The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  "Lie face down on the ground with your arms by your sides. Repeat word for word what I tell you...and please, Dr Andrews, try and sound repentant. I will translate what you say."

  Marc scowled but came forward and lay flat on his face on the sand in front of the two horsemen. When Muammar told him what to say, he repeated each phrase and waited while the young Libyan translated for the tribesmen.

  "I, Dr Andrews, a foreigner in your country...acted out of ignorance of your laws and customs...profaning the property of Sheik Ali ibn Hawid ibn al-Qasr of the Harabi Bani Sulaim...and offering up a blood insult..." Muammar saw Marc hesitate at the last phrase. "Say it, Dr Andrews, on your life and as if you mean it. And offering up a blood insult...I do ask forgiveness of Sheik Ali ibn Hawid."

  Red K�fiyyah answered at length, and Muammar replied. The other tribesman shouted out something else and dismounted, striding over to Marc's prostrate body. Marc swivelled his head, trying to watch the man as he approached.

  "Keep still, Dr Andrews. Do not offer any resistance."

  Daffyd leaned closer to Dani, real concern in his voice. "He's insisting on a blood price. He says the insult is too great for a simple apology...Oh, God..." He broke off as the tribesman's curved dagger came whispering out of its sheath. "Muammar, no!"

  Muammar held a hand up toward Daffyd and Dani and spoke urgently. The man snarled a reply and squatted beside Marc. His knife swept down across Marc's forearm and left a thin trail of blood in its wake. The Bedouin rose and strode back to his horse, vaulting into the saddle. The two horsemen turned and spurred their horses away as Marc got shakily to his feet, blood trickling down his arm and dripping from his fingers.

  "Blood has been spilt; honour has been satisfied," Muammar murmured.

  "Honour be damned. They're just bloody savages," Marc snapped. He clapped his handkerchief over the cut in his arm and pushed past the young Libyan.

  Dani ran to get the first aid kit from the jeep. She washed the wound and found it was superficial, the tribesman apparently having deliberately made a shallow cut. The amount of blood made it look worse than it was. Antiseptic cream and a bandage staunched the flow and set the wound on the path to healing.

  "What happens now?" Daffyd asked, "when those riders report back to the Sheik?"

  "He will be here tomorrow, and we must wait for him to invite us to his tent. This is his well, and these are his date palms. I hope that he will accept that honour has been satisfied and will make us welcome."

  "And if not?"

  Muammar shrugged. "Then we shall see. Can you make sure your young companion behaves himself?"

  "His young companion can hear you," Marc growled, "And is quite capable of answering for himself."

  "Then please do so, Dr Andrews. It is very important that you are polite, respectful and suitably deferential. Sheik Ali ibn Hawid is, to all intents and purposes, the absolute ruler of his people. Men live or die by his word."

  "I'll be polite to the old savage but I'll be blowed if I'll respect him. It sounds like he's nothing but an outdated feudal tyrant."

  Muammar closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Then we might as well leave now. Your venture has come to naught before it starts. You have no hope of success without Sheik Ali on your side." He looked up at the position of the sun. "You should pack up and leave before noon. Just follow the road north and you'll survive. I will stay and greet my uncle."

  Dani rounded on Marc, eyes flashing. "Damn you, Marc. I'm not giving up on my quest just because you insist on behaving like a child. We're in another country now, subject to different laws, surrounded by different customs and quite frankly, if you can't cope with it, you don't belong here. What's more, I don't want you here if you can't behave like a responsible adult. Take the jeep back to Benghazi and go back to England. I'm prepared to stay out her alone if need be..."

  "I'm staying," Daffyd said.

  "Thank you, Daffyd. Muammar, will you help just the two of us with your uncle? I can assure you we will do whatever it takes to get on his right side."

  "Jeez, Dani..." Marc muttered.

  "That will be acceptable, Dr Hanser," Muammar said.

  "No way am I going to go home and leave you here," Marc said. "You need me..."

  "No we don't, Marc. Not if you're going to act like this. You're a liability, not an asset, and I'd rather you weren't here."

  "Oh, God, please Dani, don't send me home. Look, I'll do whatever you want. I'll behave, I'll be polite, and I'll even kiss his damn feet if that's what it takes."

