.oOo.

Several months later…

The dry-earth shelters huddled under cacti and fig trees. The alleys seemed deserted. The poultry wandered, scattered in alfalfa. The forge remained cold and silent. A handful of kids looked sadly at a caravan, forcing the pace to avoid the caravanserai – this land had the evil eye, they said. Near a coppice of lentisks, a donkey gnawed its rope, but no horse saddled for hunting. At the consecrated hours, only the ancients now assembled for the verses, around the source dedicated to the Goddess. The clothes made of colored wool, usually hanging to dry in the desert wind, seemed to be stored for better days. The sheep, penned up in the enclosure, dragged their too long wool in the dust, waiting to be shorn. In the fields, the harvest was almost abandoned, for lack of the arms of all these brave men fallen or held captive far away: the women brought wheat and barley in the sheaves as they could, with the help of the old men and children.

A wait seemed to have suspended the village's life.

Even the dogs missed barking as the rider approached.

The thoroughbred stopped in front of the Caïd's house, foaming and nervously hitting the floor with its hoof. The messenger jumped to the ground, left his horse in the forecourt, in the shade of the lemon trees, and walked briskly under the white arcades.

The house was silent as for a fasting day.

Granting just a moment to the refreshment a maid offered him, the emissary urgently asked after Hadhar nen Hakhim of the Assadhini.

The visitor was introduced into the basin room, where the Caïd was watching over his uncle, in a damp half-light.

The chief of the tribe chanted at the bedside of the patient, imploring the Goddess to preserve his father's brother and companion in arms, well of knowledge and dean of his tribe. A young girl languidly fanned the two men. A little farther on, in the luminous embrasure of a half-moon window, a small wrinkled woman, packed in her ample tunic, recited verses in a low voice. Sitting cross-legged around her, on the blue mosaics, children of all ages were listening to the tales of the Assadhini.

The messenger came forward, looking serious. He wore the livery of the scouts in the service of the Gondorian Governor.

Hadhar shuddered. What dark news would worsen the misfortunes that overwhelmed him?

Soon, the children and servants were dismissed - the landlord was going to hold a hearing.

The emissary saluted with the convoluted formulas in use among the people of the South. Then he bowed respectfully to the Caïd, handing a large leather wallet to him.

Hadhar pulled out a folded parchment, sealed with Gondor's arms. His hand shook a little as he broke the seal and unfolded the thick paper.

The crowned white tree, stamped in the four corners of the parchment, was the only clue he could recognize. Apart from the printed characters, the Gondorians used strange signs, which ran in fluid lines on the paper. A sinuous writing, all in deceptive shades, like the Gondorians themselves, Hadhar thought with spite. He could not read that language, even though he spoke it fairly well...

The Caïd probed the messenger. The young man probably knew nothing of the missive's content. He kept his eyes lowered, waiting for the lord's good will. The poor Caïd did not know what to do - he could not lose face in front of a stranger!

So Hadhar raised the parchment in front of him. Looking through the entire document, he slowly raised his eyebrow or nodded from time to time. Finally, after the last of these incomprehensible lines - but had he only read them in the right direction? - the Caïd rested the letter, with a worried look that was not feigned.

Orders were given to lodge the visitor and take care of his mount. But the young man declined and was dismissed with a message of peace. He bowed, kissing his fingertips, wrapped himself in his cloak and turned on his heels. The hearing was over.

- So? inquired the old man eagerly, straightening up on his mattress.

With a fatalistic gesture, not daring to hope too much, his nephew handed him the parchment. Feverishly, the Uncle seized it, asked for more light, and scanned the paper, with his eyes almost extinguished and his hands quick as those of a spinner. He did not have to examine it very long, and exclaimed:

- O Caid of the Assadhini! Praise the Goddess, since She has fulfilled your wish!

The two men threw a few drops to the four winds.

- What are you saying, Light of our clan?

- This is the recognition charter you have been waiting for! I am sure! Paper, crest, seal, printed verses, everything! It is similar to those received by the other chiefs! Only the signature is different, but that is normal! This is not a petty governor's stamp! That is the seal of Osgiliath, the capital! In order to free your son, great captain of our riders, the King of Gondor himself was involved!

Out of joy and pride, the old man cried.

His nephew kissed his hand and held him in his arms for a long time.

Then, finally, the Caïd got up, went out and called in a loud and joyous voice, gathering the women and the children, summoning the elders and the young people, stopping the travellers on the road and inviting them for the party.

The fever spread throughout the village. Soon a delicious sizzle was heard on the steps of every door - the sheep fat sparkling on the coals. All evening the tambourines and the reed flutes sang the joy of renewal. The last riders of the village made an equestrian demonstration in endless charges. The feast gathered all the poor people in the gardens of the Caïd, who pronounced the blessings to the winds between each of the many dishes.

At the height of the feast, the Uncle, the oracle of his tribe, spoke to give thanks to the Caïd of the Assadhini and the King of Gondor. He called on their heads the blessing of the Goddess and, under the starry vault, announced his nephew would leave the next day, to pay his tribute to the governor, from whom he would receive the cord woven of gold and colors, a sign of peace, honor and prosperity.

That night, in the village of the Assadhini, the hymns were chanted to the Goddess, with more fervor than for many moons.

.oOo.

To be continued…

.oOo.

NOTES