Swords of Arabia: Warlord

by Anthony Litton

  Embracing Nasir affectionately, he left the chamber, leaving his young brother both stunned and overwhelmed. As with any state, Narash had many loci of power and influence; the bigger merchants and the older or richer princes, being but a few of them. None of them, though, came near the power and influence wielded by the three closest to Fouad. To be invited into such a group was an honour so high that Nasir had never aspired to it. Now, though, it was his and he swore, as he too left the chamber, to be worthy of his brother's trust through every one what they all knew were the increasingly dangerous and bloody days ahead.

  Chapter 28

  1913-1915

  The attack didn't come.

  No Saudi force threatened Narash in the days immediately after the Ottoman collapse in al Hofuf; nor in the days following them, or even in the days following those. The Saudi leader had found that it was easier to take al Hasa from the Ottoman than to keep it for himself. Almost from the moment of his seemingly problem-free victory, he’d had to fight savagely to hold what he thought he’d already taken. Narash, though a tempting prize, was, for the moment, left untouched.

  Fouad, however, in the weeks and months following the shock of al Hofuf’s fall, did as he’d said he would do and used every hour of every day, assuming that that day was the day ibn Saud would cross into Narash. He held Majlis after Majlis with each of his traditional allies sometimes riding far into the desert and sitting with the Bedu tribal chiefs in their goat-hair tents. Then, within hours, he’d travel back to the coastal regions for more meetings with powerful Hadhar clan leaders in their luxuriously appointed houses, many so large they were virtual palaces themselves. Always he travelled with Nasir by his side. Four of their sisters were given in marriage, three to important Bedu, and one to the eldest son of Narash's richest and most powerful merchant family. Fouad and Nasir themselves were also given wives from prominent families, including the al Rashid.

  All the chiefs of the al Rashid reassured the Narishi princes that the treaties between their tribes would be honoured. Should ibn Saud attack Narash, the al Rashid would ride to their aid and ibn Saud would find himself against an army that even he couldn't defeat.

  “If, they're not busy killing each other at the time!” muttered Nasir, as they road their camels back from Hail, the Rashidi's desert capital.

  Fouad smiled grimly, but said nothing, content that his young brother was seeing at first-hand some of the many problems of holding their alliances together; some of the problems of ruling. Nothing was left to chance; nothing. Anything that needed to be done to reinforce their strength for the coming war was being done. And any sacrifice necessary was made. Even if that sacrifice extended to the very heart of Fouad's own family, as Nasir had seen the morning following his return from al Hofuf.

  Immediately following dawn prayers, the four prisoners were brought before Fouad. Deliberately receiving them seated on the small dais he used for formal meetings, he stared down coldly as they were dragged into his presence and pushed roughly to their knees before him.

  On his instructions, none had been given either food or water since their interception the evening before. They were already starting to show the early effects of that double deprivation. Such effects would get very much worse, very rapidly, should their kinsman decide to continue the punishment; a matter on which he had yet to finally decide.

  “Well, Brothers, Nephew, Cousin. What have you to say for yourselves?”

  “Why should we have anything to say, Brother?” Mus’id, the eldest of the four men, sneeringly replied, almost spitting out the word ‘Brother' before he relapsed into silence.

  “Indeed, why should you? It is a choice you all have the right to make.” Fouad paused, then continued. “Let me say this, however. You were all caught trying to leave your palaces, just after word reached us that our brother Turki had tried to kill our brother Nasir. We know his attack was part of an attempt to stop us warning the Ottoman of the imminent threat from ibn Saud. What we don't yet know is just how many others were involved. We shall discover this.”

  Again, the four said nothing. He nodded. “Very well, time presses and we have much to do if we are to survive ibn Saud's attack, whenever it should come.” Looking at their guards, he said “Take them back to the cells. Give them only quarter rations of water, and an eighth of food. We shall deal more closely with this when we have the time.” He paused and then went on. “Whether this will be in the next day or two, the next week, the next month, or the next year, I cannot say. It will be whenever we can seize a few moments from the great matters besetting us.”

  “You intend starving us to death! The family will never allow it!” shouted Mansour, his fear making him forget their joint plan to remain silent.

  “You promised our father you would not harm any of the family!” Abdul spat, also stung into speech.

  “You will not be starved entirely of either food or water. If you look as though you are near death, you will be revived. I will try and keep my oath to my father. But think on this: it was made only for my brothers, no one else,” he ended bleakly, looking at Mansour, his nephew. “But – hear me well, and all who would think like you. I will tolerate no more unrest in the family. I will not allow us to fragment our strength as do the Rashid. If I have to break my oath to my father to save our tribe from the heel of ibn Saud, be aware – I will do so. Take them away,” he said waving his hand dismissively and turning his back on them as they were dragged back to their cells.

  After they’d been taken away, he turned to Nasir, an unwilling spectator to the brief confrontation, and commented, “Isaac thinks I’m being too lenient. Do you not, Isaac?” he asked, turning to the little official.

