The Triumph of the Sun Page 35

  At the head of this formation rode a small group of Ansar on fine Arab steeds, which had been lovingly curried until their hides shone in the sunlight like polished metal. Their long silky manes had been combed out and plaited with coloured ribbons. Their trappings and tack were of painted and beautifully decorated leather. The horsemen sat upon their backs with the panache and studied arrogance of warriors.

  ‘Aggagiers!’ Yakub muttered, as they drew closer. ‘The killers of elephant.’

  Penrod drew the tail of his turban closer over his mouth and nose so that only his eyes showed, and edged aside his camel to pass the group at a safe distance. As they drew level with them they saw the horsemen staring across at them. They were animatedly discussing the two strangers.

  ‘Damn Ryder Courtney for his taste in camel flesh.’ For the first time since leaving Khartoum, Penrod bemoaned the quality of their mounts. They were magnificent creatures, more befitting a khalifa or a powerful emir than a lowly tribesman. Even in this vast assembly they stood out as thoroughbreds. Yakub urged his camel forward at a faster clip, and Penrod cautioned him sharply: ‘Gently, fearless Yakub. Their eyes are upon you. When the mice run the cat pounces.’

  Yakub reined in, and they continued at more leisurely pace, but this did not deter the aggagiers. Two broke away from the group and rode across to them.

  ‘They are of the Beja,’ Yakub said hoarsely. ‘They mean us no good.’

  ‘Steady, glib and cunning Yakub. You must deceive them with your ready tongue.’

  The leading aggagier came up and reined his bay mare down to a walk. ‘The blessings of Allah and His Victorious Mahdi upon you, strangers. What is your tribe and who is your emir?’

  ‘May Allah and the Mahdi, grace upon him, always smile upon you,’ Yakub responded, in a clear untroubled voice. ‘I am Hogal al-Kadir of the Jaalin, and we ride under the banner of the Emir Salida.’

  ‘I am al-Noor, of the Beja tribe. My master is the famed Emir Osman Atalan, upon whom be all the blessings of Allah.’

  ‘He is a mighty man, beloved of Allah and the Ever Victorious Mahdi, may he live long and prosper.’ Penrod touched his heart and his forehead. ‘I am Suleimani Iffara, a Persian of Jeddah.’ Some Persians had fair hair and pale eyes, and Penrod had adopted that nationality to explain his features. It would also account for the slight nuances and inflections in his speech.

  ‘You are a long way from Jeddah, Suleimani Iffara.’ Al-Noor rode closer and stared at him thoughtfully.

  ‘The Divine Mahdi has declared jihad against the Turk and the Frank,’ Penrod replied. ‘All true believers must hearken to his summons and make haste to join up with him, no matter how hard and long the journey.’

  ‘You are welcome to our array, but if you travel under the banner of Emir Salida, you must ride harder to catch up with him.’

  ‘We are solicitous of the camels,’ Yakub explained, ‘but on your advice we will move faster.’

  ‘They are indeed magnificent beasts,’ al-Noor agreed, but he was staring at Penrod and not at his mount. He could see only his eyes, but they were the eyes of a jinnee and disconcertingly familiar. Yet it would be a deadly offence to order him to unveil his features. ‘My master Osman Atalan has sent me to enquire if you wish to sell any. He would pay you a good price in gold coin.’

  ‘I have the utmost respect for your mighty master,’ Penrod replied, ‘but rather would I sell my firstborn son.’

  ‘I have said before and I say again that they are magnificent creatures. My master will be saddened by your reply.’ Al-Noor lifted his reins to turn away, then paused, ‘There is aught about you, Suleimani Iffara, your eyes or your voice, that is familiar. Have we met before?’

  Penrod shrugged. ‘Perhaps in the mosque of Omdurman.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ al-Noor said dubiously, ‘but if I have seen you before I will remember. My memory is good.’

  ‘We go on ahead to find our commander,’ Yakub intervened. ‘May the sons of Islam triumph in the battle that looms ahead.’

  Al-Noor turned to him. ‘I pray that your words may carry to the ear of God. Victory is sweet, but death is the ultimate purpose of life. It is the key to Paradise. If the victory is denied to us, may Allah grant us glorious martyrdom.’ He touched his heart in farewell salute. ‘Go with the blessings of Allah.’ He galloped away to rejoin his squadron.

