“Suleiman Ilahi was loyal to our house and always ensured our interests were protected,” she said flatly.
“I know he has been close to both you and the Lady Firyal,” Fouad commented. “But men do show one face to people with power and perhaps another to others who share their true beliefs,” Fouad countered mildly.
“Close to us both, yes, but much more so with the Lady Firyal than myself,” replied Zahirah. “It is perhaps fortunate that she is ill and wasn't here to see his death,” she replied. “Following so swiftly on....on Mohammed's dying....” She paused briefly, to control her breathing. “I've sent instructions to her attendants to ensure she hears nothing of what has happened, until we ourselves know more and can tell her with gentleness,” she ended.
Fouad nodded his gratitude; his mother's failing health was an increasing concern for him, both as a son and as a ruler in desperate need of advisors he trusted.
“Apart from my own – and I believe the Lady Firyal's, instinct, were she here – he was directly in my vision and I saw his face when Daoud gave his name.”
“And what did you see there?” Fouad asked, alerted by her tone that things may not be quite as they'd seemed, short minutes ago.
“I saw a look of utter surprise; the look of a man who was genuinely startled by what he was hearing.”
“He could perhaps have been startled only by it becoming public knowledge?” Isaac ventured.
“Then, there would have been some fear, and there was none, only an
honest astonishment,” she responded, shaking her head.
“Daoud?” asked Fouad turning, as the guard commander.
“I' spoke to the men who were there when the names were given, Lord. “The man who gave the name was...... was in a place where he had only honesty left to give,” he offered quietly. Out of respect for Zahirah, he took care to avoid speaking the blunter truth that the man, his body and mind destroyed, had as little reason to lie as he had any hope of a viable future.
“Has he been asked again?” Isaac asked.
“He was, but he couldn't answer. By the time the question was repeated, he was dead,” responded Daoud bluntly. A ferocious warrior, he had no compunction in killing many in battle, but he had little stomach for the brutal destruction of men, chained, helpless to fight back. He let nothing of this show, however. He was as aware as any that Fouad, having lost the brother closest to him by treachery, was in no mood to accept the slightest questioning of any methods he chose to use to discover the names of the guilty.
“Men rarely lie when there is nothing left for them but the truth,” agreed Fouad. He was too driven by the need for information to feel any qualms about the death of a prisoner who, regardless of what he actually knew, was a proven enemy of him and his.
“The truth as they believe it, Lord, certainly. But I believe he was speaking the actual truth,” Zahirah responded quietly. “It's we who are mistaken. If you recall Suleiman has a son – who is also called Suleiman,” she added.
The sharp intake of breath from the three men told her that they fully realised what she was saying.
“You think the prisoner was naming him and not his father?” Fouad asked sharply.
“It's possible, Lord. We shall soon discover if that is so. Knowing it would be your wish, I've sent men to bring him to you; to answer either for his father, or himself. He lives close, as you know, so we should not have long to wait.”
As she spoke the commander of the detachment of guards she'd sent to bring the younger Suleiman in entered. At her slight gesture, he addressed Fouad.
“Lord, the house was deserted when we got there, except for servants and slaves!”
“Suleiman was not there? “ Fouad asked sharply.
The commander shook his head, “No, Lord. The man, Suleiman, had gone – as had his wives and children. They left very hurriedly some few hours ago.”
“He can't have travelled far if his family is with him. Have men discover his direction and send a troop after him.”
“Yes, Lord, but I believe he's left with all of the family's racing camels,” the man replied. He looked and felt increasingly unhappy to be the bearer of news unlikely to put his ferocious ruler in anything but a dangerous fury.
Fouad knew what the man meant. The Ilahi family had for generations bred some of the fastest camels on the whole eastern coast. They were rarely used as beasts of burden, or even as war camels. They were used only when extreme swiftness was required, whether in the increasingly popular races, or, as now, when speed of flight was needed. Nothing Fouad had in his own stables would get near to catching them.
