The Khalifah's Mirror Page 3

  Even Sa’id’s sharp eyes could not make out the rider at that distance, but as the figure approached the camp it became clear that the captain was right. Ibn Musa al-Dahhak dismounted from his camel and swaggered over towards the assembled men. The Shaikh went to greet him.

  “You are welcome in my tent, son of my friend. Come and be refreshed, take milk with us.”

  Abu Wahb made to rub noses with his guest, but ibn Musa stepped away, avoiding him. The men of the Banu Jahm gasped at this open discourtesy.

  “I have not come to enjoy your meagre hospitality, Abu Wahb. I would not take your food, and leave your scrawny offspring to starve. I have merely come to ensure the return of our friends and their possessions, which you have so rudely snatched.”

  Sa’id saw that his uncle was fighting to keep control of himself.

  “They were in the territory of the Banu Jahm, and had not asked for our protection. They were ours to take, by the laws of the desert.”

  Ibn Musa laughed harshly.

  “The Banu Jahm have no territory. You live on the lands of the Banu Dahhak, under our sway and on our sufferance. Either these men and their cargo leave with me, or we will drive your kin from the Empty Quarter for ever.”

  A thin hissing sound escaped the Shaikh. Abu Bishr took a step towards him, and Sa’id knew that if his grandfather had to intervene, then Abu Wahb’s leadership of the family would be at an end. Fortunately Abu Wahb seemed to understand this too. He spoke proudly, but calmly.

  “As a gift of brotherhood and friendship, from one free clan of the Badawi to another, I give these men and their possessions into your care.”

  It was only when he exhaled that Sa’id realised he had been holding his breath. From the soft sighs around him he guessed he was not the only one. The Shaikh’s next words, though, caused him to draw air in sharply once more.

  “All except the boy from Basrah. He is mine.”

  “What madness is this, nephew?”

  Abu Bishr stormed forward, the men of the Banu Jahm in close attendance. The Shaikh backed away from them, suddenly reaching down to yank al-Hasan to his feet and pulling a long knife from his belt.

  “The boy knows the key to the riddle of the Wali’s gold! He will stay with me until I get it out of him — whatever it takes. And I will kill any man who tries to take him from me.”

  Sa’id wondered whether his uncle still believed in the gold, or whether it was merely a cover for his own, darker secret. He looked into the Shaikh’s face, but this time saw none of the contortions of untruth. It occurred to Sa’id that the man’s desires must have fused into one, melting together in the furnace of his insanity: the gold. The boy. And Sa’id himself.

  “Put the knife down, nephew. Nobody here seeks to do you harm. We are your kin.”

  From childhood Abu Bishr had taken second place. His younger brother Isa, quick, confident, and handsome, had acceded to the leadership of their family with such natural ease that Abu Bishr could not recall the matter ever being discussed. By the time Isa died, Abu Bishr had been deemed too old for the Shaikhdom, but was proud to defer to his son, and then his nephew after him. Abu Bishr had taken comfort from the fact that it was his grandson, if God willed, who was destined to succeed next. But now the old man stood at the head of the Banu Jahm, and his voice was calm and strong.

  “Put the knife down.”

  Abu Bishr walked fearlessly towards his nephew, arms outstretched in peaceful supplication. Abu Wahb, however, did not lower his blade, even when the point pricked his uncle’s skin, and a scarlet drop glistened in the low sun.

  “Drop the knife, or I will put an arrow in your eye.”

  Sa’id was as shocked as anyone else to see that it was his hunting bow drawn in trembling hands, and his own voice echoing around the camp. Abu Wahb turned slowly to him, as though waking from a dream.

  “But, nephew…”

  A look of confusion crossed his face, and the knife wavered at the old man’s throat. Then the boy al-Hasan gently peeled the Shaikh’s fingers from his collar, and rose to his full height. Slowly, teasingly, he planted a lingering kiss on Abu Wahb’s cheek. His eyes, though, were fixed on Sa’id.

  Later, Sa’id could not recall releasing the bowstring. It seemed that al-Hasan blew lightly in his direction, and that the puff of air gave wing to the arrow, which leapt from its constraints, soaring like a spirit. In reality Sa’id’s shaking must have become so violent that the string slipped from his fingers.

