Swords of Arabia: Warlord

by Anthony Litton

  The following day, the huge camp started stirring well before the cold night gave way to the dawn's rising sun. The vast, flat plain, broken only by the occasional low mound and gravelly ridge, stretched in all directions around them. What, moments before, had been shrouded, deserted, swiftly became alive, as thousands of men began stirring, relieving themselves, brewing coffee, eating rations, seeing to their mounts and their weapons. The night before, with its high spirits, seemed very far away. Its camaraderie, its bragging, its chanting, drumming, dancing and singing, all under a vast sky, a million stars, the flickering light of hundreds of camp-fires and a thousand torches, seemed a far lifetime away in the cold dryness of the early morning. Men instead looked out on the day stretching before them with the flat realisation that, for many, it would be their last.

  Then – everything was ready. There was no call for any delay and the army moved. Drums pounded and hooves thundered across the earth. The shouts of men and their answering challenge, all told of a battle host straining to be at the throats of their traditional enemy. The Rashid and their allies moved fast but steadily across the flat, dry lands of the huge plain. As they did so, many gave voice to a fierce wish to wash away the years of weakness in one long day of ferocious fighting.

  Fouad rode at the head of the men of Narash. Nasir rode by his side but with orders to move back with the rest of the men of his family, once the battle commenced

  “I would have you by my side throughout, Brother, but I charge you to guard well our young kinsman, Fahad. Do what you can to keep him safe.”

  Nasir, nodded. He himself had been watched over in his first battle, though, like his young half-brother now, he'd not known it at the time.

  “As you wish, Brother; I shall watch over him throughout the fight – unless I see you, yourself, in danger.” With that he wheeled his horse about and rode off to check that his men were in position to ride around his brother, should danger threaten him.

  All was in place as the army rode out, prepared to fight and die should such be their fate. What they were prepared to die for was not that which many outsiders would rate as important. They wished to be left alone, to maintain their right to ride free across their deserts, raiding as and when they wished; to freely travel between their widespread grazing lands without hindrance, or the need to explain to anyone; without the demands of tax collectors for a far off ruler. In short, they wanted all to be as it was for their ancestors before them. Though it may not seem the greatest of causes to die for, for them, it was enough.

  Suddenly, the great mass of men paused. The outriders had seen the Saudi dominated host approaching. At first, nothing was visible to the main body of tribesmen gathered behind their chiefs. Everyone heard though, the bone-deep thrum of many men and horses as it beat steadily, pounding into the desert floor. Then, in the clear morning air, the Rashidi forces saw the great Saudi war banner appear on the horizon. And behind and around it, came a great, disorganised, but still fear-instilling horde, thousands strong; a great mass of warriors, on camel, on horse and on foot. It was unusually large for any battle between Arabs, but it was all but matched by the Rashidi forces. This was, after all, a fight between two of the most powerful dynasties in Arabia.

  In addition to swords, old rifles and revolvers, field guns would be used. Fouad knew that these would be one of the crucial factors in deciding the outcome of the fight – which suddenly had begun.

  Both armies started moving towards each other, the hooves of their mounts over the barren earth raising both dust and a noise like thunder.

  Ordering his commanders to keep close watch on the opposing guns, and take independent action if they felt their contingents became threatened by their firing, Fouad thundered towards the Saudi lines, drawn sword in one hand, revolver in the other, controlling his horse by his legs alone.

  “Ya Allah!” he exclaimed suddenly, as the large body of enemy horsemen they were speeding towards, opened out. Through the gap created Fouad and his men could clearly see the large guns facing menacingly toward them. It wasn't the guns that caused the exclamation, though, it was the sight of one of the figures standing near them.

  “So, we now know where the British sympathies really lie!” he spat to Nasir, pointing toward a far-off figure, just visible by the guns. Following his gaze, Nasir was stunned to see what was clearly a European and, just as clearly, one who was not only standing beside the weapons, but appeared to be actually directing their fire. Even as they looked, volley after crashing volley of the massive shells, fired over the heads of the rapidly approaching Saudi forces, began pouring into the Rashidi army.

