by Marie Laval
Her mind went blank. That’s all she could remember. Maybe it had been a dream…Maybe she shouldn’t say anything to Lucas until she could remember more.
Her hand shook as she handed the ring back to Lucas.
‘What can this mean? Do you think he was English or French? But why would he want to attack us?’
Lucas toyed with the ring.
‘For your father’s ransom gold, of course. The others were Arabs, I know. I buried them myself with Ahmoud. But who was he?’ He gestured towards the dead man.
He raked his hand through his hair, deep in thought.
‘The ring is peculiar enough. It might be the emblem for a regiment, or a secret organisation,’ he ventured.
She nodded. ‘You’re probably right. Archie might recognize it.’
And if her memories were real, and not a figment of her imagination, he would surely remember that her father had worn one similar.
‘We’ll see if he does.’ Lucas put the ring in his pocket.
A detail bothered her. A tall European man dressed as a Tuareg had followed her before, she was sure of it. In Algiers, Ksar-el-Boukhari and Bou Saada. Could he and the dead man lying here on the hillside be the same?
Lucas stood up.
‘I’ll show you the rock paintings now. You can start drawing while I deal with him.’
He took her further up the hill, pushed a boulder obstructing the mouth of a cave.
‘Now you must promise me you won’t go wandering anywhere. There should be enough to keep you happy in here.’
Harriet stepped into the cave. Lucas pushed a few more rocks and daylight flooded in, revealing dozens of drawings on the surface of the cave.
‘Lucas, this is wonderful!’ Immediately, heat burned her cheeks and she walked to the other end of the cave to hide her embarrassment. Was she mad? She had called him by his first name! Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have noticed. She started walking around and soon nothing mattered but the paintings. Antelopes, lions, elephants and buffalos; hunters with spears and arrows, women nursing children. This place was a treasure trove.
‘Look!’ she pointed to the walls of the cave. ‘They used paint—black, red, and white pigments.’ She turned a beaming smile to Lucas. ‘Thank you, thank you so much, for bringing me here.’
‘If it keeps you quiet for a while, then it’s worth it,’ he said gruffly. ‘Have fun. I’ll be back shortly.’
She wasn’t listening any longer. She didn’t even see him leave. This was the most wonderful collection of primitive art she had ever hoped to see. How old were these drawings? How long ago had men wandered this land and made a record of the world around them, of their day-to-day struggle to survive? She took hold of her sketch pad, her pencil and colours, and lost track of time.
She would copy every single drawing. She didn’t feel hunger or thirst. When her hair fell in front of her eyes, she pushed it away absent-mindedly, not caring if she smudged charcoal crayon on her forehead and cheeks. The sun rose and a fiery pink and orange light bathed the interior of the cave. It became hot, so hot she took her tunic off and carried on drawing in her chemise. Irritatingly, one of the straps kept falling off on her shoulder. After a while she didn’t even bother to pull it back up.
She covered a dozen pages of drawings and sketches, looked around, and sighed in frustration. She would never have time to copy everything. A shadow fell across the mouth of the cave. Lucas leaned against the wall, arms crossed on his chest, head cocked to one side.
He had been watching her for a while. Enraptured in her work, she hadn’t noticed him.
‘So? What do you make of this place?’
Startled, she jumped before smiling at him.
‘You said you knew other places like this?’
He nodded. ‘I do, but we don’t have time to look at them now.’
She stood up. ‘We must, if only for a few hours. Do you realize what we have here? It’s a treasure. Proof of the existence of art in primitive times.’
Pointing to the painting of a lion devouring an antelope, she added, ‘Look at the detail. The expression of the lion, fierce and savage, whereas the antelope has already given up the struggle for survival.’
He walked towards her. His eyes were on her, not on the paintings.
‘You have dirt on your face,’ he said, his voice hoarse.
He lifted his hand to her face to rub a smear of charcoal on her forehead. Her skin felt like silk. Slowly he traced the outline of her face, her cheeks, her jaw line and her throat. He put his hand on her bare shoulder. It was warm and smooth. He stroked her collarbone, marvelled to feel it so delicate under his fingers.
‘We can’t stay here, Harriet. I want to be in Laghouat tonight.’ He pulled the strap of her chemise up, but didn’t withdraw his hand.
His heart thundered. His blood pulsed hard. The throbbing ache in his body was almost unbearable. She looked so fresh and innocent, yet he knew she wasn’t since she was Drake’s mistress. Her eyes were dark and heavy, her mouth slightly open, as if waiting for his kiss. No woman should be allowed to look at a man like that. The sunlight warmed her milky white skin. Her thin chemise outlined the curves of her breasts and the darker tips of her nipples. He licked his lips, imagined how they would taste. He felt their tight buds under his tongue already…
As if she sensed the hard, hot desire inside him, she parted her lips even more and let out a shaky breath. It was almost his undoing.
In a desperate attempted to regain control, he took a deep, ragged breath, dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes to a slit.
‘Get dressed and take your things,’ he ordered before turning around and walking out.
Disappointment churned inside her. She stomped the rocky ground and let out a cry of frustration. He really was a hateful man! She wanted him to kiss her, so desperately, and he had walked away.
