Believe or Die

by M. J. Harris

  “They did their best Lord,” said the Jew wiping his bloody hands on a beautiful indigo-dyed jerkin. Jacob always called De Rood ‘Lord’ but never really sounded like he meant it. The Wolf nodded and called one of his captains over.

  “Give them food and water then send them south,” he instructed.

  Captain Van Ryer gathered up the cowering band and led them away. Soon the impressed healers were grinning and salaaming furiously to the Wolf, pitiful in their gratitude. De Rood merely bowed back and turned away from them. Jacob snorted.

  “If they head for Marrakech the Berbers will get them within a couple of days,” he observed.

  “Insh Allah,” shrugged the Wolf.

  Into a porticoed building now where the surviving Jewish families awaited the Wolf’s pleasure. But first, he was hungry. A meal had already been prepared and the table at which he seated himself was covered with a variety of dishes. Rice, courgettes and onions simmered on little burners next to other bowels of couscous and pimentos. A large fish, a ‘Shed’, was the centrepiece. At least a hundred miles from the sea, this misguided Piscean had swum up the Wadi Sebou only to be netted, stuffed with dates, and roasted for the delectation of a Barbary-Dutch killer. De Rood took his time on his repast. When they were finally brought before him, the Jews were wary, but reasonably sure they would live to see another sunrise. As they had not yet been murdered, it seemed likely the Wolf had a use for them. Yes, the probability now was that they would survive, but at what price and under what circumstances? De Rood’s guards lined the walls and through a doorway, Wil could just make out a stack of boxes watched over by yet more guards. Most of the Jews present were traders or craftsmen, all involved in one way or another with precious metals and even more with precious stones. They traded the substances, fashioned them or bartered them around the bazaars. A few had worked as administrators for the now deceased rulers of Fez, but such duties did not have the allure, or indeed, the financial potential of gold or sapphires.

  The boxes intrigued Pitkin and random pieces of information and numerous seemingly unconnected observations began melding in his mind. The Wolf’s Bodyguard, once through the gates of Fez, had played little part in the mopping up of enemy forces. In fact, it now seemed that they had headed straight for this area of the city, for the Jewish Quarter. Why? Was it something to do with the boxes? Which, come to think of it now, had not appeared on any lists that Wil had viewed.

  De Rood rose from the table and went to the doorway.

  “Well?” he said.

  “As you said Lord,” answered Van Ryer. “Trinkets. Trinkets and Pomegranates. Very heavy Pomegranates!” he grinned.

  De Rood nodded and returned to his seat. He steepled his fingers and focused his merciless, almost black eyes on the now increasingly nervous assembly.

  “Allah is merciful. I am not. I will ask you once and once only. Who owns yonder freight?”

  After a moment or two of hesitation, a man edged forward to the front of his fellows.

  “They are mine Lord,” he almost whispered.

  “Indeed? And your name?”

  “Ehud, son of … ”

  De Rood held up his hand and the man stuttered into silence.

  “Your lineage is of no interest to me. Tell me Ehud, are there any here who are your kin?”

  The man’s eyes opened wide with alarm and foreboding. He glanced nervously behind him and made a gesture. Two boys came forward to stand either side of Ehud who was clearly and unmistakeably their father.

  “Captain Van Ryer, Captain Pitkin, Jacob, Simon. You will remain here with Heer Ehud. Sergeant, take care of those two boys and ensure no harm befalls them. Everyone else, clear the room. NOW!”

  As soon as the room was empty, De Rood rose once more and put an arm around the trembling Ehud’s shoulders before propelling him through the doorway and towards the boxes. The Wolf tapped one of the crates thoughtfully then kicked it violently from the stack. Fruit rolled from the cracked staves of the box and De Rood laughed. Then abruptly his mirth disappeared and he turned on the merchant.

  “I am told the best fruit is usually in the middle of such boxes. Let us see if this is indeed so. Let us open that one!” he growled and tossed a metal lever at the sweating merchant.

