Swords of Arabia: Warlord Page 13

  Watching the frenzied activity, Zahirah knew better than to assume it was all put on to impress her, their employer. She knew that just this pace was carried out day after day, for virtually every day of the trade's four-month summer season. Each diver, wearing an iron or wooden nose piece, his ears stuffed with beeswax and with a weighted stone attached to his feet, would plunge overboard anywhere between thirty to forty times every day of that period. A high number drowned, others were poisoned by jellyfish, others ripped apart by sharks. Nothing stopped their diving; nothing. Whether it was a debt to be serviced, or their employer’s, or perhaps their own, dream to fulfil, whatever the reason and despite the risks, men were never in short supply for the dangerous task of actually raising the pearls up from their watery birthplace.

  The depths they reached were, literally, breath-taking. She remembered a conversation she'd had shortly after her interest in the lucrative industry became known. A hugely experienced, but illiterate, diving captain had told her that men often dived twenty and sometimes thirty or even more times their own height. She'd found it difficult to believe, but now, watching the huge lengths of rope being fed out as the diver plunged lower, she realised that the old man had spoken the simple truth. Knowing that the men would repeat the dive time after time, every day of the summer season, made her realise just how hard-won were the precious stones.

  Her investment into the pearling fleets, though heavy, was just a fraction of what some had advised her to invest. Not only its profitability, but its antiquity were emphasised. “The sea and its fruit will last forever, always ready to give up its treasures,” she'd been told by one excitable petitioner. Nodding impassively, she'd listened, but cynically believing nothing lasted that long, she'd continued to spread her investments widely. While she might, indeed had and would again, gamble her life on one reckless throw of the dice, she was much more prudent in her financial choices.

  A gentle thump behind her made her turn as the boat, bringing the captains she'd summoned, pulled alongside the bigger craft. A quick glance told her that their own boats had been brought within viewing distance of the ghanjah, upfront of the rest of her fleet, also now circling her own boat, as instructed. She watched impassively as the men were hustled aboard. They stood in front of her, unkempt and dirty from weeks at sea, uncertain what to do; uncertain that is, until they were pushed to their knees before her, their uncertainty ended.

  She returned to the dais and, seated, gazed down coldly at the two men. Both had, in her view, not done as they should; they'd put their interests before hers to an extent she found unacceptable. Gazing impassively down at the cowering men, she let the silence grow. Silence, she'd found over the years, was frequently as potent as threats. So it was now; the men's attempts to speak were cut off as their guards hit them brutally over their heads with the heavy hafts of their scimitars; the sun, unnoticed, flashing diamonds off the glittering blades as they did so.

  At last she spoke. “Ali bin Majid, you know why you're here on your knees,” she said flatly. “As do you, Abdul bin Sa'ad.”

  She harshly cut across their attempts to deny any such knowledge, which died quickly as she continued. “You may deny as much as you wish, for as long as you wish; it will merely go worse for you both; worse than it will already be,” she added ominously.

  She'd pondered long on her response to what had been uncovered by two of her many informants. One was guilty of mistreating his divers, the other, of theft; each threatened both her profits and her power to control her fleet. She'd tolerate neither. The informants had also fed into her ear that both men deemed it safe to so operate as, being a woman, she had neither their full respect, nor caused the fear a male employer would invoke. She would correct both errors of judgement in a way neither they, nor anyone else considering a challenge to her, would ever forget. She had to; personal anger and insult apart, to show weakness would soon destroy everything she'd built up. For this reason, she would deal with the offences directly, rather than through a male representative. Everyone needed to see that, when it was needed, she was both ruthless and strong enough to hold her growing enterprises and wealth entirely on her own.

  “Ali Bin Majid,” she continued coldly, turning to the younger of the two men. “You have been stealing from your sailors, your divers, and me.

  “Lady, no! I…” His protests died in his throat as, at a signal from Zahirah, one of the guards threw down a dirty rope bag at his feet. His protests died to a whimper as he recognised his property.

