Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (8 page)

She
nodded
her
thanks,
her
actual
expression
warmer
than
her
feelings
toward
one
who,
inevitably,
was
a
serious
rival
to
her
son.
In
the
meantime,
she’d
been
giving
as
much
serious
thought
as
time
and
events
had
allowed
as
to
who
would
open
the
assembly.
Were
he
older,
it
would
be
natural
for
Talal
to
lead
the
majlis
.
His
youth
however
made
that
impossible
at present.
She
and
Firyal
were,
however,
well
aware
of
the
danger
of
allowing
any
potential
rival
the
opportunity
such
a
position
would
give
as
a
springboard
for
their
own
ambitions.

“As
the
brother
closest
to
Fouad
I
will
naturally
lead
the
gathering,”
said
Badr
matter
of
factly,
almost
casually.
as
he
turned
and
gestured
to
his
guards
who
then
left
the
room,
his
point
made.
“In
these
difficult
times,
it
will,
I
think,
show
unity,”
he
said
smoothly.

Ay Allah
,
thought
Zahirah,
for
once
caught
off
guard
by
the
speed
of
his
attack.
That would not, must not, happen
she
knew,
but
her
mind
was still
immersed
in
her
children’s
grief, and
she
was
momentarily,
and
unusually,
unable
to
produce
an
adequate
reason
why
not.

“That
would
be
excellent
Brother!”
lied
Nasir,
fighting
to
control
his
laboured
breathing.
“But,
alas,
Abdullah
must
open
it;
anything
else
would
be
unthinkable!”
he
added
smoothly.

Ay! The boy has certainly become the man!
thought
Zahirah,
caught
between
gratitude
for
his
quick
thinking
and... Something
else.
Something
she
couldn’t
quite
put
her
finger
on,
not
yet;
something
that
had
first
taken
root
when
she’d
observed
his
icy
coolness,
despite
his
wounds,
on
the
race
back
to
Narash.

That
it
had
caught
Badr
off
guard
also,
was
seen
only
by
the
briefest
of
pauses
before
he
nodded
reluctant
agreement.
He
had
little
option
once
the
name
had
been
voiced.
Abdullah,
their
great-uncle,
was
the
eldest
surviving
sheikh
of
their
family,
and
to
deny
him
his
place
at
the
majlis
would,
now
his
name
had
been
broached,
be
an
insult
of
the
highest
order.

Gracefully
taking
their
leave
of
Badr,
who
turned
and
left
the
chamber
to
join
his
men,
Zahirah
and
Firyal,
seeing
that
Nasir
had
lapsed
again
into
semi-consciousness,
left
him
to
the
care
of
Nawwaf
and
Ayesha.
Before
she
left,
Firyal
handed
the
girl
a
small
glass
jar that
she’d
had
brought
from
her
private
rooms.

“See
that
Lord
Nasir
is
given
this
when
he
next
regains
consciousness.
It
will
help
him
over
the
next
few
days.”
She
gave
the
girl
quiet
instructions
on
dosage
and
left
the
room
with
Zahirah.

“It
is
a
potion
which
will
give
him
strength
and
clearness
of
mind
for
the
coming
days.
It
will
come
at
a
price,
however,”
she
cautioned.
“He
will
feel
its
less
pleasant
effects
for
many
weeks,
but
will,
in
time,
Allah
willing,
get
rid
of
it
from
his
body.”
Zahirah
nodded
in
gratitude.
Nasir’s
spirit
she
didn’t
doubt,
but
his
physical
weakness
was
causing
her
concern.
Without
him,
she
knew,
they
were
dangerously,
perhaps
fatally,
weakened.

Refusing
to
be
separated
from
the
children – for she knew that to
hear
of
how
rule
is
achieved
and
kept could do nothing
but
help
them – she let them cluster
around
her
feet
as
she,
her
mother-in-law,
and
Isaac,
reluctantly
taken
from
Nasir’s
bedside,
urgently
discussed
their
next
steps.
They
were
all
keenly
aware
that
they
needed
not
only
to
survive
the
next
few
hours,
but
also
to
make
sure
that
time
worked
for
them
and
not
those
opposed
to
Talal’s
succession.
To
achieve
both
aims
would
require
all
their
skills, and
all
those
skills
would
need
to
be
used
as
never
before.