  Eventually after much slipping due to sweating palms, the merchant had prized open the top of the indicated crate and he stood back breathing heavily. Wil craned forward. More Pomegarates! The Wolf smiled again and drew his dagger. He slipped the blade carefully between the fruits. It slipped in easily then stuck with a slight metallic ‘Ting’. De Rood turned back to the merchant.

  “Come now Master Ehud, I think we have things to discus. Gentlemen, please do examine the contents of these crates. Simon, a thorough inventory if you please.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ehud the merchant had been attempting to transport a very sizeable consignment of jewels and gold to a relative via the Portuguese occupied city of Tangier. Yusef, had he have known of this fruit-concealed wealth passing through his lands, would have seized it instantly and doubtless had Ehud slowly filleted into the bargain. Assuming Ehud’s wares had escaped detection, he would then have had to lay out considerable bribes to induce the Portuguese authorities to look the other way. Clearly therefore, this must be a very valuable cargo to even think of the risks and expense involved.

  How had De Rood come to learn of it? On further reflection, Pitkin recalled that the Wolf had an extensive network of informers and often involved himself personally in the ‘questioning’ of prisoners. A chance occurrence and a man desperate to put an end to his torture could well have led De Rood to this discovery. So now, Yusef would have even more wealth at his depraved disposal … or would he?

  The Wolf slowly perused Simon’s beautifully written audit. Ehud had now passed beyond fear into an almost trance-like state of terror.

  “What was to happen in Tangier merchant?” inquired De Rood.

  Ehud started as if he had been slapped across the face.

  “A ship to Portugal Lord, thence to Flanders,” he croaked.

  “And a new life for you and your sons?”

  “Yes Lord,” came the whispered reply.

  “So then. Seek out your boys merchant, spend time with them and make preparations. Soon you and they will be going to Tangier,” said the Wolf.

  Ehud blinked uncomprehendingly.

  “I don’t understand Lord.”

  “I have never been to Tangier. It may prove educational. Go.” De Rood waved the man away. Ehud cast a forlorn farewell glance at his crates.

  “Fear not merchant. We will take your ‘pomegranates’ with us and you shall complete your devious plan. However, this ship of which you speak will have to make room for some more passengers, five I should estimate, and a little more baggage of course.”

  “My Lord, I don’t know if that can be arranged … ”

  “Oh I think it can, indeed, I think it must. For be aware that the lives of your offspring depend on it.”

  Ehud’s eyes filled with water and he backed out of the room.

  “Van Ryer, send for my messengers if you would, I have duties for them.”

  Jacob waited until Van Ryer had gone then demonstratively counted on his fingers.

  “Are we and he the five of which you speak Lord?”

  “An opportunity has presented itself. We must take it or remain here until we die. Taken together, the skills we muster give us a fighting chance of escape. Not just escape mark you, but a new, free, and profitable start. But there is no time for debate, decide now or the game will be lost. Well? What say you?”

  “You mention ‘baggage’ Lord. May I ask its nature?” asked Simon.

  “Merely some meagre funds, what Pitkin’s people might refer to as a ‘nest egg’. I for one would not like to go home penniless.”

  “Hah! You speak of ‘home’!” growled Jacob. “I for one have no home, and none of us apart from yourself have any of these ‘nest eggs’ of
which you speak!”

  “I have plans for the future Master Jacob, great plans. And they start by getting back to the Netherlands with coin in my pocket and my throat uncut.”

  “And where pray do we others fit into your ‘great plans’ save perhaps to facilitate your escape?” bristled Jacob.

  “Why, you are to be my business partners, all of you.”

  Pitkin had been frowning, trying to concentrate, but was badly thrown by this rapid change of situation.

  “Please Lord. This game moves too fast for a mere soldier. You appear to be placing a great deal of trust in us. Do you not fear betrayal?”

  “No Wil, I do not. Firstly, you will recall I spoke not just of escape, but of a new life. I believe not only that we can escape this accursed land, but having done so, that we can start a new life. But, both these endeavours can only succeed if we are united and stand together. We must prevail together, believe or we will die together.”