  “That's the Englishman, Shakespear!” the furious Narashi ruler shouted, over the growing noises of battle. “We now can see why our approaches weren't successful!” he spat in fury. “However, we shall act on this later, but for now, let us try and keep alive!” he added, as the two forces met head on and men started to fall and blood started to irrigate the dry, stony ground.

  Fouad cast a last look at the gun emplacement and the uniformed figure beside them. He smiled grimly, as he saw that their position on the ridge was guarded by warriors from the Ajman, powerful allies of ibn Saud. He continued smiling, thinking as he did so, that if the Englishman was relying on those tribesmen to support him, he may well be disillusioned before the day’s end. Then, all conscious thought ended, as he fought to stay alive and in control of his men, as the two sides met in a welter of screams, gunfire and the flash of death-dealing steel.

  Despite his brother's orders, Nasir ensured that his 'band' as they were now universally called, were never far from Fouad. Nasir entirely agreed with him that to be seen to have a formal bodyguard, be better protected than his men, would undermine the bond they each had with the other. He also knew what would happen in Narash, should Fouad fall. It was that knowledge, almost as much as his devotion to him, that made Nasir quietly order his men to form a loose – and unobserved – circle around their sheikh.

  Seeing that this was still in place and Fouad still unharmed, he turned with a grin to his young kinsman, riding close at his side. He was proud to see that the pre-battle nerves, hidden, but there, were gone entirely. Now, only the joy and glory of battle, present in every true warrior, were evident in Fahad's face as he sent his sword deep into the chest of his first 'kill'.

  “Nasir! To me with ten men!” He jerked round as he heard Fouad's roar. Without hesitation, and with a hurried order to Fahad, to ride with him, he forced his way through both friend and enemy until he reached Fouad, who was staring fixedly ahead at the great war banner of the al Saud, fluttering proudly over the warriors grouped around the Saudi war leader

  “We ride for ibn Saud! Cut him down and the battle's ours,” his brother shouted. With that, he urged his horse into a fast gallop, reaching deep into the enemy lines in seconds. They continued cutting and slashing their way through the Saudi force as it almost encircled them, so deeply did they cut into it. Nasir and his men quickly grouped closely round Fouad, and their guns and swords did heavy damage as they slashed and shot their way through towards their blood enemy. Those of the Narashi men on camels had the extra advantage of their beast's snapping jaws adding to the terror of their enemies. Expertly either manoeuvring round fallen animals and men, or crushing them as they rode over them, the tight-knit group slowly, but very surely, got nearer and nearer to the great war banner – and to ibn Saud.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Nasir saw the viciously curved blade of a scimitar slashing down near his left shoulder. Instinctively he twisted away and, in the same movement, deflected the vicious blade with his sword held in one hand, whilst shooting the man with his revolver, held in the other. Only then did he see that the man had been aiming not at him, but at the boy, Fahad.

  “Stay awake, Fledgling, else your wings will be clipped before you have properly flown!” he laughed, using the family's term for its very young warriors. With a grin and waving away the youngster's thanks, he wheeled
his horse and galloped after his brother.

  His presence was sorely needed. So tightly pressed were the mounted tribesmen around ibn Saud that Fouad and his riders were unable to push through the massed ranks and their charge foundered. They were quickly in grave danger of being cut off, as the enemy saw who it was and swiftly closed in around his small band of riders. Each enemy warrior was determined to be the one to capture or kill the hated Narashi leader. Whichever was achieved, the rewards would be great from the grateful Saudi Emir.

  His warriors tightly drawn around him, Fouad's sword flashed silver and crimson as he raised it high and slashed down with punishing speed across the throat of an enemy fighter, even as that man's blade swept down and narrowly missed Fouad's own head. Their position was growing desperate. The only chance of success they'd had was a fast, unexpected race right into the heart of the enemy ranks, before the Saudis had a chance to realise what was happening. That advantage had gone, doomed by the sheer impenetrability of the mass of tribesmen clustered around the Saudi leader. The sheer speed and audacity of their attempt that had carried them so far, so fast, now turned against them, so deeply inside the opposing forces did they now find themselves.

