Chapter 11
Strength.
A quality Ardeth had always taken for granted; a part of what made up the warrior. It was valued, respected and needed. He had relied on his strength for almost all of his adult life, since his initiation into the warrior sect and taking the oath. Personal strength was always being tested and forged stronger through experiences. Physical strength was the matter of keeping his body healthy and toned.
He foolishly thought to test the limits to his physical strength when he woke up mid morning and tried to climb off the pallet. The simple movement of pivoting his body around so his legs hung over the side left him tired and shaking. He sat for a few minutes, waiting until the weakness diminished and slowly pushed himself upright, gingerly testing how much weight his leg could endure. The sense of triumph he felt when he stood was fleeting and he fell to the floor in exhaustion.
"What in the name of..." A voice exclaimed from the doorway. Na'ima found Ardeth lying partially on his side and rushed over to help. She placed her arms underneath him and with a surprising amount of strength, helped Ardeth back up to the pallet.
"What are you doing?" Na'ima asked. She gently checked his bandaged thigh and adjusted the covers around his waist. "You need to rest, your body is still not fully recovered."
"I needed to move..." Ardeth tried to explain.
"You must rest. Give your body time to recover from its ordeal." Na'ima ordered and walked to the doorway. "If you find you have to move again, please call for one of us and we will come help."
"I would like to move now," Ardeth muttered. He leaned back against the pillow and decided to give himself a brief respite.
Several minutes later, he tried to stand once more. He wasn't used to long periods of inactivity and he craved something, anything to capture his attention and divert it away from his growing restlessness and boredom. He attributed it to the uncertainty of knowing the location of the chest, his recollection of the exchange unclear and murky. Fragments of memory teased him with the uncertain fates of Nabil and O'Connell, acting as a catalyst and goading him into taking a foolish risk in walking too soon.
The second attempt was far more successful and he managed to hobble over to the doorway. Suddenly Is'af came around the corner, carrying a small tray of bandages, a basin of water and a few other items. She came to a standstill, her mouth dropping open in shock as she stared at Ardeth. Her eyes drifted down to the remains of his pants, dangling in tattered ribbons around his muscled thighs and leaving nothing else about his anatomy to the imagination.
"Oh...my..." she breathed. The tray wobbled precariously in her hands. "Stay right there, you need pants! I'll get you pants!" Is'af ran out of the room before Ardeth could respond.
He managed to take a few more steps before Is'af came rushing back and like Na'ima, pulled his arm over her shoulder and guided the warrior back to his pallet. With brisk and efficient movements, she slipped on the pants and covered him again within a matter of a few minutes, her bright red cheeks the only indication of her embarrassment. Is'af hurried out of the room before the warrior could call out his thanks.
Ardeth dozed for a brief period of time, and woke up past the noon hour. He was hungry and the restlessness returned stronger than before, compelling him to move. Success was measured not in quantity but by small steps. He mentally counted each one as he walked away from the pallet and towards the doorway. His body glistened with sweat from his exertions, trembling as he hopped along the wall, one hand leaning against it for as much support as possible. When he stood on the threshold, his leg suddenly gave in and he collapsed to the floor. Ardeth fell to his side and lay there, hating the extensive weakness that left him so drained. Slowly, he crawled over to one side of the doorway and leaned against it, extending out his injured leg and rubbing the burning sensation in the thigh muscles. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, willing himself to relax.
He felt the sudden sensation of additional hands touching his thigh and Ardeth's eyes opened to find Asiya kneeling next to him. She was massaging the stiff muscles and tendons around the wound, in a slow, steady rhythm that made Ardeth give a heartfelt sigh of relief. His gaze swept over the healer, appreciating the dark mantle of hair pulled back into a braid, small tendrils escaping from its confines and framing her jaw line and the column of her neck. Her eyes were lowered, the long lashes almost resting against her cheeks as she concentrated on her task, a slight frown marring her features as she continued the message. Ardeth felt an unexpected surge of happiness in seeing her by his side. It quickly dissipated by momentary feelings of guilt for not remembering his wife. He reached down and seized one hand in a weak attempt to stop Asiya's treatment.
"Do not...I am all right," he said gruffly.
"You should be resting," she reprimanded and pulled her hand free to resume its task.
"So I have been told," Ardeth replied.
"You should not be trying to walk, instead you should give your body a chance to heal. It has been through an..."
"Ordeal," Ardeth supplied, a small smile tugging one corner of his mouth, "I am well aware of this fact. Na'ima informed me earlier."
"You startled Is'af, you know," she chuckled softly.
"I did not mean to frighten her yet it is all I seem capable of doing..." Ardeth smiled ruefully.
"I would not worry, for her first patient you're a good lesson to be learned. At least you're wearing pants." Asiya pointed out the obvious.
"Is'af can be quite...commanding."
"You appear to be quite stubborn," she said with a gentle smile.