  ‘The Emir Atalan,’ Yakub whispered in awe. ‘We ride in the same company as your most deadly enemy. This is the same as carrying a cobra in your bosom.’

  ‘Al-Noor has granted us permission to leave his banner,’ Penrod reminded him. ‘Let us make all haste to obey.’

  They stirred up the camels with the goad, and pushed them into a trot. As they pulled away Penrod looked across at the distant group of aggagiers. Now that he knew what to look for he recognized the elegant figure of Osman Atalan in a bone-white jibba with gaily coloured patches that caught the eye like jewels. On his lovely pale mare he was riding a few lengths ahead of the rest of his band. He was staring at Penrod, and even at that distance his gaze was disturbing.

  Behind his master, al-Noor drew his rifle from its boot under his knee and pointed it to the sky. Penrod saw the spurt of blue powder smoke a few seconds before the report reached his ears. He lifted his own rifle and returned this feu du joie. Then they rode on.

  They were challenged several times during the rest of the day. The quality of their camels and their obvious haste marked them out even among this huge gathering of animals and men. Each time they asked for the red banner of Emir Salida of the Jaalin, they were told, ‘He leads the vanguard,’ and they were pointed ahead. Penrod pushed on rapidly: ever since the meeting with al-Noor he had felt uneasy.

  They paused in their journey only once more. One of the petty traders who followed the armies called to them as they passed. They turned aside to inspect his wares. He had rounds of dhurra bread, roasted in camel’s milk butter and sesame seeds. He showed them also dried dates and apricots, and goat’s milk cheese, whose high aroma started their saliva. They filled their food bags, and Penrod paid the exorbitant prices with Maria Theresa dollars.

  When they rode on the merchant watched them until they were well out of earshot, then called his son who handled the pack donkeys. ‘I know that man well. He marched with Hicks Pasha to El Obeid, at the start of the war of jihad. I sold him a gold inlaid dagger, and he bargained shrewdly. I would never mistake him for another. He is an infidel and a Frankish effendi. His name is Abadan Riji. Go, my son, to the mighty Emir Osman Atalan, and tell him all these things. Tell him that an enemy marches in the ranks of the warriors of Allah.’

  The sun was sinking towards the western horizon and the elongated shadows cast by their camels flitted across the orange yellow dunes when at last Penrod made out the streaming red banner of Emir Salida through the dustclouds ahead.

  ‘This is the front rank of the army,’ Yakub agreed. He rode close to Penrod’s right hand so that he did not have to raise his voice: other riders were within earshot. ‘Many of these men are Jaalin. I have recognized two who carry a blood feud against me. They are of the family who drove me out of my tribe, and made me an outcast. If they confront me I will be honour-bound to kill them.’

  ‘Then let us part company with them.’

  The Nile was only a mile distant on their left hand. The whole army had been following the course of the river since they had joined it at Berber. At this late hour of the day many other travellers were turning aside to water their animals on the riverbank. They were too intent on their own affairs to remark the presence of the two strangers among them. Nevertheless Penrod contrived to keep well clear of them.

  The grazing closer to the riverbank was dense and luscious. The grass reached as high as the knees of their camels. Suddenly there was an explosion of wings from under the front pads of Yakub’s mount, and a covey of quail rocketed into the air. These were the Syrian Blue variety of their breed, larger than the common quail and highly prized for the pot.
Yakub swivelled in his saddle and, with a whipping motion of his right hand, threw the heavy camel goad he carried. It cartwheeled through the air and smacked into one of the birds. In a burst of blue, gold and chestnut feathers the quail tumbled to earth.

  ‘Behold! Yakub, the mighty hunter,’ he exulted.

  The rest of the covey swung across the nose of Penrod’s camel and he made his throw. The goad clipped the head off the leading cock bird, and spun on with almost no deflection. It thumped into a plump young hen and snapped her near wing. She came down heavily and scuttled away through the tall grass.

  Penrod jumped from the camel’s back and chased her. She jinked and fluttered up, but he snatched her out of the air. Holding her by the head he flicked his wrist and broke her neck. He retrieved his goad and the cock’s carcass, then ran back to his mount and swung up into the saddle. ‘Behold! Suleimani Iffara, the humble traveller from Jeddah, who would never boast of his prowess.’