  It was fortunate that his tremors diverted the missile from his target. Sa’id could hit a running hare from fifty paces, so for him to miss his uncle at such close range evinced how little his hands were under his own control. Abu Wahb let the knife fall from his fingers, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Abu Bishr and Sa’id leaped towards him, the former to restrain him, and the latter to comfort him. Such was their relief that it was only the thud of a falling body that drew their attention to the arrow’s actual resting place. It protruded from the throat of ibn Musa al-Dahhak, who lay on his back staring glassy-eyed at the desert sky.

  II

  “Ibn Musa al-Dahhak is dead.”

  The captain looked up from the body, his voice full of malicious satisfaction.

  “Now you’re going to hell. When they learn that you have killed their Shaikh’s first-born son the Banu Dahhak will slaughter every last one of you, and defecate on your corpses.”

  The Banu Jahm stood around in silent consternation. Their Shaikh was sitting on the ground, rocking in the evening breeze. Abu Bishr gently prised the bow from his grandson’s hands, and held them between his own to still their shaking. His voice was cold as he addressed the captain.

  “Go. Your companions as well. Go to the Banu Dahhak, and carry the body of their kinsman with you. Whatever blood price they demand of us, we will pay it.”

  “And our cargo?”

  The old man spat on the ground.

  “That cursed metal has brought nothing but disaster to this family. Take it away, and may its ill luck go with you.”

  Sa’id watched this exchange as though he were not involved, but standing several paces away. He saw, rather than felt, the protective warmth with which his grandfather grasped his hands. He even imagined that he stared into his own grief-stricken eyes, and marvelled at the youth and vulnerability of the face before him. Then reason returned, sucking him back into his body.

  The captain was struggling with the Dahhaki’s cadaver. Reluctantly, as though fearing a trick, the merchant rose to help him.

  “I will not go.”

  The boy al-Hasan crouched defiantly beside Abu Wahb, the Shaikh’s helpless head drooping onto his shoulder. He fixed them with his glittering eyes as he spoke, as though daring them to contradict him.

  “I am a free man, and serve neither the Banu Dahhak nor the Banu Jahm. Your chief has offered me hospitality, and I will not leave unless he commands it.”

  Everyone looked to Abu Bishr, but the old man seemed suddenly weary from the exercise of unaccustomed authority, and said nothing. Sa’id wanted to scream, to demand that they chase the boy away as if he were a rabid dog, stamp on him as if he were a scorpion. But his voice would not obey him, and he doubted that his family would either. The men of the Banu Jahm drifted off, taking comfort in familiar chores, as the merchant and the captain led away their camels, and their cargo of tin.

  That night Abu Wahb did not lie with any of his wives. He spent the hours of darkness beyond the firelight, with the boy al-Hasan, but his moans and gasps could be heard throughout the camp. Sa’id did not know whether they were sounds of passion or pain, or, most likely, both; nobody went to investigate. Sometimes a hush would briefly fall, and his family would dare to hope he had fallen asleep. Each time, however, the cries would begin again, until a harsh dawn lightened the sky.

  The prospect of a day alone with the camels was welcome to Sa’id, and he wasted no time in driving his herd from the camp. He was more glad, however, when his grandfath
er caught up with him after a few miles. They exchanged no greetings, but rode together, warmed by the ascending sun and each other’s company.

  Good grazing was becoming hard to find. The family would have to move north, the next day or the day after. When at last they came upon some vegetation, and the beasts were busy feeding, Sa’id finally spoke.

  “How will we pay?”

  Abu Bishr thought for a long time before replying.

  “You mean the blood price? I can only hope that it is money, or livestock, that the Banu Dahhak demand. Tell me, my son; for I am an old man, my eyes burnt out by the remorseless glare of sun on sand. Do you see anything there, to the east?”

  “Yes, grandfather. I see men riding.”

  “That is what I thought. How many men, do you think?”

  “I cannot yet tell. Three, or more, on swift camels. If the blood price is more than we can afford, it will mean the end for this family, as free people of the desert. We will have to flee to the city, and sell our soul for a daily wage.”