Ardeth remained silent for a moment, as Asiya's hands switched positions on his leg. She placed one under his calf and the other under his thigh and gently, began stretching it. Pulling it out as if he were walking, then pushing until his knee came up, as if running. It was slow and steady, Ardeth grimacing occasionally from pain. Her head was down slightly and she seemed to be concentrating on how well the leg moved and the level of discomfort of her patient.
A memory flashed through his mind of the many times Janan had tended to his wounds. The relief he felt was now mingled with the bittersweet sorrow of his memories.
"My wife would tell me the same thing," he murmured quietly.
Asiya asked for her name and Ardeth answered with a sigh.
"I believe you may have dreamt of her when you were ill," she said.
Ardeth nodded his head but remained silent, allowing memories from his nightmares chase away what relief his heart had felt moments ago.
"May I ask what happened?"
A simple question that surprised the warrior for a moment and he gazed into Asiya's warm compassionate eyes. He hadn't thought to tell the sad story but once he began, it spilled from his lips, as the attentive healer seemed captivated by the events of his past. Ardeth left nothing out, his heart opening up and pouring forth every memory, from the earlier happier times when he was newly married up to the day when Janan was killed. It was a cleansing, an emotional torrent contained for so long that welled up in his soul and flowed out, leaving his inner wounds raw and open again. His voice faltered when he relived his wife and child's death, and he closed his eyes against the haunting images. Ardeth whispered his shame; of his failure in protecting his loved ones and that knowledge tormented him unceasingly.
"I am so sorry for your loss. You loved her very much," Asiya said. She placed her hand in his and Ardeth held onto it, absorbing the touch as if it alone could ease his sorrow.
"Almost more than life itself," Ardeth replied hoarsely, swallowing against the grief lodged in this throat. He composed himself moments later and finished his narration ending with the challenge issued by Adham and the rescue of O'Connell.
"Months after her death, I approached her family and asked for their forgiveness, of which they gladly gave."
Asiya stopped flexing his leg and gently laid it back on the floor, carefully checking under the bandage for any seepage from the wound. She leaned back and considered her next question carefully.
"But have you forgiven yourself?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Ardeth frowned at the bold question.
Asiya sighed and glanced down at her hands folded in her lap, hesitant with her reply.
Ardeth reached out and cupped her chin, gently pulling her face up. "Tell me, yamahi," he ordered softly.
~*~
Tamim arrived in his settlement around noon, riding into the main square as another horse trailed behind him with a prisoner. He came to an abrupt stop in the main square and was immediately greeted by a few of his fellow warriors.
"Where is Quadamah?" he asked and dragged the other man off the horse.
"He has been with the Elders for most of the morning with the American," One warrior replied.
"Take this man in for questioning. I shall be there shortly," Tamim asked and walked towards the counsel building.
~*~
O'Connell certainly felt like the odd man out.
He had spent most of the morning with Quadamah in the emergency counsel meeting called by the Elders, half heartedly listening as the commander translated the speeches given. He estimated that all of the commanders from the remaining tribes, plus their seconds were all crammed into the tiny room listening to idea's being presented on how find the hidden camp of the enemy and attack. Preferring action over talk, Rick's interest was lost long ago and he yearned to walk outside for a breath of fresh air. Quadamah must have sensed his boredom and suggested they take a walk outside away from the meeting. They were met outside by Tamim.
"Sayiddi, I bring important news."
"You have been missing for a day, we feared you had been captured. Why have you gone beyond my orders given a few nights ago?" Quadamah demanded.
"Sayiddi, our messages between the tribes have been compromised. The enemy has known in advance of all our maneuvers including the plans for the exchange at Giza. I covertly observed all the messengers and their activities, capturing one man and to bring him in for questioning."
"You got a prisoner? Where is this man now?" Rick asked.
Tamim pointed to the building back down the road.
"How long has the enemy infiltrated our courier system?" Quadamah asked.
"It is my belief for the past month," Tamim answered. "I thought by interrogating him, we could obtain the location of his leader's camp and attack."
"Sounds like a good idea to me," O'Connell confirmed.
Commander and warrior continued talking but Rick took the opportunity and broke away, following the road until he came to the building Tamim had pointed out. He walked inside and found the prisoner sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, guarded by two Medjai.
"English?" He asked and one nodded. "Good, can you and your friend give me a moment with this guy?"
The two warriors exchanged uneasy glances but complied with his wishes.
O'Connell walked over to the prisoner and without warning, suddenly hefted the surprised man up by his clothes, dangling him several feet off the ground.
"I think you and I need to talk."
The man flew through the air and landed in a heap on the other side of the room. Before he had a chance crawl away, O'Connell grabbed him and tossed him to the other side of the room. His body crashed against a small table and it broke, splintering into smaller bits of wood. He fell the ground with a thud, barely having time to moan from the pain when O'Connell picked him up once more.