  Believe or Die! thought Wil. Where have I heard that before?

  Simon was now looking somewhat wildly at his companions. His eyes had begun twinkling at the word ‘escape’, but the professional scribe within him was sceptical.

  “Pray my Lord, what are we to be in this new life of which you speak?”

  “Partners. We shall set up for a company. Traders, merchants as it were. Think on this my friends. With sufficient funds behind us, and those carefully invested ... ”

  “That must be a sizeable piece of ‘baggage’, a very considerable ‘nest egg’ to which you allude Lord!” snorted Jacob. De Rood gave him a cold glance.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” interrupted Wil. “Forgive me Lord, but you are, from what you hint at, the man with the wealth, it is you who possesses the ‘funds’ as you name it. Thus you have the main part in the play as it were. Simon and Jacob, I can understand their uses to your scheme for they are men of skill and talent, many of which could be put to good use back in a civilised world. But myself and Van Ryer? We are merely soldiers Lord.”

  “No Wil. You are THINKING soldiers, you are not automata. There is a world of difference. And mind you this. Ours will be a perilous journey, never doubt it. Thus your skill at arms may be much in demand. Consider too, that if we do indeed set up for a company of traders, then our interests will need to be protected from those who would oppose our interests by means other than legal. You will earn your keep, of that be assured. The risks are high, but then so too are the potential rewards.”

  Simon was now becoming more than a little nervous. Trepidation at the daunting prospects ahead was mounting within him. Jacob was deep in thought and saying nothing, perhaps he was wondering if it was all a dream. Wil’s mind was still racing to catch up. He raised a finger but before the motion linked with the words he was assembling, the Wolf turned his steely eyes on him.

  “Do I surmise that you are wondering what would happen if you failed in your duties ahead, or, Heaven forefend, that you either deliberately or inadvertently betrayed my plans? Why then, I find we are come to the second reason why I believe such will not occur. Because if such should come to pass, then I would have to kill whomsoever was responsible. I would regret that, so let us speak no more of it. Instead, Simon, take up pen and ink, you have letters to write.”

  A clattering of a sword scabbard against the wall announced the return of Van Ryer. A skilled and experienced fighter, the Dutchman would never have made such a noisy error, not unless he wanted people to know he was back. That, in Wil’s opinion, meant he had probably been listening discretely outside for a while. The Wolf, his back to Van Ryer, merely smirked as if he too had surmised his fellow countryman’s earlier return.

  “Your messengers have been summoned Lord. They will be here directly,” reported Van Ryer. He looked casually enough around at the others, but the drumming fingers on his sword hilt betrayed his emotions. After a moment or two of silence, he could contain himself no longer.

  “Do I collect we are to make a sea voyage Lord?”

  “We are my friend. It will be a long voyage and we are risking all upon it. Why do you frown so Captain? Risks and perils have never concerned you of much before?”

  “Risks and perils be dammed! It’s the seasickness. I hate the fucking sea, as God is my witness, I hate it!”

  De Rood’s ‘Messengers’ were a select group of Saadian horsemen whom he deployed on reconnaissance and as guides and despatch riders. They answered to none but he. Letters, written in Simon’s meticulous hand under dictation from the Wolf, were issued to individuals and the messengers, riding in pairs, disappeared to all points of the compass. These Saadians had once been a wealthy people who ruled large portions of Northern Morocco. Then came the Tauregs, the Berbers, and lunatics like Yusef. But by volunteering to serve in Yusef’s army, they successfully kept all three threats at bay. Yet, though officially mercenaries in the pay of Yusef, these hard riding warriors, a mere handful in number, had all somehow wound up under the Wolf’s banner, and nobody was incautious enough to ask how or why.

