by Marie Laval
Lucas had decided to strap the ransom bags and most of the water and some equipment onto the horse while they walked and carried lighter supplies.
‘From my estimations, the nearest Tuareg caravan is half a day away. We should meet them by evening.’ Were it not for his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky, he would look like a Tuareg himself. He had discarded his hat and waistcoat for an indigo blue headdress and slipped a short blue and white tunic over the fresh shirt he’d retrieved from his bag.
‘What if they don’t want to help us? What if—’
‘Don’t worry about them. They will help us in exchange for a few gold coins. I’ll have to dip into the ransom since the raiders took the bag where I kept our travel money.’
‘Where do you think they are?’ She glanced around, uneasy. ‘If they chose to attack us now, we would be easy targets.’
‘You don’t have much faith in me, I see.’ His lips stretched into a tight smile. ‘I still have my rifle and a pistol.’ But there was worry in his eyes as he scanned their surroundings.
So they walked. The sun beat onto them, cruel, relentless. Heat rose from the ground, a clear, hazy mist which distorted the landscape. When they set off Harriet thought about Archie and prayed that he was safe, but soon all she could think about was water, shade and rest.
A strange landscape appeared in the distance, so strange she thought she was seeing another mirage. As they walked closer she realized they were massive rock formations that the wind and the sand had eroded and moulded into weird, nightmarish shapes. Tents were pitched around them. Two dozen blue tents at least. Then she saw white mehari camels, similar to those they had lost the day before in the raid, and the tall silhouette of a man outlined against the sunset. He resembled a spectre, still and gaunt, his face covered with a cheche and his long tunic floating around him.
Lucas walked over to salute him. The man listened, nodded, and made a wide, sweeping gesture towards the camp before saying a few words.
‘He says we are welcome. For now we must pay our respects to their chief. Do everything I do. Don’t talk or show your face right now. I need to explain who we are first.’
They followed the man to a large tent pitched at the centre of the camp. A man and two elderly women sat on a rug at the entrance, drinking tea under a canopy. According to Tuareg tradition, the man was veiled but not the women. Harriet held her breath, apprehensive. If the chief refused to help them, they would certainly die in the desert before reaching In Salah.
Lucas bowed once and started talking in Tamasheq, the Tuareg language she heard Hakim and Musa use before. The Tuaregs nodded, looked at her.
‘Take your scarf off,’ Lucas ordered then.
If the man didn’t even blink when she revealed her face, the woman smiled and started talking and laughing. The chief gestured for Lucas and her to sit down. Tea was poured, plates of food brought, together with pieces of flat bread still warm from the fire.
‘SaHa’, she said, using the Arab word for thanks for want of knowing any Tamasheq.
‘That’s ‘Tanemmert’ in Tamasheq,’ Lucas whispered to her.
She would ask him to teach her more words, she resolved, as she repeated the greeting. The hot, sweet tea was the best she’d ever had. She bit into the warm bread. It was delicious, if a little tough. Lucas was talking in a low voice with the man. He turned to her.
‘They will take us up to In Salah. They are returning from the spring fair at Djelfa and are so loaded with supplies they can only spare one camel for us. We’ll have to share.’
He paused. ‘They’ll also let us have a tent.’ He glanced at her, seriously. ‘To share.’
Her throat was too tight to talk. ‘I can sleep outside, near the fire.’
‘That would be disrespectful when they offer you hospitality,’ he interrupted, his voice harsh. ‘I said you were my woman. I’m sure you can put up with me for a few nights.’ He got up. ‘I’ll see to the horse. The women will look after you.’
As if on cue, the two women got up and gestured to her to follow them. They took her around the camp, which consisted of two dozen tents with three or four people in each, mostly men. Near the camp was a narrow gorge with trees and rough grass where a full herd of camels grazed, watched over by a couple of men. There must have been over fifty animals in total, tall and impossibly gracious with their long, slender necks.
Further along the gorge was a well. Even though it was hardly more than a muddy pond, and a far cry from the hidden lake of the Arak gorges, it was impossible to resist after a long day in the desert’s unforgiving heat. Harriet only hesitated a moment before undressing to her chemise and walking into the water. After her bath, the women led her back to camp and showed her into one of the smaller tents where rugs and a couple of blankets had been piled inside and where Lucas had already stored their bags.
During the following hour, as dusk fell onto the desert, she helped the women gather wood to make a fire at the entrance of her tent, returned to the well to get some water for tea, and cooked a basic meal with what was left of their supplies. Similar fires burned in front of every tent as the Tuaregs settled in small groups for the evening.
‘We will join the chief later, for music and stories,’ Lucas said when he arrived. He untied his belt and threw it in the sand before sitting down.
‘Don’t you want to keep hold of that?’ Harriet stared at the pistol on the ground in alarm, then at the other tents around them. ‘What if they decide to kill us for the gold?’
He shook his head. ‘We are their guests now. If anything, they will die to protect us, it’s a question of honour.’
He turned to her and held out his tin cup. ‘Nek fouda, aouid ala, Tamat’ he said.
‘I’m thirsty, give me some tea, woman,’ he translated, a twinkle in his eye.