"This is how it works. I ask you a question and you tell me what I want to know. Simple, right?" Rick held him up with his fists clenched in the man's clothing.
"I know nothing..." the man moaned.
"Wrong answer and geez, I didn't even ask my question yet. Gotta play by the rules you know."
The man was thrown again, stumbling over the chair and crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He was given no time to recover before O'Connell was once more upon him.
"Question. Where is your leader's camp? Don't lie or you might make me angrier."
"I have no leader...this is all a mistake," the man wailed.
"Wrong answer."
Rick threw him again, cursing against the burning sensation coming from his wounded shoulder. He paused for a moment, flexing and rotating his arm, glad to feel something else besides the end of his patience and the anguish that chipped away at his heart. His prisoner started to crawl away towards the doorway but Rick snagged him by the ankle before he got very far.
"I'll ask again...where is your leader's camp?"
"I will tell you nothing."
Rick pulled him up and tossed him again, wincing when he heard the sickening thud of the body slamming against the foundation. He walked over and leaned down to the man, sprawled against the wall with a slightly dazed look on his face.
"Gosh I'm sorry. Did you fall down? Here let me help you up," Rick offered and threw the man across the room once more. Giving no time for him to recover, O'Connell pounced on the prisoner and hauled him up again.
"You know, we can keep playing this game all day. I kind of like it; I ask a question, you don't answer and I get to play toss the dummy."
"O'Connell," Tamim's voice called from the doorway. "What in the name of Allah are you..."
"Hold and let him finish," Quadamah advised and held back the warrior.
Rick nodded his thanks to the commander and walked over to the hapless courier, moving his shoulder again and frowning at the way it hurt so much. He reached down and pulled up the man once more.
"As much as I like playing this game, I was always taught to share. What do you say we call in the Medjai? I know those two over there are just waiting to come play with me and you know what?"
Rick pulled the man closer, his eyes alight with an almost unholy fire.
"I know they are pretty handy with those scimitars," he growled.
The man whimpered and fearfully looked over at the two warriors.
"In fact, I've heard stories where they can slice off a man's balls without him taking off his pants. What do you say we find out?"
"La, la...please be merciful. I will tell you everything." The man finally submitted.
"Don't tell me." Rick jerked his head towards the Medjai in the doorway. "Tell them and don't leave out any details or I'll come back. We can continue playing our game."
Rick dropped the man to the floor and nodded to Tamim. He walked outside but could only manage to stumble over to the side of the building where he leaned against it. His shoulder was killing him, his arm numb and he felt sick. He leaned his head back and took in a large gulp of air, hoping to quell the urge to retch and closed his eyes.
A few minutes later he felt a hand on his good shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
Rick opened his eyes and looked at Quadamah with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, guess I got carried away in there."
"Not at all, we now have the information we need," Quadamah said. "Come, I will take you back to your quarters and summons a healer."
Slowly Rick pulled himself away from the side of the building and the two men walked back down the road.
"I thought since it worked once for me before, it couldn't hurt to try again."
"I was surprised you knew about some of our...techniques." The commander couldn't help but add a dry chuckle. They stopped at the doorway and Rick turned back to Qudamah.
"So what happens now?"
"I present this information to the Elders, we vote, but I believe popular consensus among the commanders will be we ride tomorrow. We will leave at dawn."
"I'll be ready."
~*~
Captain Thomas R Mallory hated Egypt. He hated Cairo even more; the oppressing heat, the filth and disease that ran rampant, the poor and downtrodden that lined the crowded streets and begged for food or coin. In his many years of service in His Majesty's Royal Army, Thomas had seen his share of human suffering; friends and fellow countrymen killed in the line of duty for their King. None of that could have prepared him for the new level of misery when he first saw a child dead from starvation by the roadside. Its lifeless body was slumped against the wall of a dilapidated building, picked clean of anything of value and left to rot as the rats crawled over it.
Thomas shuddered as he recalled the blank almost accusing stare of the corpse and he quelled the sorrow mixed with revulsion that choked his aching heart. As with all things in his life, he resigned himself to the basic facts. Like the dead that would be eventually removed from the streets of this town and disposed of without compassion or empathy, Thomas' military career was on a downward spiral. His superiors were just waiting for the day when it would be announced either he died of natural causes or had been murdered. His assignment to the fort was the last step in the shaky ladder of his career and Thomas knew his superiors were waiting for that ladder to collapse.
A rueful smile tugged the corner of his mouth. It seems that even in the grand scheme of things, Thomas still couldn't follow orders. He surprised them all by surviving in this God forsaken land for more than ten years, despite the growing tensions between the Egyptians and the British. When his fellow officers were attacked in broad daylight three years ago, Thomas somehow managed to avoid confrontation although he lost seventeen of his countrymen
King Faud ruled Egypt, but the new sovereignty allowed by the British government did little to appease the starving Egyptian people. Thomas had seen almost every level of cruelty known to man since living in Cairo.