Chapter
Four

The
men,
dirty
and
bedraggled,
their
beards
wild,
unkempt
and
lice-ridden,
were
brought,
in
some
fear,
into
the
Great
Chamber
and
were
halted
some
yards
short
of
the
dais
where
Talal
sat.
He
was
flanked
by
Nasir,
who
was
propped
up
against
many
cushions,
pale
and
obviously
weak,
despite
Firyal’s
medicine.
Just
below
the
dais
stood
Isaac
ben
Ishmail.
Like
Nasir’s,
his
pale
features
were
closed
and
impossible
to
read.
The
little
group
of
men
stopped
suddenly
as
they
saw
who
was
in
the
room.
Talal
himself
rose
and
reached
out
a
hand
in
greeting.
“Uncles,
cousins,
I
welcome
you.”
He courteously
gestured
for
them
to
sit
on
one
of
the
brightly
coloured
cushions
placed
in
front
of
the
dais.

All
four
looked
down
uncertainly,
unsure
how
to
sit
with
any
degree
of
dignity
with
the
chains
at
their
wrists
and
ankles.
At
a
gesture
from
Nasir,
the
guards
moved
forward
and
carefully
helped
each
figure
to
sit
facing
Talal.
Then,
his
part
done
and
after
gesturing
quietly
for
refreshments
to
be
offered to
his
imprisoned
kin,
he
sat
gazing
silently
down
on
them,
an
expression
on
his
boyish
face
of
frank
and
friendly
interest.

The
prisoners,
fed
only
on
near-starvation
rations
since
their
incarceration,
fought
back
the
almost
overwhelming
urge
to
devour
the
food
and
drink
like
animals
at
the
trough.
Instead,
with
a
dignity
that
impressed
those
watching,
they
ate
and
drank
little,
before
waving
away
the
rest
of
the
still
yearned
for
food
and
drink.

Nasir,
breaking
the
silence,
then
greeted
the
men
of
his
family.
They
were
men
he’d
not
seen
since
Fouad
had
had
them
thrown
into
prison
more
than
two
years
previously,
suspected
of
involvement
in
a
plot
which
had
almost
cost
Nasir
his
own
life.

“Brothers,
cousins,
I
too,
welcome
you.”

“A
belated
greeting,
brother;
one
we
have
waited
over
two
years
for!”
grunted
one
of
the
older
men
in
front
of
them,
though
less
forcefully
than
he
once
would
have
done.
Already
well
into
middle-age
when
he’d
been
incarcerated
in
his
young
half-brother’s
dungeons,
Abdul
had
aged
swiftly
in
the
dark,
scarcely
ventilated
boxes
set
deep
below
the
citadel’s
surface.
His
face
was
now
heavily
lined
and,
always
thin,
his
body
was
now
almost
skeletal
under
the
dirty,
stinking
clothes
which
were
the
same
ones
they’d
been
arrested
in.
“So,
at
last,
it
is
to
happen!
I
am
surprised
it
has
taken
you
so
long!”

“What
is
to
happen,
brother?”
queried
Nasir
calmly.

“Don’t
play
with
me,
boy!”
he
spat,
his
voice
regaining
some
of
his
old
force.
“I
mean
our
execution,
of
course.
I’m
surprised
it
is
to
be
done
openly.
We
have
been
expecting
it
to
be
done
more
quietly,
any
time
the
past
two
years,”
he
added,
his
voice
suddenly
cracking
just
a
little.
This
unexpected
chink
in
his
demeanour
gave
the
onlookers
just
a
small
glimpse
into
an
existence
of
such
horror
that
every
minute
of
every
day
and
of
every
night
was
spent
expecting
that
it
may
well
be
their
last;
an
existence
where
every
creak
of
their
cell’s
door
could
herald
their
sudden
and
violent
death.

“We
have
considered
what
to
do
with
yourselves,
our
kin,
in
view
of
what
you
were
suspected
of...”
Nasir
continued
into
the
small
silence
that
had
greeted
Abdul’s
words.

“Suspected
of, yes – but
nothing
was
ever
proved!”
spat
Mansour,
Abdul’s
son,
his
own
thin
face
filled
with
its
usual
spite.

“I
think,
kinsman,
that
had
a
full
investigation
been
held,
this
conversation
may
have
taken
a
different
direction
than
it
may,”
said
Nasir
coldly.
“So
I
would
not
play
the
offended
innocent
before
us!”

“Cease
playing
with
us,
cousin,
and
tell
us
why
we
are
here;
dressed
in
rags
and
stinking
of
Allah
knows
what
in
front
of
our
own
kin!”
spat
Salman.
Like
his
absent
uncle
and
namesake,
he
had
a
dangerously
short
fuse.

Nasir
looked
across
at
Isaac.
They
both
had
misgivings
about
what
they
were
about
to
do.
They
both
also
agreed,
however,
that
if
Zahirah’s
plan
worked then
it
was
a
master-stroke.