  “You speak truly, my son. Perhaps, after all, it would be better to pay in blood. We have more of it to spare. Those men, to the east: are they coming towards us, would you say?”

  “I believe they are, grandfather. There are four of them, and I see the glint of metal. Should we drive the herd back to the camp?”

  “Can we outrun them?”

  Sa’id wrinkled his brow, gauging the distance and speed of the approaching riders.

  “No. We cannot.”

  “And we cannot let them take the foals and their mothers, or the family will indeed be ruined. Perhaps you should ride for help, while I guard the animals.”

  Sa’id merely shook his head, and drew the bow from his back.

  The warriors of the Banu Dahhak separated as they approached, circling around Sa’id and his grandfather. They uttered no war cries; the sound of their attack was the muted thudding of camels’ hooves and the jingle of tack.

  The horn of the bow felt wrong in Sa’id’s hands, now that he had killed a man with it. However he choked down his revulsion and pulled back the string. His first missile sang true, but he was relieved to see that it had only lodged in the Dahhaki’s shoulder. The man was hurt, but not dangerously.

  Then they were too close. Sa’id dropped his bow and jerked the long knife free from his belt. Abu Bishr hefted his rusty sword.

  The Dahhakis were carrying lances, and charged, points raised. The fastest could not control his mount, and veered wide, either he or the camel betraying inexperience. Another bore down on Abu Bishr, but the old man brushed the thrust aside with practised ease.

  The third, however, drove his weapon into Sa’id’s camel, causing it to scream in pain, and keel over. Sa’id rolled off quickly enough that his leg was not crushed, but the knife span out of his grasp. As he scrambled away he saw two of the warriors looming over him. One had left his lance in Sa’id’s camel, but the other was still armed, and now poised to strike.

  A terrible yell, drowning out the wounded animal, made the Dahhaki warrior pause, and look round. Then Abu Bishr al-Jahm crashed into him, his old cracked voice roaring and the rusty sword swinging. As Sa’id had suspected, the blade was too blunt to cut through the Dahhaki’s flesh, but the impact of the metal clanging into his head was sufficient to leave him dazed. Sa’id took advantage of the distraction to dive for his knife.

  He turned to see his grandfather surrounded. The warriors had unsheathed their own polished swords, and battered again and again at the old man’s desperate defence. Sa’id staggered towards them, trying to draw their attention. But the mounted men were immersed in a narrow, desperate world of blows and grunts and the threat of imminent death. Sa’id may as well have been miles away.

  While Sa’id watched, one of the blows broke through his grandfather’s guard. Dark blood erupted into the bright sunlight. Abu Bishr fought on, but the wound had clearly weakened him. A second blade bit. He still roared, and the air was full of his war cry and the clash of metal. A third cut came, and a fourth, and then he did not fight back any more. A fifth and a sixth and a seventh silenced him.

  The only sounds that survived were the screaming of the injured camel, and the shouts of Sa’id. The men of the Banu Dahhak turned to look at him. Sa’id held his knife proudly. If he was to die he would die like a warrior. However his enemies spurred their mounts, and rode away.

  Sa’id could not understand why they had let him live. Perhaps they wished to tend to their kinsman, whom Sa’id had shot. Perhaps they felt they had done enough to avenge ibn Musa. Whatever their reason, he had duties to attend to. He put his knife across his camel’s throat, ending its pain.

  They buried Abu Bishr al-Jahm later that day. The men dug a hole while the women washed the body and wept. Sa’id led them in the prayer, stumbling over the words, then the old man was quietly interred.

  After the ceremony, still standing around the grave, the men of the Banu Jahm debated their response.

  “They have taken a life for a life. It is just. We should head north, let things calm down for a while.”

  “And not take vengeance for Abu Bishr? What sort of men would that make us?”

  “If we kill another of the Banu Dahhak, they will kill another one of us, and where does that end? They are many more than we are.”

  “We could ask the Wali to enforce a peace…”

  “Men of the desert do not go running to the cities to solve their problems. We should expel Abu Wahb. This whole mess is his fault.”

  The former Shaikh of the Banu Jahm had not participated in his uncle’s funeral. He sat some distance away, with the boy al-Hasan wrapped around him and whispering in his ear.

