought to himself with an inward sigh of relief. That would have been a huge problem. I’m glad she and her family don’t have to deal with it.
He couldn’t help being stirred as he thought about her. The memory of her half-naked body had disturbed his sleep at times. She was a very attractive young woman, and her mind was as interesting as her body. What’s more, her letter made it clear that she found him interesting, too, if not something more. Sternly he reminded himself of the Governor’s warning. You’re a commoner, and she’s royalty. Don’t daydream about what can never be, or you’ll find yourself with far worse than raiders to worry about!
He wrote a brief reply, warm and friendly without being overly forward, and promised to visit the Governor’s palace as soon as he returned. Sadly, he cautioned, that could not be soon.
7
The training, and the refurbishing of the last of the six vessels, ended at almost the same time. Taghri declared a day’s holiday, with everyone free to do as they pleased. Most were too tired to do more than sleep the morning away. By afternoon they were stirring, many swimming in the sea before washing off the salt water in the stream, sniffing eagerly at the smells coming from the fort’s kitchens as the staff prepared a celebratory meal. Cattle had been roasting on spits over beds of coals since the small hours of the morning, turned by volunteers who naturally had to sample slices of the meat at frequent intervals, to make sure it wasn’t being burned. A large number of their friends wanted to help in the process, to the outraged protests of the cooks. Fortunately, knowing soldiers, Taghri had ordered twice the required number of beasts to be prepared, so there would still be plenty of meat for supper.
Everyone formed long lines at sunset to collect heaping plates of food. The villagers joined in with a will. They had worked as hard as anyone, abandoning their fishing with alacrity at the promise of good pay if they helped to repair the ships. The men had worked alongside the sailors, while their wives and daughters had sewed up tears in the sails, or fashioned new ones out of bolts of canvas, or repurposed fishing nets into boarding nets to prevent enemies climbing the bulwarks. At Elhac’s suggestion, Taghri had allowed the villagers to use excess repair materials to refurbish their fishing boats as well. Now they celebrated along with everyone else, their children chasing each other through the groups of men, shrieking with laughter, while some of their older daughters made eyes at some of the soldiers and sailors. Given the good money they knew everyone was earning, the village families raised no objection to attachments being formed. Their daughters would clearly be marrying men who could afford to look after them – and they would not require expensive dowries. There was a lot to be said for that, in a poor fisherman’s world.
Despite soldiers’ and sailors’ reputations, Taghri had insisted that no alcoholic drinks would be served at the celebration. He wanted everyone sober until the mission was over, after which they could drink the taverns of Alconteral dry if they wanted. There had been grumbling over his edict, but not too much. Everyone understood by now that secrecy and discipline were vital if they were to succeed. Alcohol was the natural enemy of both.
The following morning, the soldiers began to prepare their personal equipment, their horses’ tack, and their provisions for the mission that lay ahead. The sailors cleaned up the beach where they’d been working. From now on, they’d live aboard the ships. They’d already loaded a boum with all the supplies left over from refurbishing the six vessels, about thirty-five tons of them. Elhac and a picked crew sailed it out of the bay on the morning breeze. The rest of the sailors prepared the other ships.
Taghri called a meeting of the four troop sergeants and Sergeant-Major Hadi in the fort. They stood around a map table, mugs of water handy in the heat, while he pointed to various features and outlined some, but not all, of his plans.
“It’s vital that we keep the raiders guessing,” he warned. “If they figure out what we’re going to do next, they can destroy us by bringing up support forces that we won’t expect. For that reason, I’m telling only you about my plans, and not all of them, either. You’ll learn more as we go along. Also, don’t forget, we weren’t there and we didn’t do anything.” Smiles and laughter from the others. “We’re just caravan guards in training here, that’s all. We aren’t raiders.”
Taghri pointed to the three villages. “We know these towns are involved in attacks on our caravans, right up to their necks. Raiders’ tracks have been traced to and from them; stolen loot has been seen in them; and they’ve grown rich without having any visible trade to support it. They also send pack trains down to Quwain fairly regularly. They can only be carrying loot to sell there, or to trade for other things they need. Therefore, we’re going to make examples of them.