  Isaac nodded, unhappily but firmly. “I do indeed, Lord, I do indeed. Unfortunate as it is, I see no alternative but for them to be guests of Mehmet,” he added, using the term all in the palace used for those who were unfortunate enough to be questioned by the brutal and skilled dungeon master.

  “And you, brother?” asked Fouad, curious as to what his younger kinsman, now effectively his protégé, would say.

  Nasir, not relishing being asked, nevertheless surprised Fouad by his answer. “I have no wish to see any of the family put under such pain,” he replied slowly, “but I would have it so. Unless......” he paused and then went on. “Unless, there was more to gain by delaying such interrogation, than beginning it.”

  “Go on,” encouraged Fouad, genuinely interested to see where Nasir was going.

  “I honour your vow to our father; indeed, I think it is right that those nearest you should not feel threatened, merely because of that kinship. Not feel threatened that is, until they themselves are seen to directly threaten your rule; then you should act. Anyway,” he shrugged, “as you say yourself, your vow was only to avoid harming any of the brothers. A threat to interrogate Mansour, or any of our younger kin believed to be involved, could be used to pressurise their elders, should you so decide.” He paused, uncertain how to phrase his next thoughts.

  Fouad waited patiently, knowing that the way of thinking necessary to govern was new to Nasir.

  “Once you start on physically harming any of our kin, however, it is to travel down a road from which you can never return; a dangerous road,” Nasir continued, concerned he may be saying too much. To his relief Fouad nodded.

  “So if I told you, that I agree and that I’ve decided to stop short of that – at this moment. That I plan to hold them closely in the dungeons, whilst we seek what we need to know by every other means, what would you say?”

  “I would say you are right, Brother,” responded a relieved Nasir”

  And so it was left. Fouad doubled the number of guards normally stationed to guard the labyrinth of dungeons and kept the prisoners on the tiny rations for a further week. He then increased them slightly. As he had no wish to use torture on them, if it could be avoided, neither did he want them to starve to death whilst held by him; not yet anyway.

  Such forbear
ance did, however, leave him with a major problem. Despite the best efforts of Isaac and others, no further information was discovered about the extent of the plot against him; nor were the names forthcoming of anyone else involved. Fouad knew that, eventually, he would have to break his prisoners and discover what they knew. For the present, however, he was content at present to keep them close and have others of his kin who he distrusted carefully watched. He recognised that it was not an ideal situation, but he wasn’t yet prepared to risk fragmenting the family, not whilst the threat of ibn Saud hung over his people.

  Whilst Fouad himself was busy with the face to face meetings with other powerful leaders, others were working as tirelessly as he. Every one of the other areas he needed to have secure to ensure they could withstand the assault from the al Saud or their allies had been delegated to another key person. Isaac was tasked with ensuring the town was doubly stocked with all they may need, should it have to withstand a sustained attack from either Saud or the Ikhwan. This was not seen as the likeliest of the threats that would materialise, but Fouad was determined they should be prepared for whatever was coming.

  Firyal and Zahirah concentrated on expanding their networks of spies and informants. So successfully did they do this, that the flow of information, already vast, almost doubled again within weeks. They also rapidly increased the amount of their trading activity, both as a means of developing new links for information, and also to ensure that the huge sums they knew would be needed were not only available, but were in a form readily disbursable. Gold coin, jewellery, pearls, salt, amber and anything else valued and easily transportable, was gathered and hoarded against the day they would need it. More vast sums were spent on weaponry; swords, spears, pistols and rifles.

  They regretted they could not lay their hands on any more of the modern rifles that Nasir and his band had brought back from al Hofuf. What they had been able to do, however, was acquire from some disgruntled and near penniless soldiers, deserters from the Ottoman army, a large stock of the ammunition for the rifles. This was of huge benefit to Nasir and his companions of the race down the coast, now an increasingly tight-knit group. It enabled them to get in many hours of practise with the loading and firing of the modern weapon and to become an increasingly dangerous force within Fouad's growing army. To their increasing frustration, however, many of the fights they were involved in were little more than border skirmishings with camel raiders, not the large, fierce battles that their young blood, and newly acquired expertise, yearned for.

  Until, that is, everything changed.

  For more than a year and a half following the Ottoman rout at al Hofuf, turbulent but scattered warfare had raged across the region. It often came right up to Narash's borders, but rarely crossed them, ill-defined though they were. Then, suddenly, the tempo quickened for battle on a larger scale. Urgent word came from the Rashidi leaders. Large numbers of warriors, riding under the huge, green Saudi war banner, had been seen riding towards the bleak plains of Artawiya, traditional battleground of the two bitter adversaries. The Rashid too had decided that the time had again come for war. Ten years of comparative peace had allowed some repairing of their vicious internal divisions, and they now planned to ride out and fight the al Saud – and asked, would their allies ride with them?