  "There you go again. All I need from you is a basic regard for other people. Treat this situation seriously and stop trying to be smart."

  Marc grimaced and shrugged. "Okay, I can do serious."

  "I mean it, Marc. Ruin this for me and I'll never speak to you again."

  More horsemen arrived just before dusk, to prepare the oasis for the arrival of Sheik Ali ibn Hawid. They greeted Muammar warmly and nodded politely at the three foreigners, before scouting out the surrounding territory and checking that everything was as it should be. The tribesmen kept themselves to themselves that night, politely refusing an offer of hospitality from Dani, conveyed by Muammar.

  "It is a good thought, Dr Hanser, and I will make the offer on your behalf, but they won't accept it," Muammar had told her. "This is my uncle's oasis and they cannot accept hospitality here unless he grants them permission first."

  He made the offer, but as he had predicted, it was turned down. "They thank you though, Dr Hanser, and they will no doubt report your offer of hospitality to the Sheik."

  "Is that good?"

  Muammar smiled. "Yes."

  Sheik Ali ibn Hawid arrived mid-morning, on a richly caparisoned camel, with a dozen armed riders surrounding him. Behind him were heavily laden pack beasts led by numerous women and a herd of camels and goats driven by small boys. Horse riders galloped up as the sheik arrived and swept round the oasis, joining forces with the horsemen who had arrived the previous night. They released a volley into the air from their rifles and uttered ululating cries to greet their chieftain.

  Dani was eager to greet the Sheik, but Muammar counselled patience. "You are a supplicant," he said. "You must wait for an invitation to join him in his tent."

  They sat in the shade of the palm trees through the long hot day, keeping out of the way of the tribe--the men sitting around cleaning and mending their equipment, women carrying water from the well, cooking, and tending to the tents and their men-folk, and children scampering around playing or standing wide-eyed, staring at the strangers in their midst.

  The invitation came that evening. Two robed and armed men came for them and escorted them to the richly ornamented and woven tent of the Sheik. The whole of one side of the tent was drawn up and looking into it, they saw carpets spread out over the sand and piles of coloured cushions. A bearded older man sat crosslegged in the centre of the tent, two hard, cold, hooded eyes staring at them past a sharply hooked nose. The expression on the Sheik's face was one of rapacious lust, and Dani's heart sank as they stepped over the threshold. This was the man who held her future in his hands.

  Muammar bowed deeply and spoke in the tribal dialect. The Sheik inclined his head slightly and Muammar went on to introduce the two men and woman with him. Glittering eyes fixed each one of them in turn, and when it came to Marc's turn, the man's upper lip lifted in a snarl to reveal chipped and stained teeth.

  Sheik Ali ibn Hawid spoke, and Muammar translated, relief evident in his voice. "My uncle bids you welcome to his tents. He offers everything he has in hospitality. I hasten to add that last bit is not intended literally," Muammar added. "However, you are now under his protection while you are here. He offers food and drink. Please bow to him and utter a few words of thanks--I will translate."

  Dani did as Muammar instructed, followed by Daffyd and Marc, each murmuring about how they were glad to be there and thanking the Sheik for his generosity. Muammar seemed to expand on their utterances, bu
t Dani was reasonably certain he was casting them in the best possible light.

  "Please sit to his left," Muammar said. "Dr Rhys-Williams closest to him, then Dr Andrews, then Dr Hanser. Be aware, Dr Hanser, that he pays you an enormous compliment by consenting to eat with you. Women usually eat later and in a separate tent."

  "Please tell him I am conscious of the honour." Dani went and sat down so the three of them formed a gentle curve on the Sheik's left hand side, Daffyd alongside the Sheik, Marc and Dani facing him slightly. Muammar sat on his uncle's right hand side, and the two armed men squatted on the edge of the carpet, watching the little group.

  The sheik clapped his hands and immediately several servants appeared, bearing steaming bowls of food. Two men staggered under the weight of two whole roasted goats on a bed of rice, another bore a platter of round bread and another carried a large bowl of what looked like small charred potatoes. The servant carrying these sliced them with a sharp knife and scattered the pieces over the rice. Everything was placed in front of the Sheik who examined it and nodded his head in acceptance of its quality.