He was sitting at his old, scarred wooden desk when one of his staff announced he had a visitor waiting in the outer office. Not many tourists bothered to visit the fort and Thomas actually felt happy with the prospect of meeting his unexpected guest. He instructed the private to send the man in and stood up, brushing off his uniform and smoothing away any wrinkles.
Allan Merriweather walked into the office and introductions were quickly made; Thomas indicated for the other man to be seated and offered refreshments.
"I must admit your visit today surprises me. We don't generally open the fort to tours for the public."
"I'm not here for a tour, but for a more personal and dire reason." Allan waved off the cup of tea offered. He reached down into the satchel he was carrying and pulled out a small folder, then placed it on the desktop. "Constable al-Dawla gave this to me this morning and asked for it to be given to you."
"I see. And why would al-Dawla use you as a messenger?" Thomas reached for the folder and he scanned the reports. He shuffled the papers with a sense of uneasiness, already aware of the altercation at the port two days ago and personally felt the situation needed to be handled by Cairo authorities. Thomas looked up in surprise when he read that the missing British woman was Merriweather's wife.
"This is no longer a civilian matter," the other man stated. "The good constable suggested I seek military assistance in finding Olivia."
Thomas' uneasiness increased when he noted the mention of the Medjai in one report, since he was well
versed on the secret warrior society. He chose not to believe all the superstition and nonsense about them.
"Your wife has been missing for two days. I'm sure al-Dawla informed you of the chances of finding her are remote if not impossible?"
"I am well aware of the improbability of a rescue, but her family is demanding proof."
Thomas flipped the report closed and leaned back in his chair. "What kind of proof?"
"They want to see the damn body," Allan snapped. "Bloody stubborn doctors won't be satisfied until they can touch and examine her corpse."
Thomas frowned at the other man's sudden outburst, placed his fingers on the folder and slid it away from him. "This is not for the military."
"The constable assured me it would be," the other man argued and pushed the folder back.
Thomas shook his head and pushed the folder again. "My men and resources are limited. I don't have a spare squadron of men that I can send into the desert, ill informed and possibly to their deaths looking for one woman. Who I might add, and forgive me for saying, may already dead if not sold as a slave to roving band of nomads."
Allan sighed and reached down into the satchel again, pulling out a small envelope. He stuffed it inside the folder and pushed it back towards Thomas.
"I have been instructed to compensate you and your men for the trouble. Her family is willing to pay any price necessary as long as it enables you to find Olivia. Find my wife or find her body, it doesn't matter to me."
Thomas stared at the young man sitting in front of him with a mixture of astonishment and distaste. If asked to sum up his visitor's demeanor with one word, Thomas would chose `cold.' Merriweather exuded no warmth, no compassion and certainly no love as he begged for help. Thomas opened the envelope and blinked in amazement at the sum of money tucked inside of it. It was more than triple the amount of his pitiful pension and the thought of retiring from the service and going back to England certainly had better merits than living out his days in Cairo.
"You can choose whatever men you deem necessary for the trip, as long as we leave today. The sooner we leave and get this over with, the better," Allan said.
"I'm not sure what amazes me more, your undying love for your wife or you're enthusiasm to embark on a mission that could end up getting you killed," Thomas remarked dryly.
"My personal reasons for going on this trip are not a concern and I'll ask that you refrain from questioning my motives in the future. All I need to know is do I or do I not have your cooperation in this matter?"
Thomas sighed and toyed with the envelope. It would be insubordination going against his superiors orders to remain impartial to civilian activities. There would most likely be a hearing or court martial, and he would be stripped of his military rank, losing his pension. His sentence could probably be death if not exiled to living in Cairo and Thomas entertained the idea of handing in his resignation after the trip. The idea of returning to England far richer than when he left certainly helped make his decision and he slowly pocketed the envelope.
"I accept your offer but first there are rules in which I expect you to obey. My men listen to my orders and mine alone; you are to act as an observer nothing more. There will be no arguments on the distance we travel or the means in which we employ. Whereas you seem fail to appreciate the futility of your search and risk your life, do not expect me to risk mine. If I say the search is over, we return to the fort and I expect due reparation for my troubles." Thomas stood up and extended his hand. "Have I made myself clear?"
Allan stood up, one corner of his mouth twitching in a sarcastic smile. "Of course my good man, I understand completely."
The two men shook hands and Thomas ushered Allan outside, giving instructions for him to return to the fort within two hours time. He watched the younger man thread his way through the crowded market area outside the fort gates until he disappeared from sight. He wondered for a moment if making this deal with Allan wasn't close to striking a deal with the devil. Thomas sighed and stepped back into the sanctuary of the fort. He walked back to his office and stopped in front of his desk, staring at the folder still lying there. He looked around the drab colored walls, lacking the accommodations and awards he once thought would grace the interior.
His decision to help Allan suddenly seemed not so absurd anymore.