  “He is still our kin. Shaitan has possessed him. He is sick with love.”

  “Whether we fight or flee, this family is finished.”

  At this gloomy assessment the men fell quiet. Then they looked to Sa’id, who gazed at the horizon before speaking.

  “There is one way we might save the family. But the risk is great.”

  One or two of the men smiled.

  “We may regret what has passed, but we cannot go backwards. So we must go forwards, boldly and without hesitation. We will raid the camp of the Banu Dahhak. Hit them so hard that they cannot hit back; so that they would not dare, even if they have the strength. We may yet turn this tribulation into a new beginning for our kin.”

  Now all the men were grinning, despite the sombre setting. The Banu Jahm had a new Shaikh.

  ***

  They attacked in the hour before dawn. This time, however, the Banu Jahm had not come to steal, to surprise and disarm, but to kill.

  The Banu Dahhak, fearing reprisals, had posted guards. An arrow from Sa’id’s bow accounted for one of them, but the missile pierced his gut, and the noise of his slow dying roused his kinsmen. They emerged from their tents waving swords and spears. Sa’id ibn Bishr, Shaikh of the Banu Jahm, spurred his mount and led his clan into battle.

  Around him men were yelling war cries, bellowing the names of their camels or their sisters. Sa’id tried to stay calm, to remain in control of his situation, in case he was needed to issue orders. As they came upon the Banu Dahhak a warrior stepped out in front of him. The warrior’s turban was partly unwrapped, and dangled down by his side. Sa’id lifted his spear, and that was all it took to end the Dahhaki’s life, the momentum of Sa’id’s charge being sufficient to drive the point through the man’s body.

  The impact, however, nearly pushed Sa’id from his saddle, and his camel staggered. The young Shaikh climbed down from his beast, pulling a long sword from his belt. The weapon had belonged to Abu Wahb, and had been presented to Sa’id by one of his uncle’s wives the previous evening. Sa’id had been reluctant to connive in this public humiliation, but Abu Wahb himself had seemed indifferent, preoccupied only with the boy al-Hasan.

  Sa’id had considered driving the boy from the camp as his first act as Shaikh. However he knew that this would be tant
amount to a death sentence for one raised in the city, that the boy could never survive alone in the Empty Quarter, and he could not find it in his heart to condemn him. He was also concerned that Abu Wahb would go too, and Sa’id had not lost hope that his uncle would return to his senses.

  He was surprised, though, when both the former Shaikh and his incubus mounted camels to join them on the raid. Al-Hasan had even offered him a swig from his water bottle, and Sa’id warily accepted the gesture of friendship, although the water tasted bitter. The Banu Jahm would need every blade they could muster.

  In the camp of the Banu Dahhak, the darkness was broken only by flickering torches and mazed by swirling dust and clamour. Sa’id quickly realised that any attempt to direct the battle would be futile. The Banu Jahm were outnumbered two to one; chaos was their ally. He lurched between the tents, looking for someone to kill.

  When a man ran at him he could not tell whether it was kinsman or enemy, and his hesitation nearly allowed the Dahhaki to run him through. Sa’id barely parried a vicious lunge, and the man pressed his advantage. Forced backwards, Sa’id could make no attack of his own, but only bat away his opponent’s blows; and concentrating on the slashing metal, he failed to see the tent rope behind him. He felt a tug at the back of his legs, then was sprawling on the ground, winded and weaponless.

  The Dahhaki cackled as he raised his sword to strike. The expression of cruel mockery was frozen on his face by the blade that hacked into his neck, half severing his head, so that it hung quizzically to one side for a moment before he crumpled to the ground. A hand reached down to help Sa’id up.

  “This is fun, isn’t it?”

  Sa’id was astonished to see that his rescuer was al-Hasan. The boy retrieved his sword from the mutilated corpse and wiped it on the Dahhaki’s robes as calmly as if he were washing after a meal. Abu Wahb lumbered behind him, eyes darting around in confusion. Sa’id opened his mouth to speak, but could find no words appropriate to the situation. Al-Hasan pointed across the open desert to where a bowed figure stumbled over the sand.