“They had many goods with them, also, Lord,” the commander added into the small silence that greeted his first words.
“To have moved so fast, they must have had plans already in place for a time such as this!” Isaac spat, furious at losing such an important figure in the plot. In his mind, any doubts of Suleiman's guilt had been dissipated by his flight.
“Send men out on our fastest horses and camels. Travelling with his family will slow him down, so we may still have the good fortune of catching up with him,” Fouad ordered.
Nodding, the guard left hurriedly, very glad to be out of his ruler's presence.
Zahirah left the meeting shortly afterwards, anxious to be with her children, who were even more bewildered and heartbroken than she herself, at losing Mohammed.
The search for Suleiman and his party lasted two full weeks. Although their trail was easy to follow for many miles, as predicted, the speed of their camels kept them easily ahead of their pursuers. Then, suddenly, all trace of them vanished. Even before the search party reached lands hostile to Fouad, where pursuit would have been dangerous, all trace of their prey vanished completely. It was a mystery that was several years in the solving, and the solution, when it came, did not bode well for the future of Fouad's line.
None of this was, however, evident in the weeks and months following the attempt to take the town. For Zahirah and her children, it was a time of grieving, adjusting to a life now grievously less full, less joyous. For Fouad, it was a time of relentless pressure as all leads as to who were the ringleaders behind the attack petered out. After every prisoner was brutally questioned, every suspicion followed up, he was left with nothing but a few mid-ranking traitors, who clearly knew nothing of real importance. Beyond names of even lesser importance, teased out by Mehmet's vicious ingenuity, all he was left with was an instinct, a feeling of sick certainty that some of those closest to him were behind the treachery.
He received very few items of positive news in those bleak and troubled months. One that he did, however, was of crucial importance. A spy, very close to the Kuwaiti Political Agent, Shakespear, sent word that he'd snubbed ibn Saud when he'd requested British aid to take al Hasa from the Ottoman; following which the Saudi leader had reluctantly given up his invasion plans.
Chapter 21
1913
Fouad's relief was short-lived. Within hours of his informant reporting the gist of ibn Saud's conversation with the Englishman Shakespear, information that flatly contradicted it had reached Narash. A source well proven and trusted by Fouad, one close to the Saudi leader himself, had sent an urgent message to the Narashi ruler. In it, the messenger made clear that ibn Saud, far from being disheartened by the British refusal to help, was, in fact, planning to attack al Hofuf with just his own forces.
A stream of information constantly flowed into the palace, ranging from hard fact, through desert or town gossip, to outright fantasy and fabrication. Fouad had increasingly come to rely on the triumvirate of Firyal, Zahirah and Isaac to sift through and evaluate it. He'd had to. His own workload had trebled as the al Saud tightened their grip on the hinterland and the Ikhwan continued to grow ever stronger, dangerously near the Narashi borders. He and all in Narash increasingly felt as though their backs were being pushed against the waters of the Gulf itself. Knowing enough, and sensing more, of the strength lined up against
them, he continued to spend large sums paying men, women, even children, to gather information. He used sources from his own tribal networks and, even more so, those of his ex-wife and mother, developed through their vast trading links.
Overlooking no potential source, proven or otherwise, they'd been almost too successful. Information flooded in and, even with the trio's expert knowledge and sheer brilliance for separating what was valuable from the useless or, even more dangerous, deliberately misleading, he'd frequently been almost overwhelmed with the sheer mass of information pouring in.