“To be effective, we’ve got to be ruthless. We’re going to take each town in turn, kill as many raiders and defende
rs as we can, set fire to everything, and drive everyone else out into the countryside. I know some soldiers regard women as fair game after taking a town. You’ve got to impress upon your men that we don’t have time for that. There are other towns to be taken and sacked. The more time we waste on the first, the more likely it is that the enemy will reinforce the other two. No wasting time to rape or torture, on pain of death – and I really mean that! I’ll execute offenders myself. Make sure your men understand that.
“Scouts have been sent to each village, posing as travelers or traders, so we know where the richest pickings are likely to be. A select party of trustworthy troops will loot only those buildings as fast as possible, while the others set fire to everything else. The horses and mules are mostly in stables outside the walls, so we’ll gather them up as we leave.”
“But, sir, what if someone sees something worthwhile in another building?” one man questioned. “Isn’t it asking too much to tell him to ignore it, and do something else?”
Taghri sighed. “You know as well as I do that there’ll be some personal looting. That’s as certain as the dawn. The problem is, we dare not load ourselves down with too much baggage. We have to get to the next target before warning can reach it. If we’re slowed by overloaded pack horses, they’ll be warned in time to hide their wealth, and arm themselves against us. We can’t afford that. That’s why I’m prohibiting the usual sack and looting of the town. Speed is all-important. The slower we are, the more of us are going to die or be hurt, and the less loot we’ll take.”
Nods came from all those around the table. “We’ll make sure they understand that, sir,” another promised, and the others murmured their agreement.
“Good.” Taghri traced geographic features on the map. “We’ll hit Qisha first. It’s the furthest away from us, and from Quwain, the nearest garrison town, and therefore it’s the least likely to have a patrol nearby that we don’t know about. Let’s start our men off with an easy victory.
“We’ll be fifty strong, each riding one horse and leading a pack horse or mule. We’ll take five days to reach Qisha, moving slowly at night along hill trails. We’ll lie up out of sight during the day. During the journey, we’ll brief the teams on their targets, so everyone can move straight to their starting positions on the last night, ready to attack on my signal to advance.”
“What will be the signal, sir?” someone asked.
Taghri patted the pistol in his sash. “I’ll be the only man carrying these. You’ll hear the shot.”
“Got it, sir.”
He ran through the attack procedures they’d practiced so intensively. “I don’t need to give you detailed orders. You know what to do and how to do it. Just keep your people under control. Make sure they’re fighting in teams rather than as individuals. They’ve got to cover each other’s backs. Make as much noise and create all the confusion you can. We want the villagers to run in panic, without having time to realize that we aren’t a large attacking force.
“Some of the troops will round up the captured horses and mules into a herd, while the rest burn the place down, then load the horses with the loot. We’ll rendezvous at dawn with a resupply column. You’ll be leading that, sergeant-major.”
“Aye, sir,” Hadi said proudly. He’d tried his hand at riding, adapting a stirrup to fit his peg-leg, and found that he could manage adequately. He’d been downcast at the thought of having to ‘miss all the fun’, as he’d put it. Command of the resupply column had assuaged his dignity.
“Hadi will bring with him fresh riding and pack horses, one of each for every man, loaded with more supplies and naphtha. They’ll have had an easier journey to join us, so they’ll be fresher than our own. We’ll exchange them for our tired animals, and head for our next target. He’ll bring back the worn-out animals, the loot, and our wounded, at a slower, more comfortable pace.”
Glancing around, Taghri could see the concept taking root in the minds of his subordinate commanders. Their eyes gleamed as they realized what this would mean. Unencumbered by loot and wounded, and with fresh horses, they’d be able to move much faster.
“We’ll be moving further away from this fort with every attack, so we won’t be able to rendezvous with another supply column. Instead, after the next attack, we’ll meet our ships here.” He put his finger on an indentation in the coastline. “Salwa’s only a fishing village, but it’s bigger than this one, and has a jetty. We’ll load our loot aboard our ships, and get fresh supplies before tackling our last target.”
“We’re going to be awfully tired, sir, hitting three villages that far apart over four or five nights,” one man pointed out. “We won’t have time to get enough sleep.”
“That’s why I’ve pushed the men so hard during training, including many interrupted nights. They’ve learned to cope with less sleep than usual. They couldn’t keep it up for weeks on end, but for a few nights, it’s possible. They’ll have to catch what rest they can in the saddle.”