  Nasir, desperately fighting back to Fouad's side, raised his revolver and blew apart the face of a wild-eyed warrior seeking to drag his brother from his horse. He started as he felt the weight of a body lean into him and turned, expecting an attack. Instead he saw the sightless eyes of a mounted man inches from his own as the fighter died and slid from his horse. As he did so, the spear aimed at Nasir's back dropped harmlessly between their mounts. He looked around the falling corpse and saw Fahad grinning widely as he waved his sword tauntingly at him. “Take care, old one. We young warriors can't always be around to help you!” With a laugh, he turned his mount and joined with the others fighting to break free of their attackers and re-join their own forces.

  Relief suddenly appeared as Mamduh, seeing his nephew's plight, plunged through the warriors surrounding them, his fighting fury and his strident war cry causing as much terror as the weapons he and his two dozen riders carried. Their sudden, brutal charge opened up a small gap in the attacking force and Fouad, seeing the opportunity, kicked his horse and raced for the temporary opening. The small Narashi force angled across the face of the whirling mass of the Saudi army, their swift gallop taking them to the flank of the attackers. Slashing at an unwary fighter who blundered into their pathway, Fouad and his troop raced onto clear ground.

  One quick glance, however, told the experienced war-leader that they were not yet out of danger. Though clear of the main body of the Saudi army, their charge had brought them out only a few dozen yards away from, and in front of, the ridge which held the Saudi field guns. This put them even nearer the mounted warriors ranged across the flat ground, which were providing a defensive screen in front of the guns. These fighters, Fouad saw, were now moving fast towards the spot where the Narashi force had emerged from the main battle. They would be upon the small troop within seconds and the Narashi warriors would be destroyed seconds after that.

  Fouad saw only one option and, kicking his tired horse into yet another heroic effort, he and his warriors raced across the hard desert floor, directly into the oncoming cavalry. Without conscious thought, they maintained their rush towards the overwhelming force opposing them. The thunder of their hooves on the hard-packed ground drummed their defiance as they prepared to die with the high honour so demanded of their society and themselves.

  Then, at the very moment he dug his heels yet again into his faltering mount, Fouad paused. The sound of even greater noise behind him, told him that an even bigger force was galloping nearer, but behind them, from the direction of their Rashidi allies. He risked a look over his shoulder and saw that the huge mass of the allied force was indeed moving – fast and towards the oncoming Saudi army.

  Making the best he could out of a bad position, he kept to his initial decision and still charged at full speed toward the oncoming enemy. His positioning meant that his warriors were still going to be hit first and sustain many casualties, but now at least they rode at the front of a much greater force.

  The few hundred yards separating the two forces was rapidly covered and with only two score yards or so before they met, Fouad recognised the Ajman banners riding high over the approaching horde. Even as he recognised the flag, the whole of the Ajman force suddenly swung away from the Rashidi army racing toward it and swept to one side – leaving the gun emplacements utterly defenceless..

  So suddenly had the Ajman tribesmen turned and ridden away that even Fouad, who, of all the oncoming warriors, was the least surprised by what had happened, was caught unawares. Hurriedly he recovered from his shock and, taking advantage of the new opportunity, he thrashed his horse even harder, as he lead his men in a race to be first and capture the guns. He also had a score to settle with what he regarded as the false-faced Englishman who was trying to rally the now terrified gunners.

  Some Saudi men tried to bury their guns, some simply ran, deserting their weaponry in the face of the oncoming horde of warriors, many who would have blood scores to settle with any Saudi they captured. The collapse of the gun emplacement was as complete as it was rapid. Suddenly, only the Englishman was left standing, all his arrogant nation's defiance writ large across his features as he faced what looked like certain death.

  Fouad swept in to deliver the killing blow. All his anger at the dilatory and patronising approach of the man and the nation went into his blade as he raised it to sweep down onto the Englishman's chest, their eyes locking. In the Englishman's was shocked recognition, in Fouad's, implacable vengeance.