Strength.
A quality Ardeth had always taken for granted; a part of what made up the warrior. It was valued, respected and needed. He had relied on his strength for almost all of his adult life, since his initiation into the warrior sect and taking the oath. Personal strength was always being tested and forged stronger through experiences. Physical strength was the matter of keeping his body healthy and toned.
He foolishly thought to test the limits to his physical strength when he woke up mid morning and tried to climb off the pallet. The simple movement of pivoting his body around so his legs hung over the side left him tired and shaking. He sat for a few minutes, waiting until the weakness diminished and slowly pushed himself upright, gingerly testing how much weight his leg could endure. The sense of triumph he felt when he stood was fleeting and he fell to the floor in exhaustion.
"What in the name of..." A voice exclaimed from the doorway. Na'ima found Ardeth lying partially on his side and rushed over to help. She placed her arms underneath him and with a surprising amount of strength, helped Ardeth back up to the pallet.
"What are you doing?" Na'ima asked. She gently checked his bandaged thigh and adjusted the covers around his waist. "You need to rest, your body is still not fully recovered."
"I needed to move..." Ardeth tried to explain.
"You must rest. Give your body time to recover from its ordeal." Na'ima ordered and walked to the doorway. "If you find you have to move again, please call for one of us and we will come help."
"I would like to move now," Ardeth muttered. He leaned back against the pillow and decided to give himself a brief respite.
Several minutes later, he tried to stand once more. He wasn't used to long periods of inactivity and he craved something, anything to capture his attention and divert it away from his growing restlessness and boredom. He attributed it to the uncertainty of knowing the location of the chest, his recollection of the exchange unclear and murky. Fragments of memory teased him with the uncertain fates of Nabil and O'Connell, acting as a catalyst and goading him into taking a foolish risk in walking too soon.
The second attempt was far more successful and he managed to hobble over to the doorway. Suddenly Is'af came around the corner, carrying a small tray of bandages, a basin of water and a few other items. She came to a standstill, her mouth dropping open in shock as she stared at Ardeth. Her eyes drifted down to the remains of his pants, dangling in tattered ribbons around his muscled thighs and leaving nothing else about his anatomy to the imagination.
"Oh...my..." she breathed. The tray wobbled precariously in her hands. "Stay right there, you need pants! I'll get you pants!" Is'af ran out of the room before Ardeth could respond.
He managed to take a few more steps before Is'af came rushing back and like Na'ima, pulled his arm over her shoulder and guided the warrior back to his pallet. With brisk and efficient movements, she slipped on the pants and covered him again within a matter of a few minutes, her bright red cheeks the only indication of her embarrassment. Is'af hurried out of the room before the warrior could call out his thanks.
Ardeth dozed for a brief period of time, and woke up past the noon hour. He was hungry and the restlessness returned stronger than before, compelling him to move. Success was measured not in quantity but by small steps. He mentally counted each one as he walked away from the pallet and towards the doorway. His body glistened with sweat from his exertions, trembling as he hopped along the wall, one hand leaning against it for as much support as possible. When he stood on the threshold, his leg suddenly gave in and he collapsed to the floor. Ardeth fell to his side and lay there, hating the extensive weakness that left him so drained. Slowly, he crawled over to one side of the doorway and leaned against it, extending out his injured leg and rubbing the burning sensation in the thigh muscles. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, willing himself to relax.
He felt the sudden sensation of additional hands touching his thigh and Ardeth's eyes opened to find Asiya kneeling next to him. She was massaging the stiff muscles and tendons around the wound, in a slow, steady rhythm that made Ardeth give a heartfelt sigh of relief. His gaze swept over the healer, appreciating the dark mantle of hair pulled back into a braid, small tendrils escaping from its confines and framing her jaw line and the column of her neck. Her eyes were lowered, the long lashes almost resting against her cheeks as she concentrated on her task, a slight frown marring her features as she continued the message. Ardeth felt an unexpected surge of happiness in seeing her by his side. It quickly dissipated by momentary feelings of guilt for not remembering his wife. He reached down and seized one hand in a weak attempt to stop Asiya's treatment.
"Do not...I am all right," he said gruffly.
"You should be resting," she reprimanded and pulled her hand free to resume its task.
"So I have been told," Ardeth replied.
"You should not be trying to walk, instead you should give your body a chance to heal. It has been through an..."
"Ordeal," Ardeth supplied, a small smile tugging one corner of his mouth, "I am well aware of this fact. Na'ima informed me earlier."
"You startled Is'af, you know," she chuckled softly.
"I did not mean to frighten her yet it is all I seem capable of doing..." Ardeth smiled ruefully.
"I would not worry, for her first patient you're a good lesson to be learned. At least you're wearing pants." Asiya pointed out the obvious.
"Is'af can be quite...commanding."
"You appear to be quite stubborn," she said with a gentle smile.