She held back a sharp response and crossed her arms on her chest.
‘I thought the women were little queens in Tuareg tribes and that they could boot the man out of the tent if they were dissatisfied with him?’
He pulled a face and let a fake sigh of despair. ‘I should have known it was a mistake to tell you that. So, are you going to let me to die a thirsty and hungry man?’
She couldn’t help smiling.
‘Of course not.’ She poured some tea and served a generous helping of stew into a bowl for him.
‘You said you wanted to learn the language.’ He stretched his legs in front of him. ‘Let’s make a start.’
He proceeded to teach her some basic Tamasheq while they ate their evening meal.
‘How do you know so much about the Tuaregs?’ she asked.
Night had fallen. Thousands and thousands of stars shone brightly and the moon cast ghostly shadows onto the desert. Even though there were other tents around them, it felt like they were alone.
‘I spent a lot of time travelling with them when I…’ He tightened his jaw, stared into the fire. ‘When I left Bou Saada, five years ago. At one time I thought I’d never go back north, but I had to take care of a few things.’ He sighed.
‘You mean you wanted revenge too much to keep away from Mortemer,’ she finished.
He glanced at her, surprised. ‘That’s true, but I don’t think it’s any business of yours.’
She threw a stick into the fire in a flash of anger.
‘So you keep saying. How long are you going to keep up this personal crusade of yours? Until you get caught or shot? It’s only a matter of time before Mortemer gets you,’ she said, oblivious to the glint of cool rage in his eyes.
He leaned over.
‘What should you care about what happens to me when I don’t care about it myself?’
Her throat went dry. Her heart started thudding in her chest. She parted her lips. ‘I care because I …’
I love you, she finished silently.
The rhythmical beating of a drum resonated around them.
‘That’s the signal,’ Lucas said, but he didn’t move and carried on st
aring into her eyes, as if searching the depths of her soul.
He leaned closer until his lips almost touched hers. The drum echoed her heartbeats. She lifted a tentative hand to his cheek, rough with stubble. She felt him shiver under her touch, his eyes softened for a few seconds. Then his face went blank again. He gripped her wrist.
‘Let’s go, we don’t want to be late,’ he said, pulling her up. ‘In the evenings, people tell stories. You’ll enjoy it.’
The Tuaregs, men and women, were already sitting in a semi-circle outside the chief’s tent. The chief sat with the same two women on either side of him who, this time, held strange-looking musical instruments in their laps, together with a bow, like one would use to play the violin.
‘They’re playing the imzad,’ Lucas explained.
The Tuaregs stared at them, but shuffled to make room for them to sit. The chief had a small leather bag in front of him. He shook it and dipped his hand into it.
‘What is he doing?’
‘He is choosing tonight’s stories from the bag of tales,’ Lucas answered as the chief pulled out a large, flat pebble from the bag and said something. He then pulled out three more stones and lined them up next to the pebble.
‘Each stone represents a story.’
The chief picked the first stone and started talking.
‘The story of the djinnouns in the acacia trees,’ Lucas whispered.
The first story was a complicated tale of evil djinnouns. The second, an account of a brutal and bloody battle during which many Tuareg braves lost their lives. The last story was a sweet but tragic tale of unrequited love. The women played their instruments all along, drawing long, monochord sounds that at times sounded almost like laments and perfectly matched the mood of the audience, silent and attentive under the starry sky.
By the end of the evening, Harriet shivered with cold. Lucas wrapped his arm around her shoulders to keep her warm.
‘The brave is reaching the end of his journey,’ he translated, his voice low and a little hoarse. ‘After wandering in the desert for weeks, he finally finds his beloved’s camp, but it is empty under the stars. Only the cruel wind answers his prayers, and as the cool moonlight kisses his lips, the vast spaces full of solitude chill his heart. So he lies on the sand and waits to die.’ He paused. ‘And that’s love for you. Brings you nothing but pain.’
Despite his slightly mocking tone, the words made her dreamy.
‘It’s beautiful, and so sad.’ She found his hand, squeezed a little. ‘Love isn’t all pain, you know. It can be the most wonderful feeling in the world.’
She should know.
‘It’s only a story. The Tuaregs have hundreds like that.’ He jumped to his feet and helped her up.
They were about to go back to their tent when a voice called them.
The chief gestured for them to approach. He talked to Lucas, who turned to her, a startled expression on his face.
‘He wants to speak to you about your father.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
The chief issued a brief order and the two musicians left, holding their instruments. He gestured for Harriet and Lucas to sit down and started talking.
His face grave, Lucas listened and asked a few questions. Harriet looked at each man in turn. What news did the chief have? Good or bad? With the veil covering his face, there was no way of gauging his expression. At last, Lucas turned to her, a faint smile on his lips.
‘Your father was alive and well three weeks ago. The chief heard it from some Tuaregs he met at the fair in Djelfa.’
‘Where is he? Who are these men holding him and—’
Lucas lifted a hand to silence her.
‘He is being held in Abalessa by the keepers of Tin Hinan’s tomb.’
The chief nodded. ‘Abalessa,’ he repeated, his voice muffled by his veil.
‘The keepers?’