But when intelligence such as he was holding resulted, the whole massive and costly effort became worth every Indian Rupee or Maria Theresa silver Thaler spent on it, if what he was reading was, in fact, the truth and not something deliberately fed to their informant. If it was indeed true and the Ottoman already knew and were prepared, all the better; ibn Saud could be walking into a trap and he, Fouad, merely look foolish, sending information they already had. But, as he realised all too clearly, he had little choice but to act. If the information was correct and ibn Saud did reach al Hasa and did succeed in attacking the Ottoman in al Hofuf so close to Narash's borders, any balance of power which currently existed would be utterly destroyed. Even should such an attack be beaten off, for ibn Saud to have got so close would, in itself, cause alarm throughout eastern Arabia. So much so, that all tribal and other alliances might be shaken apart and, if not destroyed, be so dangerously weakened by the shock waves as to be virtually worthless.
Moving with his usual incisiveness and swiftly discounting using horses or camels overland, due to the increasingly unstable situation inland, he quickly issued orders for the launch of two fast boats. Each would travel swiftly and separately down the Gulf to the Ottoman stronghold at al Hofuf. He debated and dismissed the idea of sending any of his own forces to aid his allies. The town was manned in enough strength to withstand an attack, provided it was warned in time. His decision was made easier by the fact that he didn't, in all truth, have enough manpower both to go to their aid and keep Narash safe should ibn Saud succeed. Indeed, even if the Saudi leader was beaten off, a revenge raid further up the coast on the Ottoman's Narashi allies was entirely feasible. No, he had no choice but to look to Narash's own survival first.
Fouad also ordered that three of the valuable messenger pigeons he used when both speed and a degree of 'invisibility' were required, be released, each with a coded message attached.
Even as preparations to despatch the messengers, both winged and waterborne, were being finalised, he'd ordered his captains to strengthen the town's garrison and to send out strong patrols deep into the desert and into their borderlands. He couldn't overlook the chance that a raid on his own territories was also being planned by either ibn Saud or his new allies the Ikhwan. His patrols had firm orders that if any attacking force was sighted, they were not, under pain of death on their return, to engage them, but return swiftly to alert the town.
“Lord! The carrier pigeons!” Isaac rushed in, unusually flustered. “They're all dead!”
“Dead? All of them?” asked Fouad in disbelief.
“All, Lord,” he affirmed. “And, for all to die at once it must have been by poison!” he added.
Fouad, ahead of him, was already nodding grimly. “It would seem our information is correct and somebody is trying to stop us telling the Ottoman.”
“But few know, Lord!”
“We have too little time now to find out who did know. Discover this for me when we have dispatched our messengers, who now need to take even greater care on their mission,” he ended sombrely
To ensure his message was taken seriously Fouad had decided to send one of his brothers in each of the two boats so that the Ottoman would have no doubt of the message's importance. He turned now as the two men chosen entered the room, both puzzled and, in one case, more than a little nervous, as to the reason for the late night summons. Little time was spent on greetings and Fouad quickly outlined his intentions to his two half-brothers. As neither could read, he also gave them, as well as letters for the garrison commander, detailed verbal instructions for when they reached the land point nearest to the town.
“This man has been our eyes in the area for many years and is completely trustworthy. He will, on reading this letter, provide you with horses or camels to travel the last miles to the town. Should he have been discovered or, for any other reason, not be able to help, this man, is in the employ of the Lady Zahirah and will provide the same service. Either way, you must reach a man called Ali ben Youseff, who lives near al Hofuf and will provide whatever else you need, as well as an introduction to the garrison commander.”
Both as stunned as he'd been only brief hours before, they each quickly realised the vital nature of the quick dash down the coast. Nasir, the junior of the two, was young enough to be looking forward to what he saw as an adventure. His excitement showed in his eyes.
“ Be very aware of the risks you will run. Should ibn Saud, or anyone well disposed to him, discover your journey and its purpose, you will be in great danger,” Fouad warned and told them of the killing of the messenger birds. Watching them as he gave his warnings, the excited glow in his young brother's eyes made him wonder uneasily if he'd chosen wisely in selecting him as one of his couriers.
The young man's jaunty response, “Have no fears brother, we will complete your mission,” didn't do much to allay his sudden unease.
