Chapter XXXI
A woman came into the room and spoke to the sheikh who immediately rose.
"Come, food is ready."
We followed him into another room where a table was prepared for us, with stools on which we sat while we ate. I noticed that Harun brought his saddle bags with him and kept them by his feet during the meal. When we had eaten the sheikh took us into another room where beds had been made ready.
"It is poor lodgings," he said when we thanked him. "If we had known you were coming we could have made better provision for you. Sleep well."
Harun put his saddlebags down at the head of his bed and chuckled.
"He says that every time, but this is the best lodgings on the road to Aqaba. It is, I think, an old house of the Romans and he lives in the old style."
He lay down on the bed with his head on his saddlebags and pulled the cover up.
"Do you come this way often?" Charles asked.
"Often enough," Harun said. "My master sends me with messages to Aqaba and sometimes even further."
If Harun expected Charles to ask who his master was, he was disappointed. He was not to know that Charles already knew and as I wondered whether I should warn him, I fell asleep.
The household was astir early and we rose at the same time while the dawn was still gray in the east. Food was brought to us and we ate in the room in which we had slept. When the servant came to tell us that our horses were ready Harun gave him a coin and Charles did the same.
"If we offered it to the old man he would be insulted," Harun told us, "but he is not so rich that he will refuse a present if it is given discreetly."
The sheikh was waiting in the courtyard to see us on our way. He walked with us through the village lanes and out to the opposite side from which we had entered the night before.
"Follow this path," he advised us, pointing to a track that led down into the wadi. "It will lead you back to the King's Highway, which is your road to Kerak. Go carefully. The men who were on guard during the night say that they heard the sound of horses in the distance in that direction."
"How many?" Harun asked.
The sheikh pursed his lips and shrugged. "The men who heard could not tell, but they thought it might be twenty or thirty."
We thanked him for the warning and set out, riding easily in the coolness of the morning. The path from the village led straight down into the wadi, winding between clumps of oleanders and outcrops of stone. We rode in single file with Charles in the lead and Harun behind me, for the track was not wide enough to ride abreast.
After an hour we came to the highway and turned south along it, still descending into the depths of the wadi. By now the sun was gathering strength and a hot breeze blew up the wadi from the direction of the Salt Sea.
"May Allah curse this downhill road," Harun remarked, urging his horse up beside mine. "Every step downwards we have to climb up again. If you look, you can see the road on the other side."
I could indeed see the road, a broad swathe of white against the grey hillside, climbing steeply into the distance.
"How far is it?" I asked.
"Another hour to the bottom, then two maybe three hours to the top. From there to Kerak is an hour and a half."
"Will we stop in Kerak?" I asked.
"I was planning on it," Charles pushed his horse in between us. "It is Reynauld's capital and probably the best place to get news of him, but I'm afraid we spent so much time in Madeba - my fault and I'm sorry - that we need to push on if we can. We'll call in there, but only briefly."
"I do not like to go into Kerak at this time," Harun said after a pause. "It may be all right for you, but Fuad and I are Muslims and Reynauld and his men are our enemies."
"They won't touch you while you are with me, though," Charles said.
"Who can tell what they will do?" Harun was pessimistic. "I have no desire to join the pilgrims inside Reynauld's dungeons. You go in; Fuad and I will wait for you on the road beyond the town."
"As you wish," Charles shrugged.
We rode on side by side, for the road was wide enough for that now. Thick clumps of oleanders lined the road thickly and shook with the hot breeze blowing up from the Arabah. Suddenly they shook more violently and men burst out of hiding to attack us. Before I could even reach for my sword someone leaped up onto my horse behind me and threw his arms around me, holding me tight. Charles, who was in the centre, spurred his horse forward, but there were men ahead who seized the bridle and dragged his horse to a stop.
Within moments all three of us were pulled from our horses and our captors led us into the bushes where their captain was sitting on a mat drinking coffe. They pushed us to our knees in front of him and stood over us with drawn swords.
"Your hospitality is a little rough today, Hassan," Harun said loudly.
The man on the mat looked up and then leaped to his feet and rushed over to Harun.
"By God!" he exclaimed. "Harun ibn Mustafa! What are you doing here?"
"I might ask the same thing," Harun replied, getting to his feet and embracing the man. He kissed him on both cheeks and then turned and pointed to us. "These are my companions."
"A thousand pardons," the man said as our captors put their swords away and stood back from us. He stopped and stared at Charles. "But surely this man is a Frank?"
"He is a Frank," Harun stepped over and stood beside Charles. "He is my companion nonetheless and under my protection."
"My orders are to stop every Frank on this road," the man said. "We are expecting a party of Frankish merchants from Kerak today, and if we get enough prisoners perhaps we can exchange them for those held by Reynauld."
"God give you success," Harun put his arm around Charles' shoulder. "This one, however, is exempt. He is my guest."
The man shrugged. "As you like." He half turned away and then swung back again. "What if he is a messenger like yourself, but going to Reynauld?"
"Even if he were," Harun spoke calmly, "still he is my guest - and you know how our master treats guests."
"And this one?" the man pointed at me.
"He is of Islam," Harun said. "He is of the household of faith." He turned to us. "This is my friend, the emir Hassan ibn-Hamza from Homs. The last time I saw him was in Damascus two weeks ago."
"Come, drink coffee," Hassan said, sitting down again on the mat and beckoning to a black slave who was holding a brass jug.
We sat on the mat and the slave brought water to wash our hands and then served coffee and figs. Our weapons were restored to us and the men, somewhat reluctantly, returned our saddlebags. They had been opened and I had a glimpse of great disorder within. Harun, I noticed, immediately ran his fingers along the seam of one of his saddlebags, but after that he was content.
"I fear I must hinder you in your journey," Hassan remarked as we finished the third cup of coffee according to custom. "I can trust you, Harun, but this Frank, although he is under your protection, cannot be expected to refrain from warning the merchants if you should meet them; they are his fellow countrymen. Therefore you must stay with us until the matter of the merchants is finished."
"I understand," Charles said. "Of course I would warn them, but we are your guests and we will stay or go at your command. How long must we wait?"
Hassan glanced up at the sun.
"I have scouts up along the road," he said, pointing towards Kerak. "They will bring me word by mid-day, but after that I must go. I have other duties on the desert road."
We sat in the shade of the oleanders and talked while the sun rose in the sky. There was a man of Hassan's company who could sing and he entertained us with the story of Rustum, who was a great warrior of the Persians about whom I had not heard before. At noon we ate, together with the other men, and as we ate the scouts returned to say that there was no sign of the merchants. Hassan shrugged.
"Allah has willed that they should escape," he said. "Perhaps you will find them still sitting in Kerak, Charles, in which case greet them from me and tell them that I am most displeased by their laziness."
We all laughed and when we had finished eating we took our leave of one another.
"Go with God," Harun embraced Hassan.
"Go with God," Hassan said as he embraced me.
"I thank you for your hospitality," Charles said, embracing Hassan, "but you must excuse me from wishing you success against my countrymen."
"Nor I against mine," Hassan laughed. "Nonetheless, I wish you well. If ever you come to as-Shams, you must be my guest."
"And you mine in al-Quds," Charles said.