Then she felt almost sick with shame. Not only was she behaving like a wanton woman, but she was being illogical and unreasonable too. Only a few days before at Ksar-el-Boukhari she had pushed him away, accused him of forcing himself on her. He had promised then that it wouldn’t happen again. How could she now resent him for keeping his word?
She needed to get hold of herself, learn to rein in the maddening infatuation she felt for him. Her father’s life depended on her being her usual cool, level-headed self. She should never forget about him. Nothing, and no one else mattered.
She rearranged her clothing as quickly as she could, gathered her things and followed Saintclair out.
He was already a long way down the hill and she had to run to catch up with him. He didn’t speak or look at her once. His jaw was set, his fingers clenched so tight around the handle of the shovel his knuckles were white. She wondered if he had buried the Englishman or simply pushed his body down a hole and covered it with stones.
Back at the camp, the men had left some bread and tea near the fire for them. Lucas grabbed a tin cup and walked off towards the horse enclosure without a word to anyone. Harriet put her drawing pad on the ground to pour some mint tea.
‘Where have you been?’ Archie sprung up next to her.
‘Oh Archie, I wish you could have seen it!’ She picked up the sketch book and showed him the pages with the rock art paintings. ‘Saintclair took me to a cave covered with paintings. It was wonderful.’
‘Why didn’t you come to get me?’ He frowned as he looked at the drawings.
She felt a pang of guilt. It hadn’t even crossed her mind, not for one second.
‘Never mind,’ he sighed. ‘What have we here? Well, well, you have kept busy. These are drawings of Bou Saada, the market, the oasis.’
He stood up and thumbed through more pages.
‘Give me back the book, Archie.’
He laughed and held it out of her reach.
‘Come on, Harriet. What’s the big deal? You always show me your drawings.’
‘Archie, please, give it back.’ Tears of frustration stung her eyes.
She would die of shame if he came across some of the sketches she had made recently.
‘You can’t keep any secrets from your fiancé, my dear.’ Archie was still laughing but there was a slightly sinister glint in his eyen now, as if he dared her to deny they were engaged in front of everybody.
She jumped up and extended her hand to grab the book, but he held it higher.
‘I wonder what you’re so flustered about.’
He stopped and froze, as if changed into stone, and stared at a point beyond Harriet.
She spun round.
Behind her, Lucas held the green ring up to the sunshine as if to examine it more thoroughly. Archie dropped Harriet’s sketchbook on the dusty ground and marched up to him.
‘Where did you find that?’ he asked, holding out his hand.
Lucas carried on studying the ring as if he hadn’t heard him.
‘Damn ugly, isn’t it?’ he said at last. ‘I gather it’s made of silver and imperial jade. What do you think, Drake? You’re the expert.’
Harriet picked up her book and held it against her chest. Curious, she looked at Lucas. What was he playing at? Why not tell Archie straight away where they had found the ring?
Archie’s hand appeared to shake when he lifted it to study it.
‘I don’t think it’s very old, but you’re right, it is imperial jade. The rarest.’ He sounded a little breathless.
‘Have you ever come across one like it?’
Archie shook his head slowly. ‘No, never. Where did you find it?’
Lucas stared at him a moment.
‘It was on one of the bodies. The man was European.’
Archie became visibly paler.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I, but I intend to.’ Lucas shrugged and put the ring in his pocket.
Chapter Seventeen
A bath, at last! The sunken tub, filled to the brim with warm water and laced with fragrant jasmine essence, was a vision of heaven after days of riding in the scorching, dusty heat. The only problem was the two women servants who showed no intention of leaving her alone. Harriet let out a resigned sigh. Now wasn’t the time to be prudish. She took her boots off, shed her filthy clothes and stepped down into the bath tub. The sensations of the water on her skin were so delicious she couldn’t repress a purr of contentment. She reclined against the smooth alabaster tub and closed her eyes. How easily she could fall asleep now if it wasn’t for the women’s incessant chatter!
Even though she didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, she knew they were talking about her. Since her arrival earlier that evening, they had stared at her with unbridled curiosity, as if she was a strange, slightly inferior, species of female. They pursed their lips, shook their head, their eyes filled with pity as they pointed to her clothes, her dirt-streaked skin and her matted tresses.
Now they hovered around her and started scrubbing her back, rubbing jasmine oil into her skin and washing her hair. Harriet wasn’t used to being tended to like that. She tried to protest at first, but faced with the cheerful determination on the women’s faces, she soon gave up. After a few minutes she even enjoyed being pampered. Once the water cooled down, the two servants helped her out of the bath and wrapped her up in a large, soft cloth.
‘I can do that myself.’ She tried to move away from their busy hands, but they carried on regardless.
Harriet was given a red pantaloon and a red and gold tunic she slipped over her head. The fabric rippled against her bare skin, soft and silky. She pushed her feet into dainty red slippers, and she was ready. At last the two servants stood back and nodded, grinning widely.
She followed them along the corridors of the palace to the dining room where Lucas and his friend studied a map spread out on the table. They seemed far too preoccupied to notice Harriet and the women walk in.