  “Why, then, was this bag with six pearls in it found hidden in your belongings?” He shook his head, knowing there was no answer she'd believe, and hoping silence would get him leniency. “The penalty for theft is well known, is it not?”

  Now beside himself with fear, he could no longer speak, even had she been inclined to listen. All he could do was dumbly nod his head; indeed, such was his fear, that that itself took several attempts to achieve. She nodded to a third guard standing nearby. He moved quickly forward and grabbed the weeping captain's right hand and positioned it so the wrist was stretched over a box already placed nearby, the hand dangling over the edge. His blade caressed the shrinking skin on the now screaming man's wrist.

  She let the moment draw out, fear and tension choking the atmosphere. “This will happen once you have been tried according to the law,” she then said flatly as, her point made, she waved the sword aside. “Guard him well, until we return and he can face the Lord Fouad.”

  Dismissing the sobbing man from her mind, she turned to the older of the two brought before her. “Abdul bin Sa'ad, you are accused of ill-treating your divers. Again we have witnesses. Do you wish to deny that three have died on your boat within the last thirty days? That two of the deaths occurred because you forced them, as you still do others, to plunge beyond what is safe, in your greed for riches?”

  Her words caused a ripple of surprise and whispered comment across the surrounding boats. Ill-treatment and the over-working of divers was so common that it scarcely merited comment. Even deaths on the boats were rarely looked into when the boats returned at the end of the season. Zahirah knew this and was aware that, as with the thief, there was only so far she could go with her punishing of the men.

  “Well – is it true that two of the men died after you insisted they dive even beyond the depth of forty men's heights?

  Aware that her threat of increasing any punishment if her time was wasted was not idle talk. He choked back his automatic denial. He had so ordered the men and she – how, he didn't know – had become aware of it. All he could say, sullenly, was that such depths could be reached without ill-effects, and that it was unfortunate that men had died on these few occasions.

  “You relieve my mind, Abdul bin Sa'ad,” she replied, with an edge to her voice. “I, myself, am still not convinced, but your certainty assures me that you will not drown – when you yourself plunge to those depths.”

  Her audience gasped as she gave her sentence, far more impressed with its poetic justice than horrified at its harshness. Even those not themselves of the sailing and diving community knew very well that such depths could rarely, if ever, be reached without death being the outcome. She gestured to two of the ghanjah's crew who hurried forward, one roughly fastening a heavy iron clamp onto the prisoner's nose, then stuffed his ears with beeswax, whilst the other tied a large rock to the now struggling man's ankles. Then, with the heavy hauling rope tied round his middle, he was dragged to the edge of the boat, with scarcely a pause for him to draw in the deep, hurried breath his panic had almost caused him to forget. As though realising he also needed to conserve that breath, to have even a faint chance of survival, he stopped struggling as he was pushed over the gunwale and lowered overboard, the heavy rock ensuring he sank rapidly.

  Amongst the onlookers the silence was total, as they watched the terrible results of Zahirah's wrath unfold, made even more frightening by a detachment, so cold and absolute, that she appeared made of stone. Some hurrie
d to the side and, leaning over, watched with morbid curiosity as the trail of bubbles bobbed to the surface, mute testimony to the terror of the man, already many cubits below the surface.

  “Enough. Bring him back up,” she ordered, after several seconds had passed. She watched calmly as they brought the man back up to a surface he'd never expected to see again. Indeed, so lifeless did he seem when he was hauled back aboard, it seemed likely that he already had seen it for the last time. But after the captain, at a signal from Zahirah, had performed the same service he'd administered, only hours earlier to Leila, the man eventually coughed, spluttered, retched and eventually started to breathe again.

  “One more death on your boat and you will stay down. Remember my words well,” she said calmly, as he was brought to his feet and, on her gesture, taken back to his own boat.