  Battles, outcomes, even the fate of nations, sometimes turn on large events, large personalities, brilliant planning and a host of other major factors. Just as often, however, perhaps more so, they turn on the little things, the lesser weapons of fickle fate's armoury that produce great outcomes.

  As they did on that morning, affecting events many years ahead.

  Fouad, seeing another warrior's sword sweeping down onto the defenceless man's neck, turned his own blade and swept the other aside determined that revenge would be his and no other's. A second Rashidi fighter rode up and, bending low on his horse, slashed at the Englishman, now fallen onto the ground. He also was prevented a killing stroke by Fouad's again sword sweeping down and knocking the sword from his hand. As he turned and fought off yet another tribesman bent on spearing the fallen man, yet a fourth moved in quickly and killed the man Shakespear as he tried struggling to his feet.

  Fouad turning back to his enemy, saw that he was already dead, so he swiftly manoeuvred his mount and looked around for another fighter to kill. There were none. The Englishman had been virtually alone on the ridge, deserted by most of the Saudi gunners. And Fouad saw the rest of the Saudi army now wheel and ride away from the battlefield. Ibn Saud had suffered one of his rare defeats and the field belonged to the Rashid and their allies.

  “We've bloodied ibn Saud's nose, now maybe he'll leave us alone!”

  “We don't want the Nejdi intruder on our coasts!”

  “That's taught him not to reach for too much – insolent Bedu!”

  “We can get back to living our lives our way now!”

  “He's finished!”

  “He'll not be back and if he does show his face again, we'll give him another bloody nose!”

  Fouad listened to all these and similar comments from the victorious warriors, as they laughed and danced and chanted, again with the drums a throbbing backdrop. This time it was to their joy at their victory and their relief that they were still alive. He shared their joy, but not their belief that the Saudi warlord would hurry back to his desert fastness at Riyadh. However chastened by his defeat he might be, he would not be willing to turn away from the eastern shores of Arabia; not yet, perhaps never.

  But they had bought time and they had shown ibn Saud that victory over the tribes would not come as easily as it did ov
er the Ottoman. Their resounding victory gave them time to rest, grow stronger – and perhaps that was enough.

  Chapter 31

  1915

  Despite the feasting and celebrations lasting well into the morning's early hours, Fouad lead his men home before the dawn arrived. He himself had spent no time in the celebrations. He had, instead had urgent meetings with a number of leading sheikhs from the more powerful tribes of the eastern coast. He listened to their anger at the Saudi attempts at expansion, their fury at ibn Saud's attempts to re-create the very brief Saudi hegemony of yesteryear over their lands. They talked of their absolute determination to fight to preserve the freedom they'd enjoyed under the loose Ottoman rule of their lands. He listened quietly and didn't tell them that he already knew almost all of what they were now telling him. The combined intelligence of himself, Firyal, Isaac and Zahirah, left little of what went on in their neighbouring lands unknown to them.

  “Any thought that the al Saud would rule with a light touch left us the moment we heard that Abdulla bin Jaluwi had been appointed as Governor in al Hasa!” spat an aged sheikh from the powerful Haithlin clan. The other chiefs and elders gathered round, nodded their heads in angry agreement.

  Bin Jaluwi's well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness was colossal, even in a society awash with ruthless leaders. His ferocity, allied to his absolute loyalty to his cousin ibn Saud, told the tribes of the east far more about the Saudi plans for the region than any number of Majlis or secret discussions ever could.

  The tale of the honest wayfarer, still reverberated around the peninsula. It told of a traveller who came across a camel, obviously dying, left by the wayside along with a bag of goods. The traveller was well aware of the edict against thievery of any kind issued by the fearsome new governor. As a result, he merely prodded the bundle and, when he reached the town where bin Jaluwi was holding court, reported he'd found a bag of coffee, When asked how he knew what the sack contained, he replied innocently that he'd touched it with his toe. Jaluwi's response was to order the toe's amputation on the basis that he should not have even touched the bundle.