  "Eat," Ali ibn Hawid commanded, waving his right hand at the feast. Following Muammar's example, Daffyd, Dani and Marc shifted position until they were all sitting cross-legged around the platters.

  "Use your right hands only," Muammar murmured. "Tear off a morsel of meat and fashion a ball of rice around it...no, no, Dr Andrews, your right hand only...observe." He took a piece of goat flesh and expertly rolled rice onto it, added a slice of the charred objects and popped it into his mouth. "Now you." He watched as each of his charges followed his instructions, more or less clumsily and ate. "Make expressions of enjoyment." They did, smiling, nodding and uttering inarticulate sounds of pleasure. Muammar spoke in Arabic and the Sheik beamed, joining his guests in the communal feast.

  Dani chewed reflectively, appreciating the flavours of the food. She bit into a slice of the tuber. "What is this?" she asked. "It's delightfully...nutty? Is that the taste? Slightly sweet, perhaps with a hint of...of coconut."

  "Desert truffle," Muammar said.

  "Truffles!" Marc exclaimed, ripping off a piece of the flat bread. "Aren't they frightfully expensive?"

  "Tirmania or Terfezia ," Daffyd commented, picking up a larger piece and examining it. "I can't tell which, but they're not the truffles that cost so much in fancy restaurants in Europe."

  "How come you know so much about it?" Dani asked.

  "I've travelled a bit, eaten a lot of things--including desert truffles. Muammar, please convey to the Sheik that we appreciate his bountiful hospitality and are forever in his debt."

  Muammar did so, and the Sheik nodded, said something, and continued eating. Muammar did not translate his uncle's words and when Marc opened his mouth to ask, Daffyd laid his hand warningly on his friend's arm.

  They made inroads into the meal, and as their appetite slackened, the Sheik wiped his hand on a clean cloth and dabbed at his lips before clapping his hands. The servants rushed in and removed the food and distributed clean cloths to the guests.

  "The food now passes to the warriors first, and then to the women, children and servants," Muammar said.

  The servants issued forth again, bearing a bowl of a dark pulp and a plate of muffin-like cakes. Muammar demonstrated once more, splitting one of the cakes and scooping some of the pulp onto it. "Honeycake and pulped dates," he said, biting into his dessert. The others joined in, the men with gusto and Dani nibbling on a small piece.

  "Desserts aren't really my thing," she said with a smile. "But it is delicious."

  Servants cleared away once more and brought in a silver coffee pot and small cups. The rich aroma of brewed coffee mixed with freshly ground cardamom filled the air. A servant stayed behind to pour the coffee.

  "I had hoped that my uncle might have brewed the coffee himself, in front of us," Muammar murmured. "That would have been a sign of complete acceptance. However, the offering of hospitality may be enough to ensure his assistance."

  "Do you think he will help us?" Dani asked.

  "We can only ask. I will approach him tomorrow."

  "No time like the present," Marc said. "Go on, Muammar, ask him."

  "That would be the height of bad manners, Dr Andrews. This dinner is for him to weigh you up, determine if you are honourable men..."

  "And woman," Daffyd murmured.

  "No. Forgive me, Dr Hanser, but your presence is something of a hindrance, if anything. The Bedouin are fiercely patriarchal, and he has already done you great honour by allowing you to eat with us. He has done this because he knows you are a foreign woman--perhaps the first one he has met--and I have vouched for you. As I was saying, if he judges the rest of you to be honourable men, he may feel inclined to grant a favour, but it won't be until tomorrow at the earliest."

  They drank the coffee with every sign of relish, and had their cups refilled. They drank again, draining the small cups, and yet again they were refilled.

  "When you've had enough, waggle your cup when they come to refill it," Muammar said. Nobody refused a refill, though they drank the strong, spiced brew more slowly now.

  "Conversation is normal during the drinking of coffee," Muammar went on. "If you want to say anything, please do. I will translate."

  "Of course," Dani said. "Please thank the Sheik for his hospitality and tell..."

  "You misunderstand, Dr Hanser. Your gratitude is assumed. The conversation should turn on events outside the sphere of my uncle's normal experiences. For instance, I have just come from Benghazi, so..." Muammar proceeded to tell his uncle about family matters and also of recent events in Benghazi.