  “So, do we ride with the Rashid?” asked Fouad of his Majlis. The roar that greeted his question was answer enough. All had known that one day they would have to fight ibn Saud and, if that day had arrived, then so be it. The time for talking had gone and they were all eager to fight. Even those few who weren't, knew that they'd never been stronger than they were now. That, plus the fact that the Rashid were, at last, re-emerging again as the strongest opponents of the al Saud, meant that if they had to fight, there had never been a more opportune moment.

  So organised was Fouad's war-effort that, within a day and a half of receiving his ally's message, he was riding out of the gates of the fort at the head of the biggest force ever assembled in the sheikhdom's history. And yet more would join with them as they rode towards the desolate plains where they expected to meet ibn Saud.

  The whinnying of the horses and the braying of the camels mixed with the roar of the people watching them leave and, combined, they echoed and crashed around the walls of the city. Just before he rode under the great overhang defending the town gates, Fouad, Nasir by his side and his other brothers riding behind, looked up briefly at the walkway above. He gave a slight nod to the three figures standing, silently watching the boisterous, roaring scene pour pass below them. His eyes locked for the briefest of brief moments with the eyes of one of the silent figures, before he passed from sight under the great gateway. Though nothing more had been said after the events of recent days, both his head and his heart told him he had done the right thing. With that thought he rode away with, perhaps, the nearest his fierce heart had ever known to peace.

  Chapter 29

  Firyal sat looking silently at her son. A few days before his planned departure date, in the midst of all the frantic last-minute preparations, Fouad had requested entry into her apartments. Coffee and dates having been offered and consumed, she sat silently, waiting for the reason of his visit to be made clear. That there was a reason she well knew, but it was for him to broach, not for her to raise.

  “In some few days time we risk much,” he said eventually, as ever quickly starting to relax in his mother's comfortable rooms. Besides her presence, calming in itself, the rich smell of jasmine incense blending with the cool night-time smell of the sea coming in from her open balcony, made a heady and soothing mix.

  “Indeed, my son, but you know better than I that this day would – had to – come.”

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  “So, as we prepare for our fateful day, the day we, perhaps, stake everything on – where are you?” she asked gently.

  His black eyes looked at her ruefully. “You always know me better than I know myself,” he said, smiling with an open affection he showed to very few.

  “As a mother should,” she smiled in reply. “And,” she continued, choosing her words with some care, “with always a wish to help, if any words of hers may be able to do so.”

  He nodded, for once unable to easily call the right words to mind. He stood and walked restlessly to the balcony and stood gazing unseeingly out into the harbour. Its waters, usually busy even so late at night, were unusually quiet in response to the dusk-time curfew he'd imposed a few days earlier. Now, gazing out onto the still, black waters, he found they offered no answer to the question uppermost in his mind. He turned back into the room and to the only person who could, perhaps, help him

  She waited calmly, prepared to help, as she had always been, if she could.

  “I need to leave matters as they should be, when I ride to Artawiya,” he said at last.

  “Indeed, my son,” She paused for a moment, then continued quietly. “Which matters are not yet as you would wish?” she probed gently.

  “Should I not return, be killed, who will succeed me?” he said at last, looking into his mother's face. He knew she would not utter a polite “but you will return, my son!” He also knew that she would have already considered the possibility. He knew, as well, that she would have a suggestion as to what should happen if he fell in the forthcoming battle, should he ask to hear it.

  “The question you're really asking is not just who would succeed you, but whose succession would not tear the whole of the family, and therefore the whole of Narash itself, apart, is it not?” she pressed, still gently.

  He nodded wearily. “Exactly so. All my sons are too young; all my brothers would slit the others' throats rather than give them the throne. Most of my uncles are now too old, even if they didn't all hate each other too much to unite behind one of their number.”

  “And you don't want our house to go the way the Rashid are going; destroying a dynasty from within itself?” she finished for him.

  “Entirely right,” he agree
d. “It is a pity that women can't rule,” he added laughing. “You, Mother, would be a Sheikh of sheikhs!”

  “One day such a thing may come to pass,” she replied, only half humorously. “When the day arrives when men come to realise we could do at least as well as they, perhaps even better! But that is not yet and your problem is pressing,” she agreed. “It's possible, my son, that the situation may not be as perilous as you believe,” she continued.

  Seeing by his suddenly alert expression, she continued. “Besides yourself, I have four sons. Other than yourself, there is not one of them who I believe would be fit to rule, should the opportunity arise,” she paused.

  “Go on, Mother,” pressed Fouad, intrigued as to where she was going with her argument.

  She nodded as she continued. “Of all our house, the only prince that could, possibly, have taken your place was Mohammed. But, caring greatly for him as I did, I wasn't blind to the fact that he didn't have the qualities necessary to hold Narash; not in these troubled times. Without help, much help, that is,” she concluded quietly, her groundwork laid for her next step.

  “But he'd have had Isaac to help, and yourself, and Zahirah”

  “Indeed. Isaac is loyal to you and will support whoever you decided should be your heir. He is an able man, though with limitations. As for myself, I too would support whoever you named to come after you.”