Ardeth remained silent for a moment, as Asiya's hands switched positions on his leg. She placed one under his calf and the other under his thigh and gently, began stretching it. Pulling it out as if he were walking, then pushing until his knee came up, as if running. It was slow and steady, Ardeth grimacing occasionally from pain. Her head was down slightly and she seemed to be concentrating on how well the leg moved and the level of discomfort of her patient.
A memory flashed through his mind of the many times Janan had tended to his wounds. The relief he felt was now mingled with the bittersweet sorrow of his memories.
"My wife would tell me the same thing," he murmured quietly.
Asiya asked for her name and Ardeth answered with a sigh.
"I believe you may have dreamt of her when you were ill," she said.
Ardeth nodded his head but remained silent, allowing memories from his nightmares chase away what relief his heart had felt moments ago.
"May I ask what happened?"
A simple question that surprised the warrior for a moment and he gazed into Asiya's warm compassionate eyes. He hadn't thought to tell the sad story but once he began, it spilled from his lips, as the attentive healer seemed captivated by the events of his past. Ardeth left nothing out, his heart opening up and pouring forth every memory, from the earlier happier times when he was newly married up to the day when Janan was killed. It was a cleansing, an emotional torrent contained for so long that welled up in his soul and flowed out, leaving his inner wounds raw and open again. His voice faltered when he relived his wife and child's death, and he closed his eyes against the haunting images. Ardeth whispered his shame; of his failure in protecting his loved ones and that knowledge tormented him unceasingly.
"I am so sorry for your loss. You loved her very much," Asiya said. She placed her hand in his and Ardeth held onto it, absorbing the touch as if it alone could ease his sorrow.
"Almost more than life itself," Ardeth replied hoarsely, swallowing against the grief lodged in this throat. He composed himself moments later and finished his narration ending with the challenge issued by Adham and the rescue of O'Connell.
"Months after her death, I approached her family and asked for their forgiveness, of which they gladly gave."
Asiya stopped flexing his leg and gently laid it back on the floor, carefully checking under the bandage for any seepage from the wound. She leaned back and considered her next question carefully.
"But have you forgiven yourself?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" Ardeth frowned at the bold question.
Asiya sighed and glanced down at her hands folded in her lap, hesitant with her reply.
Ardeth reached out and cupped her chin, gently pulling her face up. "Tell me, yamahi," he ordered softly.
~*~
Tamim arrived in his settlement around noon, riding into the main square as another horse trailed behind him with a prisoner. He came to an abrupt stop in the main square and was immediately greeted by a few of his fellow warriors.
"Where is Quadamah?" he asked and dragged the other man off the horse.
"He has been with the Elders for most of the morning with the American," One warrior replied.
"Take this man in for questioning. I shall be there shortly," Tamim asked and walked towards the counsel building.
~*~
O'Connell certainly felt like the odd man out.
He had spent most of the morning with Quadamah in the emergency counsel meeting called by the Elders, half heartedly listening as the commander translated the speeches given. He estimated that all of the commanders from the remaining tribes, plus their seconds were all crammed into the tiny room listening to idea's being presented on how find the hidden camp of the enemy and attack. Preferring action over talk, Rick's interest was lost long ago and he yearned to walk outside for a breath of fresh air. Quadamah must have sensed his boredom and suggested they take a walk outside away from the meeting. They were met outside by Tamim.
"Sayiddi, I bring important news."
"You have been missing for a day, we feared you had been captured. Why have you gone beyond my orders given a few nights ago?" Quadamah demanded.
"Sayiddi, our messages between the tribes have been compromised. The enemy has known in advance of all our maneuvers including the plans for the exchange at Giza. I covertly observed all the messengers and their activities, capturing one man and to bring him in for questioning."
"You got a prisoner? Where is this man now?" Rick asked.
Tamim pointed to the building back down the road.
"How long has the enemy infiltrated our courier system?" Quadamah asked.
"It is my belief for the past month," Tamim answered. "I thought by interrogating him, we could obtain the location of his leader's camp and attack."
"Sounds like a good idea to me," O'Connell confirmed.
Commander and warrior continued talking but Rick took the opportunity and broke away, following the road until he came to the building Tamim had pointed out. He walked inside and found the prisoner sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, guarded by two Medjai.
"English?" He asked and one nodded. "Good, can you and your friend give me a moment with this guy?"
The two warriors exchanged uneasy glances but complied with his wishes.
O'Connell walked over to the prisoner and without warning, suddenly hefted the surprised man up by his clothes, dangling him several feet off the ground.
"I think you and I need to talk."
The man flew through the air and landed in a heap on the other side of the room. Before he had a chance crawl away, O'Connell grabbed him and tossed him to the other side of the room. His body crashed against a small table and it broke, splintering into smaller bits of wood. He fell the ground with a thud, barely having time to moan from the pain when O'Connell picked him up once more.