  After a hushed conversation with De Rood, Van Ryer rode west with a single guide, straight to the Sultan’s court at Rabat. As the Wolf had no doubt anticipated, Yusef was engrossed in counting his newly arrived spoils, some of it still stained with the dried blood of the citizens of Fez. Outside, his cavalry performed wild fantasies and mounted stunts in his honour. The Sultan barely acknowledged the request from De Rood that he be allowed to pursue and finish off some remnants of the enemy forces that had fled to the north. The first part of his mission completed, Van Ryer headed for De Rood’s modest but well-appointed dwelling overlooking the River Boufekrane. There among the olive groves, he found a number of De Rood’s Bodyguard guarding a host of heavily laden and ill-tempered camels. Satisfying himself that all was as it should be, Van Ryer led the caravan westwards leaving the occasional rider at strategic points to watch the rear and give notice if any of the Sultan’s forces became curious.

  Elsewhere, Pitkin watched the sunset and wondered if he would ever see another one. Then he became ill. Or rather, that is what he told his second-in-command. He bade the Lieutenant to rouse out the company and march them back to Sale, and then he collapsed back onto his pallet awash with sweat and vibrating with the shivers. Jacob, who had been treating the soon delirious Wil, walked the Lieutenant to the door shaking his head doubtfully.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked the Frenchman glancing back over his shoulder at the muttering pile of bedding.

  “I cannot say for sure, not just yet. But I advise you not to tarry, there may be some contagion here.”

  The Frenchman stopped abruptly and glared at his now shouting Captain.

  “What kind of contagion?”

  Jacob silently mouthed the word ‘plague’ and the Frenchman backed quickly out of the door. Within an hour, Pitkin’s men were gone. As they trudged through the night, the French Lieutenant began considering the possibilities of the situation. Now, HE was in command. The notion appealed to him and the more he thought on it, the more he thanked his good fortune. He had been more than a little scared of Pitkin, but now his course was clear. Pitkin would die. Whether by plague or a stiletto was irrelevant. None of the rest of the men appeared to have any symptoms of illness so it looked like they had escaped the contagion. The Frenchman continued his musing. Much booty had been taken in Fez and as a consequence of Pitkin’s anticipated demise, his portion had just increased considerably. Perhaps life in this desert shitheap might become bearable after all. C’est La Guerre!

  Jacob watched the last flurries of dust disappear over the horizon and turned back to Pitkin’s sickbed.

  “You can stop dying now Englishman, they’ve gone.”

  Wil swung his legs to the floor and laughed somewhat nervously.

  “You missed your vocation Master Jacob, you would have made a fine actor.”

  “I’ll settle for being a live Jew!” snorted Jacob.

  Wil buckled on his weapons and followed Jacob into a nearby
courtyard. There they found Simon fussing over a heavily laden group of camels. Ehud and his sons crouched dejectedly together in one corner edgily watching the preparations. Half a dozen of De Rood’s personal bodyguards, bristling with weaponry, stood guard. There came a clatter of harness and hoofs and the Wolf appeared. Wil noted that he was wearing his favourite cloak, bright of colour and richly decorated, which seemed exceedingly ill-advised considering the nature of the scheme they were undertaking. Equally distinctive was his magnificent horse known to everyone in the Army and most if not all his enemies. De Rood carefully checked the loading of the caravan then waved to his Saadian guides who wheeled their mounts around and disappeared up the narrow streets. Jacob, who shared Pitkin’s loathing of camels, glared at the leading animal. The beast haughtily returned the look then spat with wondrous accuracy at Jacob before turning disdainfully away. The Jew wiped the copious spittle from his chest and picked up his staff.

  “I think I’ll walk a while,” he muttered.

  De Rood nodded to his bodyguards and they prodded Ehud into life. Then the Wolf took Wil aside.

  “Watch our rear Wil,” he instructed. “Look out for my messengers.”

  Wil mounted the scraggy mount he’d been provided with and made his way to the rear of the assembling column. There he found Simon perched on an ass and pondering over his ledger. Almost immediately, with the caravan not yet fully out of the courtyard, two riders appeared out of the twilight and held a rapid conference with the Wolf. De Rood nodded, thanked them, and away they sped again into the dusk. The Wolf waved the column on past him.