  When there was a lull in the conversation, Daffyd mentioned the state of the roads and recounted a couple of amusing incidents that had occurred on their bus journey from Tripoli. The Sheik listened politely, nodding and adding a few comments, but his interest really picked up when Daffyd compared the Libyan transport system with the British one. He started asking questions, Marc and Dani joined in, and the conversation drifted onto life in Britain and the very different experiences they had encountered in that green and gentle land.

  One by one, they waggled their coffee cups, and at last the Sheik rose to his feet. Muammar got up quickly and bowed, thanking his uncle for the honour of being accepted into his tent, and Dani followed suit, Daffyd and Marc moments behind her. The two armed men escorted them back to their small tents and left them.

  "That went as well as I hoped," Muammar said. "He accepted both Dr Hanser and Dr Andrews, so I anticipate he will grant your request."

  "What exactly is our request?" Dani asked. "We came all this way so we could cross the border into Egypt undetected, but how exactly can your uncle help us? We don't have much money to hire camels or anything, even if we knew how to ride them."

  "He would not hire camels out to you. Being ignorant of desert ways, you and they would die. You must ask for help to cross to one of the Egyptian towns and let him decide how he will accomplish this. Which town do you need to go to?"

  "Hmm. Esna, I suppose, or Edfu. They're both on the Nile."

  "That might be difficult, but maybe one of the inland towns? Kharga perhaps?"

  "That would work," Dani said. "Do you think he'd help us?"

  "We can only wait and see."

  "Insha'Allah, in other words," Daffyd murmured.

  Muammar nodded. "Indeed, if God wills."

  "A useful, if somewhat fatalistic point of view, but we can at least hope," Dani said.

  Sheik Ali ibn Hawid granted them an interview the next morning. The Sheik sat on cushions within his tent, but this time at least twenty of the warriors were ranged behind him, armed to the teeth and maintaining impassive countenances.

  "They'd slit our throats without compunction," Marc muttered. "All they're waiting for is the nod from the boss."

  Daffyd nudged him. "Then for God's sake, keep quiet," he whispered.

  Dani stood in front of Sheik Ali and, through the m
outh of Muammar, put her request. The Sheik stroked his chin and exchanged a few words with his nephew.

  "He asks why you want to go to Egypt this way, and why you cannot travel openly."

  "Something of mine was stolen by a powerful man who can close the borders of Egypt to me. I have vowed to recover this thing and prevent this man from desecrating a tomb."

  "Which tomb?"

  Dani hesitated. "The tomb of one of my ancestors."

  Sheik Ali raised an eyebrow. "In Egypt? You are English, are you not?"

  "Yes, but my grandmother was Egyptian."

  "Muslim?"

  "Coptic Christian."

  "And this thing that was stolen?"

  Dani hesitated again. "A...a family heirloom."

  "And where in Egypt do you want to go?"

  "Any of the smaller cities along the Nile. Esna, maybe--or Edfu."

  "The badaw� are people of the desert, not the river."

  "Then a desert town?"

  Sheik Ali pondered the information.

  "You have a powerful enemy, it seems, if he can close the border to you, but borders are nothing to the badaw�. We go where we wish and none may gainsay us. Six of my men will travel with you and guide you to the desert town of Kharga, leaving you there. That is my offer to you."

  "Thank you, Sheik Ali ibn Hawid. Your generosity overwhelms me."

  "Your Arabic is slight, and none of my men speak your English. Muammar al-Hadi, son of my sister, will accompany you as far as Kharga. You will pay him for his time and trouble the sum of one hundred British pounds."

  Dani smiled and bowed. "That is most acceptable."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  "Colonel, it is I, Ali Hafiz. I am in Benghazi."

  "What are you doing there? I told you to go to Rome."

  "I did so, Colonel, and found that the three foreigners caught a flight to Tripoli. I followed and found that they journeyed on by bus to Benghazi."

  Sarraj thought for a few moments, leaving the other man to wait in silence on the other end of the line. He considered Benghazi and its proximity to the Egyptian border at El Salloum. That must be where they were headed, though they were fools if they thought they could sneak into Egypt that way.