“Understood, sir. It’s just that tired men make mistakes.”
“That’s why we’ve drilled the men until they can do things almost without thinking. We simply can’t afford to take the time to rest. If we take any longer over the raid, patrols and reinforcements from Quwain will intercept us. We’re too small a unit to fight a pitched battle. Speed is the key to our survival.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Make sure your men understand it, too. If anyone falls asleep and gets left behind, we won’t be coming back to look for him. He’ll die alone.”
Two afternoons later, the bustle of activity died away at last. The men gathered in their respective groups, horses ready, personal equipment and weapons checked, provisions loaded. The sailors had loaded all the remaining supplies aboard the ships. Section leaders made final inspections of the area, to ensure that as little trace of their presence as possible had been left behind.
The fishing families had loaded their belongings onto their small craft, and were ready to head back to their home village. Taghri had advised them that the bay might not be a healthy place for the rest of the summer. He couldn’t tell them that Talima might try to retaliate, but they got the message. The elder in charge of the fishing expedition had clearly learned from bitter experience that the poor people of the world had few friends, and many enemies.
Taghri called the fishermen together, and poured out on a board a small pile of silver staters and bronze darams. Their eyes bugged out. They had almost certainly never seen that much cold, hard cash in their lives before. “This is for you,” he informed them, smiling. “It’s the sum we agreed, plus a bonus for your hard work. There are also these supplies.” He waved a hand at half a dozen soldiers leading pack horses, who’d accompanied him to the village. “That’s extra food we don’t need. Take it with my thanks, and use it on your voyage home.”
Amid protestations of eternal friendship and loyalty, the villagers loaded the supplies aboard their small vessels, then pushed them away from the beach. Oars rowed them out beyond the surf line, where their sails could catch the afternoon breeze. By the time Taghri and the soldiers had returned to the fort, they were well on their way out of the little bay.
“Looks like they don’t want to hang around, sir,” one of the troops observed.
“No, they don’t, and I don’t blame them. They’re grateful for the money they’ve earned and the gifts we’ve given them, but we’re still soldiers. Their kind has learned over many years never to trust armed men. They’ve been robbed too many times. They’d rather get clear of us as quickly as possible, and wish us luck from a safe distance.”
“You’re right there, sir,” another man said, his voice wistful. “They lead a hard life. I was born in a village like theirs. My da was a fisherman. He drowned when I was five years old. My brothers and I had to help clean and dry other people’s catch, to get food for my mother and sisters. As we got older, we crewed their boats. We never got schooling, never had a chance to earn cash money.
The girls were married off by the time they were eleven or twelve. They had to be, because ma couldn’t afford to feed them any longer. She died when I was thirteen. I saw her buried, then walked to the nearest town and enlisted as a boy drummer, just to get the hell away from there. I’ve never been back since. The Army gave me all the chances I’ve ever had in life.”
“Just make sure you give your children a better chance than you had,” Taghri said gently.
“I hope I haven’t got any, sir – at least, not yet!” Laughter. “If I make enough out of this caper, there’s a girl in Alconteral I’ve had my eye on. I might go talk to her parents.”
“Then we’ll have to capture enough loot for you to afford her, won’t we?”
As the others laughed again, Taghri was forced to mentally acknowledge that there was a girl in Alconteral who interested him, too. Money alone wouldn’t be enough to win her, but… No! Don’t be stupid! he admonished himself, thrusting the thought away.
As the sun set, the raiding group mounted their horses and formed up. Sergeant-Major Hadi gathered his people together to bid them farewell. He’d leave three days behind them, using roads and trails and traveling by daylight, to make better time to the rendezvous.
Hadi saluted Taghri. “We’re as ready as we’ll ever be, sir. I won’t wish you good luck, because I reckon we’ll make our own luck. Instead, I’ll wish misfortune to the enemy, sir.”
“I’ll join you in that. See you in a few days. Just remember, officially, this is nothing more than a march through the country as a graduation exercise for the ‘caravan guards’. That’s our story, and we’ll stick to it no matter what. We aren’t raiders. We wouldn’t dream of doing anything like that.”
“I get it, sir.” They clasped forearms.
