Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (31 page)

Kerim
nodded,
reluctantly
acknowledging
the
truth
in
his
superior’s
words.

“If
truth
be
told,
Sir,
I
am,
mainly
because
I
see
how
vulnerable
they
would
be
to
an
attack
by
the
British
from
either
Kuwait
or
the
Gulf,
should
they
openly
re-affirm
their
alliance
with
us.”

“Do
you
think
they
will?”

Kerim
shook
his
head,
glad
to
be
able
to
honestly
report
back
without
betraying
his
friend’s
confidence.
“To
be
frank,
sir,
I
don’t
know
and,
I
believe,
neither
do
they.”
He
went
on
to
explain
what
he
and
Nasir
had
discussed.

The
general
nodded
grimly.
“One
thing
I
do
agree
with
you
on,
is
that
your
young
friend
wields
more
influence,
much
more,
than
he
realises.
To
have
him
uncertain
is
worrying.
At
least
Badr,
his
brother,
is
still
with
us.”
He
sighed
sadly.

“Let
us
hope
that
is
enough,
Kerim,
because
their
access
to
the
Gulf
waters
makes
them
too
valuable
to
lose,
particularly
to
lose
them
to
the
British.
If
they
don’t
join
us
we
will
have
no
option
but
to
invade
alongside
our
greedy
friends
the
Rashid,
no
option
at
all.”

Chapter
Thirteen

Spring
1916

Nasir
and
Badr
entered
the
camp
riding
either
side
of
Talal.
They’d
chosen
camels,
to
keep
in
step
with
Nasir’s
troop
of
riflemen.
Their
mounts
weren’t,
however,
any
of
the
three
score
beasts
of
the
particularly
sturdy
and
fierce
strain
of
war
camel,
bred
by
Bedu
deep
in
the
hinterland,
that
had
been
swiftly
purchased
by
some
of
the
Turkish
gold
disbursed
by
their
recent
visitors.
Nor
were
they
carrying
any
of
the
newly
gifted
rifles
given
by
their
Turkish
friends.
Nasir
had
no
intention
of
alerting
their
current
hosts
to
such
generosity
by
their
enemy.

He
doubted,
cynically,
that
their
current
de facto
hosts
would
be
as
casually
generous
as
the
Ottoman.
If
they
were,
he
suspected
there
would
be,
eventually,
a
much
heavier
price
to
pay
for
their
largesse;
but,
he
reflected,
benefits
came
in
many
forms
other
than
gold
or
guns.

None
of
the
inner
council
had
been
surprised
when
they
were
approached
by
British
interests
within
scant
weeks
of
their
meeting
with
the
Ottoman
delegation.
The
invitation
for
an
informal
gathering
had
come
from
Jaber,
the
son
and
recent
successor
to
the
powerful
Mubarak,
the
previous
sheikh
of
Kuwait,
their
near
neighbour.
His
letters’
careful,
casual
mention
that
some
British
friends
may
also
be
in
his
party,
warned
the
Narashi
that
refusal
wasn’t
a
realistic
option.
Certainly,
not
if
they
wanted
to
hear
what – if
anything – the
British
could
offer
before
they
confirmed
their
renewed
alliance
with
their
traditional
allies,
the
Turks.
For,
despite
Nasir’s
unease,
that
seemed
to
be
what
the
decision
would
be
in
the
majlis
,
regardless
of
what
he
or
most
of
the
others
of
the
inner
council
might
want.
In
the
meantime
they
had
known
the
regents
must
attend
Jaber’s
gathering.
Whether
Talal
should
be
risked
outside
the
safety
of
his
own
lands
was
much
debated,
until
Zahirah
said
flatly
that
he
must
learn
to
rule,
and
soon.
And
if
she,
his
mother,
was
prepared
to
risk
her
son’s
life,
the
matter
should
not
be
discussed
further,
and
he
should
go.
What
it
had
cost
her,
only
she
knew.
That
she
was
rewarded
by
a
grateful
glance
from
her
son
who
was
developing
as
strong
and
fierce
a
spirit
as
that
his
father
had
once
had,
was
reward
enough
for
her.

With
the
Narishi
wishing
that
as
little
attention
as
possible
should
be
drawn
to
the
meeting,
and
the
Kuwaiti
ruler
being
as
slippery
as
his
father
had
been,
the
meeting
was
in
the
almost
empty
no
man’s
land
that
separated
the
two
sheikhdoms.
With
a
bitter
irony
not
lost
on
either
Badr
or
Nasir
it
was
at
a
spot
not
far
distant
from
that
where
their
brother’s
abortive
first
meeting
with
the
Englishman
Shakespear
had
taken
place
some
six
years
previously.
Dismounting
in
the
heavily
armed
camp,
set
securely
within
a
ring
of
low
hills,
whose
crumbling
rocky
sides
provided
ample
cover
for
the
numerous
guards
surrounding
the
encampment,
the
Narashi
chiefs
were
swiftly
escorted
to
the
lavish
tent
of
their
host.
The
interior
fittings
of
the
large
tent
rivalled
even
Firyal’s
in
colourful
luxury
with
its
rich
hangings,
and
colourful,
intricately
woven
carpets
covering
the
sandy
floor.

Even
when
the
traditional
greetings
were
over
and
refreshments
had
been
offered
and
consumed
there
was
still
no
sign
of
any
British
presence.
Neither
of
the
two
Narashi
regents
remarked
on
this
absence.
They
were
content
to
wait
and
see
what
the
visit
produced.
The
rest
of
the
day
passed
pleasantly
enough
with
inter-tribal
gossip
and
friendly
rivalry
in
a
variety
of
war-like
pastimes.
Nasir’s
men
were
delighted
at
easily
winning
the
distance
marksmanship
competitions,
but
were
less
pleased
to
only
draw
in
the
short
distance
target
shooting
and
to
narrowly
lose
in
the
camel
racing.
That
they’d
been
quietly
ordered
to
do
so
by
Nasir
did
little
to
sooth
their
wounded
pride.
The
young
chief’s
orders
were
partly
out
of
courtesy
to
their
hosts
but
more
to
do
with
the
fact
that
he
had
no
intention
of
publicly
showing
how
superb
his
men
were
fast
becoming
in
all
aspects
of
warfare.
He
had
no
wish
to
forewarn
any
outsiders
of
the
growing
Narashi
strength
and
was
determined
that
their
rapidly
increasing
military
prowess
would
be
shown
only
where
it
mattered – on
the
battlefield.