  ‘Then I will not embarrass him by speaking of it,’ Yakub agreed ruefully.

  So they came down to the river. Hundreds of horses and camels were spread out along the bank, drinking. Others were grazing on the green growth that bordered it. Men were filling their waterskins, and some were bathing in the shallows.

  Penrod picked out a spot on the bank that was well away from any of these people. They hobbled the camels and let them drink while they filled the waterskins and cut bundles of fresh grass. They turned the hobbled camels loose to graze, and built a small cooking fire. They roasted the trio of quail, golden brown and oozing fragrant juices. Then Yakub went to the cow camel and milked her into a bowl. He warmed the milk and they washed down with it a round of dhurra bread topped with a slice of the cheese, which reeked more powerfully than the goat that had produced it. They ended the meal with a handful of dates and apricots. It was tastier fare than Penrod had ever enjoyed in the dining room of the Gheziera Club.

  Afterwards they lay under the stars with their heads close together. ‘How far are we from the town of Abu Hamed?’ Penrod asked.

  With his spread fingers Yakub indicated a segment of the sky.

  ‘Two hours.’ Penrod translated the angle to time. ‘Abu Hamed is where we must leave the river and cut across the bight to the Wells of Gakdul.’

  ‘Two days’ travel from Abu Hamed.’

  ‘Once we pass the vanguard of the Dervish, we will be able to travel at better speed.’

  ‘It will be a great pity to kill the camels.’ Yakub rose up on one elbow and watched them grazing nearby. He whistled softly and the cream-coloured cow wandered over to him, stepping short against her hobble. He fed her one of the rounds of dhurra cake and stroked her ear as she crunched it up.

  ‘O compassionate Yakub, you will cut a man’s throat as happily as you break wind, but you grieve for a beast who was born to die?’ Penrod rolled on to his back and spread his arms like a crucifix. ‘You stand the first watch. I will take the second. We will rest until the moon is at its zenith. Then we will go on.’ He closed his eyes and began almost at once to snore softly.

  When Yakub woke him, the midnight chill had already soaked through his woollen cloak and he looked to the sky. It was time. Yakub was ready. They stood up and, without a word, went to the camels, loosened the hobbles and mounted up.

  The watchfires of the sleeping army guided them. The smoke lay in a dense fog along the wadis, and concealed their movements. The pads of the camels made no sound, and they had secured their baggage with great care so that it neither creaked nor clattered. None of the sentries challenged them as they passed each encampment.

  Within the two hours that Yakub had predicted they passed the village of Abu Hamed. They kept well clear, but their scent roused the village dogs, whose petulant yapping faded as they left the river and struck out along the ancient caravan route that crossed the great bight of the Nile. By the time dawn broke they had left the Dervish army far behind.

  In the middle of the next afternoon they couched the camels in the lengthening shadow of a small volcanic hillock and fed them on the fodder they had cut on the riverbank. Despite the severity of the march the camels ate hungrily. The two men examined them at rest but found no ominous swellings on their limbs or shale cuts on their pads.

  ‘They have travelled well, but the hard marches lie ahead.’

  Penrod took the first watch and climbed to the top of the hillock so that he could overlook their back trail. He panned his telescope over the south horizon in the direction of Abu Hamed, but could pick out no dustcloud or any other sign of pursuit. He built a knee-high wall of loose volcanic rocks to screen himself in this exposed position, and settled comfortably behind it. For the first time since they had left the Nile he felt easier. He waited for the cool of the evening, and before the sun reached the horizon he sat up and once more glassed the southern horizon.

  It was only a yellow feather of dust, small and ephemeral, showing almost coyly for a few minutes, then dissipating and fading away as though it were merely an illusion, a trick of the heated air. Then it materialized again, and hovered in the heat, like a tiny yellow bird. ‘On the caravan road, fairly on our tracks, the dust rises over soft ground and subsides again when the trail crosses shale or lava beds.’ He explained to himself the intermittent appearance of the dustcloud. ‘It seems that al-Noor’s memory has returned at last. Yet these cannot be horsemen. There is no water. Camels are the only animals that can survive out here. There are no camels in the Dervish army that can run us down. Our mounts are the swiftest and finest.’