  In truth, her indifferent attitude wasn't a ploy. That each had, in their different ways, betrayed her trust had, to her, put them beyond even thinking about. Had the one died underwater, or had she decided to give the order to sever the other man's wrist, she would have felt neither qualms nor regrets. She was, though, as ever, aware of the limits of her power. That a man, with the contacts and influence that she had, could have done so, and it would have been seen as nothing out of the ordinary, she knew; but, pragmatic as ever, she didn't question the fact that she, as a woman, could not.

  *

  Mohammed’s keen eye missed little as he strode round the walkway, the late afternoon sunlight glinting off the scimitars and bullet casings in the bandoliers slung across the shoulders of many of the guards. He was pleased to see that his men, though few in number, were alert, even before they saw him appear. Most had been with him and Fouad for many years and were veterans of their numerous battles. Members of either the Shawaq or allied tribes, they were amongst the fiercest of the many different forces spread out across the whole of the turbulent Arabian peninsula.

  “The men are as they should be,” Mohammed said approvingly to their captain, pleased with what he'd seen on his walk round the walls. Heavily depleted though the garrison was, those that remained, had been deployed well and, he could see, their morale was still high.

  “Indeed,” nodded Daoud, a heavily bearded, middle-aged veteran of few words, as the two men stood above the town gatehouse, looking down at an approaching caravan seeking access to the town. In ordinary times their approach would be seen as entirely natural and of no concern, their entrance to the old town allowed without any second thoughts.

  These were not ordinary days, though, nor had they been for some time. It was second nature, therefore, for Mohammed to watch its arrival with some care; watching closely as it snaked its passage through the narrow approaches to the town's heavily guarded entrance; watch as its head came to a halt below the walls. It would, he knew, be searched before it was allowed in. It was all too easy for warriors to be hidden, disguised as peaceful merchants, and not discovered until they were in the town and cutting the throats of its inhabitants. As he watched, guards left the city through the small postern door built into the great wooden gates, closed across the entranceway, to search the new arrivals. Only when their search had revealed nothing suspicious would the huge gates themselves be thrown open and the travellers made welcome as the town dwellers happily pursued their centuries-old tradition of fleecing all new arrivals.

  Chapter 16

  As the boat raced homewards across the water, Zahirah reflected on the day's events. Overall, she felt satisfied with what her expedition had achieved. With Leila and the boys now fully recovered, she felt relaxed, and able to enjoy the freshness of the breeze. This was still strong enough to slightly cool the still harsh, late afternoon sun, as it glinted and gleamed off the turquoise waters surrounding the boat. Even the thought of returning to the crowded, noisy town still alien to her, even after so many years, didn't lessen her relaxed contentment as she turned and looked at the children. She smiled as she saw they were all now drowsy and quiet after their eventful day. Turning back to watch the waters, hissing against the sides of the speeding craft, she idly watched a flock of flamingo in languid flight, their rich, pink colouring a vibrant contrast to the deep blue of the sky.

  Then, suddenly, a feeling of deep unease sliced across her consciousness, savagely shredding her relaxed calm; the same feeling she'd experienced just before Leila's near-drowning. She'd later put the unease down to that experience, but, why then, was she suddenly feeling that same ice-cold flickering deep inside her? She glanced quickly again at the children. Seeing them still sleepy and settled, safe in the boat, surrounded by guards and attendants, themselves all alert after the morning's drama, she almost ignored the flickering unease building inside her.

  She didn't; instead she anxiously scanned the waters surrounding the boat, alert now to anything which could threaten them. Her sharp gaze observed nothing except her own heavily armed boats and, further away, other craft peacefully going about their business. Scouring the horizon, she saw no threatening clouds, so no storm was approaching. Relaxing slightly, she again searched the surrounding waters, their tranquillity ruffled only by the breezes pushing them towards the rapidly approaching harbour mouth. Imperceptibly, her nerves, tightly coiled, started to unwind. Nothing she saw alarmed her and she wondered if she was concerned over nothing, her nerves still raw from her daughter's mishap. She started to turn away relaxing just a little, but abruptly stopped, so suddenly that she drew curious glances from some of the crew.