‘Ever since the great queen died, Tuareg braves have been in charge of the safekeeping of her tomb,’ Lucas explained.
She snorted. ‘How can you call them braves when they butchered the members of my father’s expedition and are now holding a defenceless man against his will?’
‘Remember where you are, Harriet,’ he said, a quiet warning in his voice. ‘Now, there is something very interesting about these braves’—he emphasized the word—’who are holding your father…The chief claims they didn’t kill anyone. Just the opposite, in fact. He says they saved your father’s life.’
‘That’s not what the British Consul told Archie.’
Lucas thanked the chief and stood up before pulling her to her feet.
‘Let’s talk about this somewhere else.’
He released her hand as they walked through the silent camp towards their tent. She knew there were men standing guard—the caravan was bringing expensive goods back from Djelfa and there was always the risk of a raid by bandits—but she couldn’t help peering uneasily into the shadows. A few guards wouldn’t stand a chance against determined men like those who were after her father’s ransom. And what if Lucas was wrong about the Tuaregs being honour bound to protect them? What if they claimed the gold for themselves instead?
The fire in front of their small tent was almost out. Lucas grabbed a stick to poke at the red embers. Sparks flew into the night. He added more wood, poked again. When flames rose and crackled, he sat, searched the pockets of his waistcoat and pulled a cigar out.
He took his time lighting it and smoked in silence, staring at the fire, lost in his thoughts.
Harriet started pacing the ground. She gave him a hard stare.
‘Will you forget about that cigar and tell me exactly what the chief said?’
He looked up.
‘Only if you sit down and quit fretting,’ he ordered. He waited for her to settle next to him on the rug.
‘The rumour is that your father’s expedition was attacked by a gang of mercenaries led by European men—but whether they were French or English, the chief didn’t know.’
‘It doesn’t make sense! The British Consul said the Tuaregs attacked my father. The French garrison in Tamanrasset sent a report. Why would they lie about it?’
Lucas shook his head. ‘I don’t know. One possibility is that the French found it easier to blame the Tuaregs for the massacre than investigate the incident properly.’
He drew on his cigar, blew small blue clouds of smoke out.
‘So the French army lied to the British Consul.’
‘I said it was one possibility.’
‘What else could it be? You couldn’t possibly imply that Lord Welsford would lie to Archie.’
Lucas remained silent. ‘Did you meet Lord Welsford when you were in Algiers?’
‘No, Archie said it would be too upsetting for me to attend the meetings.’
‘Hmm…so you only have Drake’s word for what was said at the consulate.’
She drew in a sharp intake of breath. ‘What exactly are you implying?’
He didn’t answer but carried on smoking. ‘Who gave you the news about your father?’
‘Lord Callaghan.’
She closed her eyes, remembering the cold, grey January afternoon she had received her father’s employer at their London house. Lord Callaghan had taken his wet coat and hat off, smoothed his thick silver grey hair and begged her to sit down before breaking the awful news of her father’s abduction.
‘He was very sorry that my father’s life should be at risk while he was on mission for the museum and promised to do everything in his power to help. It was his idea to take a ransom to the Tuaregs in exchange for my father’s life.’
Thoughtful, she curled a strand of hair around her finger.
‘Where did the money for the ransom come from?’
‘Lord Callaghan.’
‘Why was Archie entrusted with the rescue mission?’
‘Lord Callaghan said he was the best man for the job. He has field experience and everybody knows how close he is to my father.’
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br /> ‘You always say they are close, and yet your father didn’t write to him about the Barbarossa map he discovered in Algiers.’ Lucas threw a sidelong glance towards her.
She linked her fingers in her lap, tightly.
‘He must have written to Archie. He must have… I can’t think why he would keep such an important discovery from him. His letter must have got lost between Algiers and London.’
‘If I remember correctly, in his letter authenticating the map, your father wrote not to tell anyone about it and instructed you to keep it safe in a secret place until his return. That’s hardly a man who plans to reveal his discovery to his employer or colleagues, is it?’
‘Don’t start that again! My father was not planning to keep any treasure for himself.’
Lucas frowned. There had been something else in Oscar’s Montague’s letter, something he was trying to remember, but couldn’t quite recall.
‘You said your father and Archie had grown apart these past few months.’
‘Archie was so busy with his new post he didn’t have time to visit us,’ she answered, hesitant.
That wasn’t completely true. There had been an incident between the two men a week before her father left for Algiers.
‘Actually, they argued before my father departed for Algiers, quite violently. I don’t know what about, but it upset my father. And he isn’t a man easily upset.’ Quite the opposite in fact. Her father prided himself on his cool, even disposition.
Lucas threw the stub of his cigar into the fire and got up.
‘And then there are the raiders who knew exactly how to find us despite my roundabout routes,’ he said to himself. ‘And the mysterious man with the snarling silver wolf ring.’
She cleared her throat. ‘About that ring…there is something I must tell you.’ She rubbed her forehead with her fingers, willing the memories to be sharper, the images in her mind clearer.
‘I have seen such a ring before, when I was very young. I don’t remember where it was, just that it was a big house in the country. I was outside on the terrace and I looked through the window into a study or a library…’