The First Protector ec-2

by James White

  With the lovely, surefooted beast moving smooth and fast like a wind blowing over the sand, and air that was free of the smell of camel dung cooling his face, Declan felt happier than he ever had been for as long as he could remember. The thinking and planning for the future he would push aside until he reached the caravanserai and learned of the situation there. He would enjoy the next few hours, the hot, bright desert that was so different from Hi-bernia that he almost felt that he was dreaming it, and the smooth, regular movement of his splendid animal that seemed to be an extension of himself. But suddenly, and in spite of the sun that was blazing down on the desert all around him, he shivered.

  He was remembering Ma'el's final words to Sinead and himself. The old man had spoken as if he might never see them alive again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The sun was setting when he reached the caravanserai just as the heavy, double gates were about to be closed for the night. As he dismounted, the soldier in charge of the guard detail that was standing easy nearby looked admiringly at Declan's horse, glanced with interest at his gladius and long-axe, and smiled before he spoke.

  "You are just in timem friend," he said, "to avoid having to spend the night in the desert. But you must give me your name and business here before I can allow you to pass within."

  Declan did not know what language the other was speaking, but the words that came through his ear ornament were in clear and unambiguous Gaelic. He hoped the collar Ma'el had given him would work as well in the other direction.

  "I am Declan," he replied, remembering what Ma'el had told him about knowing more than these people and trying to project the easy assurance of command, "a warrior lately from Hibernia and the personal guardian of a rich merchant who travels with the caravan that is a day's journey from here, and which is shortly to come under attack from brigands. It is about this matter that I wish to speak urgently to your commanding officer."

  Abruptly the man stood up very straight, snapped his fingers at one of the guards in the casual manner that marked him at once as an officer, and pointed at the horse before turning on his heel. "Your mount will be watered and fed," he said over his shoulder. "Please follow me."

  Declan had heard much talk about this establishment from the camel drivers and merchants who had been sharing their journey. Set in one of the most dangerous stretches of the camel route to India, and manned and maintained by a local sheik who extracted a tithe from every man and beast for the services provided, it was said to be the most well-appointed and defended caravanserai that they were likely to encounter. Without appearing to be openly curious, Declan's eyes took in every detail of the structure as he followed the man.

  It was a large, open rectangle of cleared ground enclosed by a stockade of wooden logs that was more than the height of two tall men. Four higher guard towers stood at each corner with two more on each side of the enhance gate he had just left. Additional defense was provided by a continuous raised walkway mounted on the inner walls that was served at frequent intervals by stairs or ladders. Built against the two shorter walls were a forge, smithy, the open, slatted structure of a food store, and the garrison barracks that seemed small for the number of men lounging about or cleaning weapons and equipment outside it. Running the full length of the wall facing the gates was a structure comprised of stables at ground level and another walkway giving access to the living quarters above, probably for the use of officers and the richer merchants who would pay not to sleep on the ground beside their camels. The enclosure had a well and drinking troughs and was just large enough to accommodate all the beasts of the caravan he had left, although there would be little space to spare and the smell would be horrendous.

  As he followed the man up steep, uneven stairs to the officers' quarters, Declan had to throw his long, white cloak back over his shoulders to avoid tripping on it. The action revealed his studded leather tunic, high boots, and the weapons he was carrying. He kept his hands well away from them as he was led into the commanding officer's quarters, a long, low-ceilinged room that was divided by rich, hanging drapery into a spartan work area and the more luxuriously appointed living and sleeping space.

  While his escort spoke the words of identification that had already been used at the gates, Declan watched the man who bore the ultimate power in this place and who, if Ma'el's magic collar and his own Hibernian wits would guide his tongue in the right direction, would use that authority as and where it was needed.

  He was an enormous man both in height and girth even while he was seated, as now, on a padded stool behind a trestle table on which lay papyrus charts, measuring sticks, a beaker filled with an aromatic liquid, a large, curved sword, and two weighted throwing knives. On the front of his turban there was an ornament that looked costly but which might have been a symbol of rank. But the steady blue eyes that were regarding Declan from the peak of his leather helmet to the toes of his high boots, and the long, hooked nose and full black beard with streaks of gray in it were not the features of a person who would be easily convinced about anything. Declan was thinking that he was being faced with the Arabian equivalent of Black Seamus when the resemblance was increased by the other showing his uneven white teeth in a smile.

  "You look to be rich, Hibernian," he said, "and your apparel is pretty for a soldier. You are well-tutored in our tongue." A sour edge entered his voice. "Were I a young woman I would be greatly impressed by the sight of you. Are the weapons you carry additional ornaments or do you know how to use them?"

  Declan took a deep breath, then said calmly, "Sir, I am omitting the courtesy of addressing you by your name, rank, and tide because, as a traveler and stranger in this land, I am unsure of what they are. It is my master who is rich, not I. Among other things, he provided me with clothing and the ability to converse in many tongues, but the weapons are my own and I have long favored the axe. It is not the company of women that I seek but immediate military assistance."