  That was it!

  Her gaze again needle-sharp, she finally realised what had disturbed her. Quickly, she again scanned the waters, still busy with other boats. Her eyes saw the usual mix of local craft returning after a long day's fishing and other and larger boats, mainly traders, heavy with goods heading for the town's busy markets.

  Then, as her questing look fastened on a point a few hundred yards ahead, she saw again what had alarmed her subconscious that morning. Her alarm grew as she saw three large boats, each loaded with many men, bearing rapidly down on the unsuspecting ghanjah. She knew then that her previous unease had arisen from this subconscious awareness that those same three boats had, for a time, been shadowing their own craft earlier that morning. She quickly turned to alert her guards, but her words of warning went unuttered, as the young officer in charge hurried up to her and pointed to the same three boats, already appreciably nearer.

  “Lady, it may be nothing, but please move into the centre of the boat.”

  “You see trouble, Captain?” she asked, as she nodded and did as he requested, gesturing the children's attendants to move them also into the deep well of the boat. At the same time, a single glance from her was more than enough to quell any outward sign of the servants' rising panic.

  “I don't know, Lady, but those same boats seemed to be following us this morning,” he replied, as he called to their escorting boats to close up around the ghanjah.

  Even as he spoke, Zahirah was aware that, further out, the waters were suddenly clear of all other craft, as if the other vessels had sensed the coming trouble and wanted no part of it.

  Ensuring the children were safe and surrounded by their attendants and guards, she moved swiftly back along the rolling deck and stood beside the young officer, now joined by the boat's captain. The former turned quickly as she rejoined him, his concern obvious.

  “Lady, it may soon not be safe here!”

  “Can we not reach the harbour ahead of them?” she asked calmly, cutting across him. So close to safety, so close! she thought, looking across the waters to the two fortified headlands, now clearly visible across the short expanse of water separating their boats from them.

  The ghanjah's captain answered her, shaking his head. “No, Lady, it's too late. See there,” he added, pointing towards the rapidly approaching craft, “how they're already cutting across our bow. They'll be between us and the harbour mouth before we've gone five ships’ lengths.”

  “And they have many more men than we do,” t
he young commander added, something she could now observe for herself as she saw, from their crowded decks, just how many men were in each boat, and each boat equal in size to their own. Even with those on her four escorting craft. Zahirah realised, the approaching force had at least two men to every one of hers.

  “Who are they?” she wondered aloud, the strange calm she usually felt in times of extreme danger, now settling over her. “What do they want? Are we sure they mean us harm?”

  “We have to act as though they do, until we know otherwise, Lady,” he answered with grim logic. “Once they're within hailing distance, they may tell us their intent and claim friendship. Though, even then, we need great care,” he added with equal grimness.

  His glance, calm and appraising as he coolly assessed the threat and how to counter it, suddenly turned much less sure of itself as the young tribesman turned back towards her.

  “Lady, should they not be friends, you could be in extreme danger. I must ask that you go and join the children and be secure with their guards around you.”

  She returned his glance, and saw his real concern, part genuinely for her and part fully aware of what Mohammed would do, should any harm befall his wife. As for Fouad – the guard commander was resolutely refusing to even think about his reaction.

  Gently, seeing his dilemma. “I'll not get in the way of what you have to do, and if you have guards closely surrounding me, I'll be as safe here as with the children.”

  He nodded, resignedly, privately thanking Allah that his sisters were much more aware of what was fitting for a woman to do and say. He was glad also, that his equally conservative parents had chosen a suitably meek and proper bride for him. He quickly gave orders to four of his tallest guards, who quickly surrounded the Sheikha, then all turned to watch as the approaching boats arrived within hailing distance. Stepping up to the platform inset into the bow, he raised his voice, preparing to call out to the mysterious boats, now spreading out as they neared the small fleet, moving to encircle Zahirah's ghanjah.