‘It’s a very tight rope you are walking,’ Lucas’ friend was saying.’ Mortemer will be merciless if he ever catches you. You’ve made a fool of him far too often these past few years… Do you think he suspects anything?’
Lucas shrugged. ‘He might. We were followed on our way to Bou Saada, and then again on our way here again.’ He paused. ‘It doesn’t matter. You know I don’t care what happens to me.’
Nordine shook his head, a wistful smile on his lips. ‘You might lose something very precious, my friend. Your life, for example.’
Lucas let out a harsh laugh. ‘So be it. Nothing matters more than making Mortemer pay for what he’s done, you know that.’
Harriet felt a tugging to her heart. How bitter he sounded. He might want to punish Mortemer, but he wanted to punish himself even more.
Nordine sighed. ‘Don’t let this thing with Mortemer cloud your judgment. You are courting danger a little too much these days. Having said that, it was an achievement to capture these five cannon! Where are they now?’
‘We hid them in there, a canyon to the East of Bou Saada.’ Lucas pointed a finger to the map. ‘I sent word to El-Berkhani. He should be able to collect them any day now.’
‘They will be much safer in our hands than those of the French. Good work, my friend.’ Nordine slapped his back.
What were they talking about? Wasn’t El-Berkhani the rebel who had escaped recently from the French penitentiary?
She stepped closer, eager to hear more, but Nordine noticed her and his two women servants. He caught his breath then relaxed into a smile.
‘Here they are, my lovelies.’ Looking at Harriet, he added with a velvet voice, ‘I knew there was a swan hiding somewhere under those ugly clothes.’
Lucas glanced up absent-mindedly from the map. His eyes grew a little wider and he stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. She waited for him to say something. Her heart beat faster, harder, but he turned away and proceeded to fold the map.
‘I have bad news, I’m afraid,’ Nordine remarked. ‘Your fiancé won’t be joining us tonight. He isn’t feeling very well.’
‘Archie is ill? Maybe I should go to him and see if…’ Harriet started to turn away.
‘Leave him for now. If he is suffering from sunstroke, the best thing he can do is sleep, and I don’t think he’ll sleep a wink if he sees how ravishing you look tonight.’
Nordine took her hand and led her to the table. ‘Lucas told me you were very brave during the attack last night. You should be proud of yourself.’
‘I’m not proud I killed a man,’ she said, her throat tight.
‘You had no choice,’ Lucas interrupted. ‘It was him or you.’
Nordine clapped his hands and servants brought porcelain plates, glittering crystal glasses and silver cutlery. It could have been a dinner party in an elegant London townhouse were it not for the fragrant dishes of lamb, date and apricot couscous, and spicy vegetables that were being served.
‘I know you appreciate good wine.’ Nordine filled Lucas’ glass, then hers.
She drank a little wine to ease the tightness in her throat while listening to Nordine talk about his recent travels to Algiers and Constantine. He asked about her father and his work. He was particularly interested in his fascination for the lost Garamantes civilization.
‘Of course I have heard about the emerald mines, who hasn’t?’ he said. ‘So many tried to find them, so many died, lost in the Sahara desert or the Hoggar. Nobody ever succeeded. They could be anywhere between Ethiopia to Libya. My grandfather claimed that the ancients had left maps and instructions inside a cave in the Hoggar. Of course, only someone familiar with the old writing would be able to read them.’
Lucas set his glass on the table. ‘That’s it,’ he whispered.
Both Harriet and Nordine looked at him.
‘Didn’t you say that your father was one of the very few scholars who could read the old writing?’
Harriet nodded. ‘It took him years to find a way of translating it, using Tifinagh—the alphabet the Tuaregs have used for centuries and which they inherited from the Garamante
s—and tablets he discovered in Libya that were written both in Greek, Latin and in the old language.’
‘What if he found something referring to Tin Hinan’s tomb when he was studying the rock paintings? What if he believed that the tomb held the secret of the emerald mines?’
Harriet looked at him. What he said made sense. ‘What do you know about Tin Hinan? You said she was a holy woman.’
Lucas nodded and reclined on his chair. ‘That’s right. According to Tuareg traditions, she travelled from the east with her woman servant at the time of the Emperor Constantine. She settled in an oasis near Tamanrasset where she united all the Tuareg tribes under her rule. That’s why they still call her their Mother.’
‘All Amenokal—supreme Tuareg chiefs—are said to descend from her bloodline. Thanks to her, women have always occupied a special place in Tuareg society. They are the musicians and the poets, the keepers of oral traditions.’ He smiled. ‘Men call them the little queens. They hold games and contests in their honour. It’s the women who own the family tent and they can even boot their husband out if they so choose. This is part of Tin Hinan’s legacy.’
‘You said she lived during the reign of Constantine—that would be the fourth century AD.’ Harriet frowned in concentration. ‘The Garamantes would have been at the peak of their power then, their kingdom stretching from Libya all the way across the Sahara. They would have come in contact with the Tuaregs.’
‘If these Garamantes were that important, why have they left almost no traces, cities, or monuments of their civilization?’ Lucas objected.