"This is how it works. I ask you a question and you tell me what I want to know. Simple, right?" Rick held him up with his fists clenched in the man's clothing.
"I know nothing..." the man moaned.
"Wrong answer and geez, I didn't even ask my question yet. Gotta play by the rules you know."
The man was thrown again, stumbling over the chair and crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs. He was given no time to recover before O'Connell was once more upon him.
"Question. Where is your leader's camp? Don't lie or you might make me angrier."
"I have no leader...this is all a mistake," the man wailed.
"Wrong answer."
Rick threw him again, cursing against the burning sensation coming from his wounded shoulder. He paused for a moment, flexing and rotating his arm, glad to feel something else besides the end of his patience and the anguish that chipped away at his heart. His prisoner started to crawl away towards the doorway but Rick snagged him by the ankle before he got very far.
"I'll ask again...where is your leader's camp?"
"I will tell you nothing."
Rick pulled him up and tossed him again, wincing when he heard the sickening thud of the body slamming against the foundation. He walked over and leaned down to the man, sprawled against the wall with a slightly dazed look on his face.
"Gosh I'm sorry. Did you fall down? Here let me help you up," Rick offered and threw the man across the room once more. Giving no time for him to recover, O'Connell pounced on the prisoner and hauled him up again.
"You know, we can keep playing this game all day. I kind of like it; I ask a question, you don't answer and I get to play toss the dummy."
"O'Connell," Tamim's voice called from the doorway. "What in the name of Allah are you..."
"Hold and let him finish," Quadamah advised and held back the warrior.
Rick nodded his thanks to the commander and walked over to the hapless courier, moving his shoulder again and frowning at the way it hurt so much. He reached down and pulled up the man once more.
"As much as I like playing this game, I was always taught to share. What do you say we call in the Medjai? I know those two over there are just waiting to come play with me and you know what?"
Rick pulled the man closer, his eyes alight with an almost unholy fire.
"I know they are pretty handy with those scimitars," he growled.
The man whimpered and fearfully looked over at the two warriors.
"In fact, I've heard stories where they can slice off a man's balls without him taking off his pants. What do you say we find out?"
"La, la...please be merciful. I will tell you everything." The man finally submitted.
"Don't tell me." Rick jerked his head towards the Medjai in the doorway. "Tell them and don't leave out any details or I'll come back. We can continue playing our game."
Rick dropped the man to the floor and nodded to Tamim. He walked outside but could only manage to stumble over to the side of the building where he leaned against it. His shoulder was killing him, his arm numb and he felt sick. He leaned his head back and took in a large gulp of air, hoping to quell the urge to retch and closed his eyes.
A few minutes later he felt a hand on his good shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
Rick opened his eyes and looked at Quadamah with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, guess I got carried away in there."
"Not at all, we now have the information we need," Quadamah said. "Come, I will take you back to your quarters and summons a healer."
Slowly Rick pulled himself away from the side of the building and the two men walked back down the road.
"I thought since it worked once for me before, it couldn't hurt to try again."
"I was surprised you knew about some of our...techniques." The commander couldn't help but add a dry chuckle. They stopped at the doorway and Rick turned back to Qudamah.
"So what happens now?"
"I present this information to the Elders, we vote, but I believe popular consensus among the commanders will be we ride tomorrow. We will leave at dawn."
"I'll be ready."
~*~
Captain Thomas R Mallory hated Egypt. He hated Cairo even more; the oppressing heat, the filth and disease that ran rampant, the poor and downtrodden that lined the crowded streets and begged for food or coin. In his many years of service in His Majesty's Royal Army, Thomas had seen his share of human suffering; friends and fellow countrymen killed in the line of duty for their King. None of that could have prepared him for the new level of misery when he first saw a child dead from starvation by the roadside. Its lifeless body was slumped against the wall of a dilapidated building, picked clean of anything of value and left to rot as the rats crawled over it.
Thomas shuddered as he recalled the blank almost accusing stare of the corpse and he quelled the sorrow mixed with revulsion that choked his aching heart. As with all things in his life, he resigned himself to the basic facts. Like the dead that would be eventually removed from the streets of this town and disposed of without compassion or empathy, Thomas' military career was on a downward spiral. His superiors were just waiting for the day when it would be announced either he died of natural causes or had been murdered. His assignment to the fort was the last step in the shaky ladder of his career and Thomas knew his superiors were waiting for that ladder to collapse.
A rueful smile tugged the corner of his mouth. It seems that even in the grand scheme of things, Thomas still couldn't follow orders. He surprised them all by surviving in this God forsaken land for more than ten years, despite the growing tensions between the Egyptians and the British. When his fellow officers were attacked in broad daylight three years ago, Thomas somehow managed to avoid confrontation although he lost seventeen of his countrymen
King Faud ruled Egypt, but the new sovereignty allowed by the British government did little to appease the starving Egyptian people. Thomas had seen almost every level of cruelty known to man since living in Cairo.