It was too late to change things now, however, so, dismissing his fears, he turned to Turki, the older of the two. “It's vital that one of you get through, hence your boats will travel separately. This means that neither can aid the other, should one of you run into any trouble, so be doubly careful. Each boat has two crews of oarsmen so no time need be lost. The crew not rowing will double as guards, to keep numbers down. Remember, though speed is vital, so is secrecy, so do nothing to expose yourselves either to danger or discovery,” he added.
“When do we leave, brother?” Turki asked, concealing one of the packets of letters in his robes.
“Now. Immediately,” Fouad answered, adding, as he saw their surprise. “As I've said, speed is vital so we must hasten.” What he didn't say was that their immediate departure, without going back to their homes, reduced the risk of their journey, or its purpose, being discovered.
“May Allah go with you,” he said, as he handed them over to his chamberlain to be escorted discreetly to the quayside where their boats were already waiting.
All preparations complete, all he could do now was wait on events. That such an attack, on such a fortress was foolhardy was true. True that is, if the parties involved were anyone but ibn Saud, fearless and brilliant, as even his enemies conceded, and the Ottoman, slothful and with low morale as even their friends admitted.
Fouad watched them go from the seclusion of the palace's balcony. How I wish I was going with them! he thought suddenly. For though he was wary of Nasir's youthful excitement at undertaking the dangerous journey, disapprove of his light heartedness, a part, deep within him and scarcely acknowledged, wished they could change places. In truth, Fouad, though far from being either old or weary of the burdens of rule, occasionally felt a longing to be that young again and just another bedouin warrior out on a ghazzu deep in the deserts. If he'd ever truly had that time, he thought bitterly. All his adult life seemed to have been one bitter war after another; always a brutal fight for survival, not the joyous plunder of a simple raid, with its strict rules of behaviour. Sighing a little, he watched the boats set out quietly and without lights, and then turned and went back inside. Though the hour was late, he still had much to do before he could sleep.
Chapter 22
The night was dark, with virtually no moon, which was both a help and hindrance. For speed they would hug the coastline as much as possible. Their twin challenges would be to avoid both being seen from one of the many islands just offshore of the coast, and of running aground in the shallows. Fortunately, the crews had
been picked not just for their prowess at the oars and their fighting ability off them, but for their detailed knowledge of the shallow waters and their currents. Whenever the winds weren't with them, they would un-ship the banks of oars with which the boats were also equipped; either way they expected to make landfall sometime on the fourth day. Should anything at all raise their suspicions when they arrived in the waters near their destination, they would stay offshore until nightfall. Then, under cover of darkness, they would link up with their contacts and make the risky journey the fifty or so miles overland. With luck they would be within the walls of Hofuf within four or five days.
Once outside the harbour, the two boats turned their bows southwards and, picking up speed, rapidly pulled apart, as ordered. The wind was slack, so the crew pulled fast and steadily through the warm, dark water. After two hours, the hypnotic rhythm of the swishing of the oars and sheer boredom were beginning to make Nasir wish he'd not been selected for the mission. He was of an age where heroism and reputation were of paramount importance and each were gained in the swift and exhilarating action of a fast and daring raid, not slinking quietly and anonymously through an inky black night. Like most young men, patience was not a virtue he sought to possess; nor indeed, was it a quality he even recognised as a virtue. Slowly his head fell forward and he drifted into a shallow sleep, his head resting against the rough planking of the boat.
A sudden noise jolted him back to wakefulness. His head fuzzy from his quick arousal, he struggled to comprehend what had woken him. Then, up ahead of them, another sound broke the stillness. This time Nasir had no trouble recognising the sharp, biting sound of a gunshot. A third swiftly followed, then yet more, these accompanied by shouts, quickly muffled.
“Merciful Allah! What's ahead? That's not my brother's boat is it?” Nasir asked anxiously, hurrying to the bow of the small boat where the lookout was worriedly peering into the gloom ahead.
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