  He stared through the lens of his telescope but could make out nothing under the dust. Still too far off, he thought. They must be all of seven or eight miles away. He ran down the hill. Yakub saw him coming and could tell from his haste that trouble was afoot. He had the camels saddled and loaded before Penrod reached them. Penrod jumped into his saddle and his mount lurched up, groaning and spitting. He turned her head northwards, and urged her into trot.

  Yakub rode up alongside him. ‘What have you seen?’

  ‘Dust on our backtrail. Camels.’

  ‘How can you tell that?’

  ‘What horse can survive so far from water?’

  ‘When the aggagiers are in hot pursuit of either elephant or men, they use both their camels and their horses. At the beginning of the hunt they ride the camels, and also use them to carry the water. That is how they save the horses until they have their quarry in sight. Then they change to them for the final chase. You have seen the quality of their horses. No camel can run against them.’ He looked back over his shoulder. ‘If those are the aggagiers of Osman Atalan, they will have us in sight by dawn tomorrow.’

  They rode on through the night. Penrod gave no thought to conserving the water in the skins. A little before midnight they stopped just long enough to give each animal two bucketfuls of water. Penrod stretched out on the ground and used an inverted milk bowl as a sounding board to pick up the reverberation of distant hoofs. When he placed his ear against it, he could hear nothing. He did not allow this to lull him into complacency. Only when they sighted the pursuers at dawn would they know how far they were trailing behind them. They wasted no time and padded on through the desolation and the hissing silence of the desert.

  As the first soft light of dawn gave definition to the landscape Penrod halted again. Once again he was prodigal with the remaining water, and ordered Yakub to give each of the camels two more buckets and the remainder of the fodder.

  ‘At this rate, we will have emptied the skins by this evening,’ Yakub grumbled.

  ‘By this evening we will either have reached the Wells of Gakdul, or we will be dead. Let them drink and eat. It will lighten their load, and give strength to their legs.’

  He walked back a hundred yards and once again used the milk bowl as a sounding cup. For a few minutes he heard nothing, and grunted with relief. But some deep instinct made him linger. Then he heard it, a tremble of air within his eardrum, so faint it might been a trick o
f the dawn breeze sweeping over the rocks. He wetted his forefinger and held it up. There was no wind.

  He lowered his head to the bowl, cupped his hands round his ear and closed his eyes. Silence at first. He took a deep breath and held it. At the outer reaches of his hearing there was a susurration, like fine sand agitated gently in a dried gourd, or the breathing of a beloved woman sleeping at his side in the watches of the night. Even in this fraught situation an image of Rebecca flared in his memory, so young and lovely in the bed beside him, her hair spread over them both like cloth of gold. He thrust away the picture, stood up and went back to the camels. ‘They are behind us,’ he said quietly.

  ‘How far?’ Yakub asked.

  ‘We will be able to see them clearly in the first rays of the sun.’ They both glanced into the east. The sun cast a nimbus around a distant hilltop, as though it were the rugged head of an ancient saint.

  ‘And they will see us just as clearly.’ Yakub’s voice was husky and he cleared his throat.

  ‘How far to the Wells of Gakdul?’ Penrod asked.

  ‘More than half a day’s ride,’ Yakub answered. ‘Too far. On those horses they will catch us long before we reach the wells.’

  ‘What terrain lies ahead? Is there a place for us to take cover where we might evade them?’

  ‘We approach the Tirbi Kebir.’ Yakub pointed ahead. ‘There is good reason why it is called the Great Graveyard.’ This was one of the most formidable obstacles along the entire crossing of the bight. It was a salt pan twenty miles across. The surface was level as a sheet of frosted glass, unmarred by a single ripple or undulation, other than the broad indentation of the caravan road. Both its verges were outlined by the skeletons of the men and camels who, over the centuries, had perished along the way. The noon sunlight reflecting off the diamond white salt crystals lit the noonday sky with a glare that could be seen from many leagues in every direction. A camel standing in the centre of this great white place could be clearly recognized from the perimeter. The unrelenting sunlight, reflected and magnified by the shining surface, could roast man and beast like a slow fire.