  Beside him Declan's escort seemed to be having difficulty with his breathing. In an outraged voice he burst out, "Know, stranger, that you are addressing the noble Achmed ben Imaubim, Prince of the Sheikdom of Khasant and the lands of…"

  "Enough," said Achmed, raising one large, fat hand." 'Sir' is a strange title, short and seemingly respectful but free of the verbally unnecessary compliments with which I am usually addressed. You may continue to call me 'Sir' as long as you are here. But I find you a strange man, Hibernian. You are not easily stung to anger by personal insults, you do not boast of your prowess with the weapons you carry, and you appear to place duty before pleasure. There is a calmness and certainty about you more befitting to a master than a servant. Intriguing. If you are indeed a servant, Declan, you must have the complete trust of your master, and be very well paid. Am I correct?"

  Declan inclined his head without speaking or changing his expression, only then realizing that it was a gesture he had learned from Ma'el.

  "You are right," said Achmed, "those matters are unimportant and do not concern me." His tone became friendlier but at the same time more brisk as he went on, "You have had a long and tiring ride, Declan. May I offer food, rest, and refreshment before we discuss your master's needs and, of course, the sum he will have to pay me to provide them… But I see you looking at my wall map and growing restive. What troubles you?"

  "My thanks, sir," said Declan, "for I am indeed hungry and thirsty. But if it pleases you, the matter is urgent. May we talk before I eat?"

  "Before that," said Achmed, glancing at Declan's escort, "you will divest yourself of your cloak, helmet, and weapons and give them to my lieutenant, Bashir, who will place them in a safe place until you need them again. You will understand and forgive my apparent distrust, but these are unquiet times and I must be constantly on guard against assassination. Bashir will also return to us without delay so that he, too, can hear what you have to say to me."

  Declan moved to the large intricately woven tapestry that almost filled the wall on Achmed's rig
ht. In spite of the garishly colored areas that marked the ground contours, the bright, contrasting tufts of yarn that marked the peaks and other special ground features, and the lines of beading showing the main camel routes, he was surprised to find that it was every bit as accurate as Ma'el's chart. When he heard Bashir re-enter the room he remained facing the tapestry and began talking quickly, describing all that had appeared on Ma'el's chart but pretending that he had seen it with his own eyes. He was allowed to finish without interruption, but when he turned again to face them, Bashir was looking grim and Achmed's features were suffused with anger.

  Uncertainly, Declan said, "That was the position and deployment of the raiders as I saw them early this morning, and what I consider to be their intentions regarding the caravan. I think I know what should be done about them, but… I'm sorry, sir, I seem to have said something to anger you."

  It was a moment before Achmed found his voice. 'The tale you tell angers me, Hibernian," he said, "not the teller. Are you quite certain of the number of men and beasts that you saw? Do you perhaps add drama to the tale with a storyteller's exaggeration?"

  Declan shook his head. "I told of those I could see clearly enough to count. There may have been more of them concealed by their dust cloud. Are a few more raiders an important consideration?"

  It was obvious from his expression that Achmed was too angry for an exchange of conversation. Instead he snapped at his lieutenant, "Explain it to him. Tell him everything."

  Bashir nodded, took a deep breath and said, 'There have been rumors that something like this was being planned against us. They are not desert raiders but a force sent by a neighboring sheik who is our enemy but not yet ready or brave enough to declare open war. The caravanserai is too well-defended for them to risk an attack on it, so instead they must intend to rob the caravan while killing everyone who might link them to the crime. No right-thinking person would suppose that we had anything to do with it, but our good reputation for ensuring a safe passage through our lands would come into question, the merchants would seek an alternative and probably riskier path for their caravans, and we would lose an important source of revenue. In time this would force us to abandon and destroy the caravanserai to forbid its use by our enemies…"

  Prince Achmed silenced his lieutenant with an upraised hand. He used the same hand to indicate the map and said, "How would a Hibernian warrior solve this problem?"

  "With a surprise attack from the eastern flank, here," Declan replied. Trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice he went on, "You have many men here who are rested and, perhaps, bored with inaction. If they were to…"

  The hand was raised again. "We would be fighting a pitched battle against an enemy with superior numbers," Achmed said. "If we were to lose it, the camel train and the caravanserai would be captured and I, if I survived, would no longer be my father's favorite son. Half my force must remain here to defend and maintain my establishment and the other half, if I was to do as you suggest, would be outnumbered three to one. The casualties would be heavy indeed, and we might save only a few camel loads and even fewer of my men. You are a young hothead and your solution is too costly in blood."

  "With respect, you are wrong, sir," said Declan, ignoring Bashir's shocked expression at a stranger suggesting that his prince was something less than omniscient. He turned back to the wall map and went on, "My intention would be to set an ambush for them, here, here, and here, by allowing them to move southward past our positions, and wait until they have taken their places in the hills along the camel track where they will wait until the entire caravan is in view. Depending on the lie of the land and the speed with which we can get into position, we will either surprise them from behind or make a flanking attack from the east out of the rising sun. If our movements are fast and precise, that is, if they are guided into place by someone who knows the area, and if I am allowed to instruct them in methods of fighting unfamiliar here, and if they can remain steady of mind rather than going into a frenzy of rage in the face of a close enemy, and they do exactly as they have been told, half of your men should be enough and there will be a successful outcome with few losses."

