Sheba. Part 35

'It's true^ Kane said. 'But it's Marie I'm worried about. Ruth Cunningham says they're supposed to be waiting at Hazar.'

Jordan frowned. 'I pa.s.sed through the place two weeks ago. There's a tribe of Bedouins camped there - Bal Harith. Their chiefs called Mahmoud, a wizened old guy with a grey beard.'

Kane nodded. 'I know the man you mean. I've traded with him in the past.' His eyes narrowed. 'Come to think of it, I heard that Muller was pretty thick with the Bal Harith. Maybe he knew they were encamped at Hazar.'

Jordan grinned. 'They're the sort of friends he and Skiros would need. Big, rough-looking guys who bare their teeth and finger their rifles every time I drive by. They'd cut your throat for a pair of socks.'

Kane shook his head. 'Not Mahmoud. He's a Bedouin of the old school. Very keen on his honour and the strict observance of the ancient customs.'

He pushed himself to his feet and walked out from under the awning. He felt light-headed again and swayed slightly, bracing his feet to steady himself. Jordan said anxiously, 'Sure you feel okay?'

'I'll feel a lot better when I catch up with Skiros,' Kane told him. 'Can I borrow one of the trucks?'

Jordan shook his head. 'No need, I'm corning with you. I happen to think quite a lot about Marie Ferret myself

'What about Cunningham and his wife?'

Jordan shrugged. 'They'll sleep for hours. I'll leave my men here to look after them.'

Kane was too tired to argue. He called Jamal over, explained the situation, and they climbed into one of the trucks and waited for Jordan, who was giving his men their instructions.

They drove away a few minutes later, Jordan behind the wheel, and Kane closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. It was as if all the action, all the pa.s.sion of the past few days had finally caught up with him, draining the strength from his very bones. He didn't even bother to think about what lay ahead.

They reached Hazar in just under an hour, and Jordan braked the truck at the head of the wide valley and they looked down on the black tents of the Bedouins.

'Whatever happens, leave the talking to me,' Kane said. 'I know exactly how I'm going to handle it.'

The palm trees of the oasis extended for several hundred yards along the valley, their green fronds forming a solid roof against the rays of the sun. As they drove into the encampment, scattering camels and goats before them, children ran towards the tents with shrill cries of alarm, and tall, black-bearded men in flowing robes emerged, most of them carrying rifles.

As they drove into the centre of the camp, Kane straightened in his seat and Jamal touched him lightly on the shoulder. Fifty or sixty yards away, two trucks were parked.

Jordan saw them in the same moment. 'Looks as if we've come to the right place.'

He braked to a halt outside the largest tent, and a commanding figure moved outside and stood looking towards them.

Mahmoud was very old, his flowing beard heavily streaked with silver, and his skin was drawn tightly like parchment over fine bones. His robes were of dazzling whiteness and the hilt of his jambiya was of finely wrought gold.

The tribesmen moved silently in on them, surrounding the vehicle and effectively cutting off any retreat. They looked anything but friendly.

Jordan said quietly, 'Have you noticed their rifles? The very latest. No wonder Skiros chose to wait here.

Kane got out of the truck, moved forward slowly and halted a few paces away from Mahmoud. For a brief moment they looked into each other's eyes, and then the old Arab smiled and extended his hand. 'My good friend, Kane. It is a long time since we hunted together with the falcons.'

Kane took the proffered hand and smiled. Time has been good to you, Mahmoud. Each year you grow younger.' He turned and nodded towards Jordan. 'I bring a friend.'

Mahmoud's face wrinkled with distaste. 'I know him. The young man who tears up the ground and makes the air stink with his machines.' An expression of discomfort appeared on Jordan's face, but the old man smiled and made a courteous gesture with one hand. 'On this occasion we make him welcome for the sake of a friend.'

He turned and walked through the low entrance into the cool interior and Kane and Jordan followed.

They sat cross-legged on soft rugs and waited until a woman shrouded in black robes emerged from the rear of the tent carrying a coffee-pot, three cups, and a bowl of boiled rice on a bra.s.s tray.

Kane and Jordan, observing the usual formalities, drank their coffee and ate a little of the rice, dipping their fingers into the communal bowl as did Mahmoud.

As the woman handed them a damp cloth with which to wipe the grease from their fingers, Kane sighed with relief, all tension easing inside him. Whatever course the conversation took, whatever happened, they were now safe. They had eaten and drunk with Mahmoud in the midst of his tribe. No harm could possibly come to them now.

There was a slight silence before Mahmoud said politely, 'You have come far, my friend?'

Kane nodded. 'Far and fast. I seek two men who have wronged me deeply.'

'A man's honour is his life,' Mahmoud said seriously. 'May Allah guide your footsteps.'

'He has already shown me his great mercy,' Kane replied. 'The men I seek are here in your camp. I have seen their trucks.'

Mahmoud was not visibly moved. He nodded calmly. 'There are two Franks in my tents. My good friend Professor Muller and the fat one from Dahrein. In what way have they offended your honour?'

Kane kept his voice flat and unemotional. 'They have taken my woman.'

There was quiet and the old man stroked his beard gently with one slender hand. After a moment, he said,

'Certainly they have a woman with them. One of mixed blood. She has not left their tent since their arrival.'

'She is the one,' Kane said.

Mahmoud got to his feet with easy grace. 'Wait here,' he said calmly, and went outside.

Jordan moved restlessly. 'What was all that supposed to mean?'

Kane explained quickly. 'It's the one way we can bring Skiros out into the open. A woman may be just a household chattel to a Bedouin, but the similarity ends there. To steal a man's woman is one of the most serious crimes known to these people.'

'Okay, I'll buy that,' Jordan said impatiently. 'But I still don't see how it's going to help.'

Before Kane could reply, Mahmoud came back into the tent, followed by Muller and Skiros.

Kane and Jordan rose to their feet, and Kane moved forward a step. The expression of dismay on Muller's face was ludicrous, but Skiros showed little emotion. 'We saw you arrive. It would appear that miracles still do happen. Presumably Selim has been delayed.'

'Indefinitely, I'm afraid,' Kane replied.

'So, you are old friends,' Mahmoud said softly.

'Hardly that,' Skiros told him. 'This man has done me great harm, One might even say he has also harmed you and your people. Because of his actions, Muller and I must leave the country. There will be no more arms for the border tribes.'

'That is certainly most unfortunate and my people would not be pleased if they knew,' Mahmoud said, 'but Kane is a guest in my tents and his safety is as much my concern as is your own.'

Skiros shrugged. 'Naturally, that is your own affair, but I feel I should warn you that this man is your enemy.'

Mahmoud walked away a few paces as if deep in thought and said slowly, 'This woman you have in your tent, she belongs to you?'

Skiros stiffened and Muller mopped sweat from his face with a trembling hand. 'In what way can this woman concern you?' the German asked.