He was sitting at his old, scarred wooden desk when one of his staff announced he had a visitor waiting in the outer office. Not many tourists bothered to visit the fort and Thomas actually felt happy with the prospect of meeting his unexpected guest. He instructed the private to send the man in and stood up, brushing off his uniform and smoothing away any wrinkles.
Allan Merriweather walked into the office and introductions were quickly made; Thomas indicated for the other man to be seated and offered refreshments.
"I must admit your visit today surprises me. We don't generally open the fort to tours for the public."
"I'm not here for a tour, but for a more personal and dire reason." Allan waved off the cup of tea offered. He reached down into the satchel he was carrying and pulled out a small folder, then placed it on the desktop. "Constable al-Dawla gave this to me this morning and asked for it to be given to you."
"I see. And why would al-Dawla use you as a messenger?" Thomas reached for the folder and he scanned the reports. He shuffled the papers with a sense of uneasiness, already aware of the altercation at the port two days ago and personally felt the situation needed to be handled by Cairo authorities. Thomas looked up in surprise when he read that the missing British woman was Merriweather's wife.
"This is no longer a civilian matter," the other man stated. "The good constable suggested I seek military assistance in finding Olivia."
Thomas' uneasiness increased when he noted the mention of the Medjai in one report, since he was well
versed on the secret warrior society. He chose not to believe all the superstition and nonsense about them.
"Your wife has been missing for two days. I'm sure al-Dawla informed you of the chances of finding her are remote if not impossible?"
"I am well aware of the improbability of a rescue, but her family is demanding proof."
Thomas flipped the report closed and leaned back in his chair. "What kind of proof?"
"They want to see the damn body," Allan snapped. "Bloody stubborn doctors won't be satisfied until they can touch and examine her corpse."
Thomas frowned at the other man's sudden outburst, placed his fingers on the folder and slid it away from him. "This is not for the military."
"The constable assured me it would be," the other man argued and pushed the folder back.
Thomas shook his head and pushed the folder again. "My men and resources are limited. I don't have a spare squadron of men that I can send into the desert, ill informed and possibly to their deaths looking for one woman. Who I might add, and forgive me for saying, may already dead if not sold as a slave to roving band of nomads."
Allan sighed and reached down into the satchel again, pulling out a small envelope. He stuffed it inside the folder and pushed it back towards Thomas.
"I have been instructed to compensate you and your men for the trouble. Her family is willing to pay any price necessary as long as it enables you to find Olivia. Find my wife or find her body, it doesn't matter to me."
Thomas stared at the young man sitting in front of him with a mixture of astonishment and distaste. If asked to sum up his visitor's demeanor with one word, Thomas would chose `cold.' Merriweather exuded no warmth, no compassion and certainly no love as he begged for help. Thomas opened the envelope and blinked in amazement at the sum of money tucked inside of it. It was more than triple the amount of his pitiful pension and the thought of retiring from the service and going back to England certainly had better merits than living out his days in Cairo.
"You can choose whatever men you deem necessary for the trip, as long as we leave today. The sooner we leave and get this over with, the better," Allan said.
"I'm not sure what amazes me more, your undying love for your wife or you're enthusiasm to embark on a mission that could end up getting you killed," Thomas remarked dryly.
"My personal reasons for going on this trip are not a concern and I'll ask that you refrain from questioning my motives in the future. All I need to know is do I or do I not have your cooperation in this matter?"
Thomas sighed and toyed with the envelope. It would be insubordination going against his superiors orders to remain impartial to civilian activities. There would most likely be a hearing or court martial, and he would be stripped of his military rank, losing his pension. His sentence could probably be death if not exiled to living in Cairo and Thomas entertained the idea of handing in his resignation after the trip. The idea of returning to England far richer than when he left certainly helped make his decision and he slowly pocketed the envelope.
"I accept your offer but first there are rules in which I expect you to obey. My men listen to my orders and mine alone; you are to act as an observer nothing more. There will be no arguments on the distance we travel or the means in which we employ. Whereas you seem fail to appreciate the futility of your search and risk your life, do not expect me to risk mine. If I say the search is over, we return to the fort and I expect due reparation for my troubles." Thomas stood up and extended his hand. "Have I made myself clear?"
Allan stood up, one corner of his mouth twitching in a sarcastic smile. "Of course my good man, I understand completely."
The two men shook hands and Thomas ushered Allan outside, giving instructions for him to return to the fort within two hours time. He watched the younger man thread his way through the crowded market area outside the fort gates until he disappeared from sight. He wondered for a moment if making this deal with Allan wasn't close to striking a deal with the devil. Thomas sighed and stepped back into the sanctuary of the fort. He walked back to his office and stopped in front of his desk, staring at the folder still lying there. He looked around the drab colored walls, lacking the accommodations and awards he once thought would grace the interior.
His decision to help Allan suddenly seemed not so absurd anymore.