  Bashir cleared his throat noisily and said, "You must not tell wildly optimistic stories to the prince…" he made a small bow toward Achmed, "… who depends on me for military advice. Describe to us in full, if you can, the arcane forms of combat they use in Hibernia that enable you to fight a battle without a butcher's bill of dead and dying? Declan, the idea is preposterous."

  Declan sighed in relief, glad that the other had stopped short of calling him a liar and thus avoided the complications of offended honor that the accusation would have caused, and said, "Time is short. With your permission, sir, I would like to explain everything to the men as well as yourselves before they set out on their night march-"

  "A night march!" Bashir broke in. "You have already ridden all day and now you're going to spend the night…"

  "Sleeping," said Declan. "At least, for the next few hours, then I will catch up on the men before sunrise. But someone with a good knowledge of the ground will have to accompany them and place them in the attack positions."

  Achmed gave his lieutenant a long, questioning look, the significance of which was lost on Declan, and received a nod and a smile in return. As Bashir was turning to go he said, "I will be pleased to do that service for you. But now I will pick and assemble the best men for our purpose and you must come with me to explain your tactics and to exhort them to deeds of wild Hibernian bravery."

  "Before you go," said Achmed, standing up and revealing his true girth and height, "I wish you to carry my own weapon for the day…" from the wall behind him he took down a long, curved sword whose broad blade was wider at the tip than at the jeweled hilt and held it out to Declan in the palms of both hands,"… because your gladius is unsuitable for fighting on horseback. Bear it with honor and success. Much as I would like to accompany you, there is not a horse that could carry me and even the legs of a camel would buckle under my weight. You have no time to waste on further conversation with me before you set out, so speak loudly to the men so that I will overhear and learn your plan. After which you will take the rest you need. Go, now."

  "Thank you, sir," said Declan, accepting the weapon and stepping back so that he could swing the hilt up to his face in salute. "I shall wear and use it with honor."

  The sword was hanging from his belt, his other weapons had been returned to him, and they were descending the stairs to the enclosure before the lieutenant spoke again. Considering the surprising nature of his words, Bashir's tone was completely without rancor.

  "You wear it," he said, "because in this enterprise I know where I'm going but, unlike you, I do not know what to do when we get there. You wear the personal weapon of my master for all to see because you, Declan, have been placed in joint command of this operation."

  –

  The eastern sky was showing a dark hazy stripe of gray and there was no slightest breath of wind when Declan reached the place where he should have overtaken the men on foot, but there was no trace of them until a man's low voice called out to him.

  "Effendi? The Hibernian warrior?"

  "Yes," said Declan, moving his mount closer to a slightly darker patch of darkness. "Who are you and where are the others?"

  "I am the favored bowman, Mareth," the other replied softly. 'The riders were making such good time that Bashir said they could afford to slow their progress by allowing my bowmen to share the mounts. I was left behind to continue on foot so as to guide you in case you became lost."

  Declan knew a hint when he heard one. Freeing a stirrup so that the other could climb on he reached down with one hand into the darkness. "Ride behind me and hold on tight."

  "My thanks, effendi," said Mareth.

  The man was thin and wiry under his burnoose so that the horse accepted the extra load without complaint. He barely spoke except to give occasional directions, and when Declan tried to start a conv
ersation to relieve the tedium of the ride, the other reminded him respectfully that on a still night voices carried a long way in the desert.

  By the time they arrived the sky had lightened enough to show clearly the ground features around them, the line of men lying prone under the rim of the hill ahead and the horses, hungry after their long night ride, cropping contentedly on the patches of sparse grass further down the slope. Declan tethered his mount beside them while the other man pointed ahead toward one of the figures lying huddled under his cloak.

  "That is Bashir," said Mareth quietly. "We will approach him from behind, the last few paces on our bellies so as not to show ourselves above the skyline to the enemy."

  "Lead the way," Declan murmured.

  Keeping flat against the rising ground they drew level with Bashir, who nodded to Declan and said, "I know that you have keen eyes, but most of the area is still shadowed. Take an instant's look, show as little of your head as possible, and tell me what you can see and what you think it means."

  Declan did so, but when he lowered his head to the sand again he closed his eyes before he spoke, the better to fix the picture of what he had seen in his mind while he was describing it.

  "There are two groups spread out and hiding in the rocks above the camel road," he said, "in an uneven line stretching east to west They are already in ambush positions, so during the night they must have sent a scout westward along the track and know that the caravan is due soon and are ready for it. The first and smaller group, numbering no more than fifteen to twenty men, is just below us and very close while the larger one, which has about twice the strength of the first is farther and strung out in an uneven line to the westward. In a depression behind the larger group are their animals, about four camels and horses whose number is uncertain because there may be more concealed behind those I could see…"