Chapter 8

The night was silent and cold. The sky was clear and so dark that diamond stars appeared to shine through a curtain of black and purple velvet. The day's earlier breeze had picked up and blew hard through the dusty, drought ridden valley. Date Palms swayed, dancing back and forth, their dried fronds fell like sails into the wind, and blew away. The crescent moon at its apex, cast down platinum rays to reveal a Bedouin encampment on the valley floor, on the bank of a small stream. The dark coverings of the tents flapped as the wind rushed between the structures of woven camel and goat hair. Nearby, a worn pathway reached down to the edge of the ancient stream. Barely a trickle flowed down through its rock strewn bed. Beside it, malnourished asses huddled together with the camps small herd of sheep and goats, sharing sparse warmth of their bodies, as well as the protection that a herd can give against the night's dangers. Except for the rustle of the trees and the rising wind, the valley remained still and peaceful. Unusually, the camp's occupants had doused their fires and smothered the ashes. They did not want to bring unwanted attention on themselves, especially not the attention of bandits that had been known to wander these regions of late. And neither did they wish to come to the attention of Colonel Urabi's patrolling rebel army. Not whilst they harbored a pale stranger.

Two Bedouin tribesmen struggled in the growing gale, protected from the night chills in their gallabiyah robes and headscarves that they had wound around their faces. They pulled tight loose ropes and secured flapping cloth panels of the camp's tents. Deep in discussion, they continued on with their task.

The taller Bedouin said "We should not have helped him, Beshna. This is going to end badly for us"

Beshna shook his head at his friend "We are the Ahl Bedu. We are the people of the open lands. We welcome strangers with open arms and show them our hospitality as if they are family, one of our own. That is our tradition. That is our way. This is who we are. What should we have done, left him to die? Would you have wanted that for yourself, Zayed, to die under the baking sun, to feel your body burn and suffocate in the heat? This would have brought shame upon us. Allah may not have forgiven such an act of selfishness" Beshna said, as he tied a rope tight around a pole.

Zayed grimaced at the thought "No, of course not. But still, we've put ourselves in grave danger. If the rebels come back this way whilst he is here, then they shall kill us and take our women and children. We must rid ourselves of him in the morning" said Zayed as he fought a rouge covering. His eyes flitted from tent to tent and beyond. He was uneasy that he couldn't see further into the night.

"I tell you Beshna, we are in danger. This morning I rode out with the younger men as they guided the herd into the pastures to the west. I continued further on alone to the small village of Kal'hella. We passed it by two days ago. I searched for information and news, I spoke with their elder. An offering of good coffee helped loosen his tongue. I learned that over a week ago there was uproar at one of Urabi's camps to the north. A small band of British soldiers found and destroyed something they valued. During the raid, all were killed, except for one soldier and a wounded rebel. They are hunting the lone British survivor as we speak. And I now believe we had the misfortune to find and take in that very man. I'm sure of it" Zayed continued to stare nervously into the darkness.

Beshna grabbed a flailing rope and struggled to anchor it down "We can make no judgment of him or the rebels, Zayed. If we do, then we must judge ourselves first. Otherwise Allah will judge us and find us wanting"

Zayed considered this as he passed Beshna an iron peg "But..."

Sinking the peg into the sand, Beshna secured the rope "No buts, Zayed. The stranger is too weak to lift himself. How is he supposed to get up and walk away? If we turn our backs on him, then he will surely die. Or worse, the rebels could find him. And you know they would torture him for information. No, we shall show him three days and three nights of kindness, as our Forefathers have always done, as we shall do. If not, Zayed, how do we live with ourselves?"

Zayed bowed his head in defeat "Well, as soon as he's ready, father will have to send him on his way. Only then shall we be safe. Now let's get inside. It's your turn to watch him, Beshna" They cinched the last rope and made their way to their tents.

The pale stranger rolled restlessly on to his side, throwing off the furs in his sleep. Cold sweat poured from his feverish body as he struggled against the shifting sands of sleep. Demons stalked his dreams, holding and suffocating him under the changing dunes. Many hours would pass before his fever would break, and for his body to be strong enough to wake. Beshna, the tribe's healer, placed a damp cloth across his brow and dripped much needed moisture into his mouth. Although the stranger still felt hot to the touch, Beshna was satisfied that he was cooling, albeit slowly. Poking a little more life into the dying embers of the fire, Beshna pulled the covers and furs back over the stranger.

Looking down at the sleeping man, he thought "He is a danger, but we must show him kindness. We cannot send him away to die"

In the early hours, the fire died. Gathering his robe's tightly around himself, Beshna felt the night's chill settle in, and with one eye open, kept watch. It would be early morning before Zayed came and allowed Beshna to sleep.

The morning sun climbed above the valley walls, scattering shadows, and bathing the surrounding land in a warm haze that would steadily grow hotter until the air all around became stifling and uncomfortable. The winds had died down, leaving dust covering the entire area. The camp began to rouse. Several of the tribe's women, clad head to foot in dark flowing robes, made their way down to the stream with empty goat skins to bring in the day's water. The tribesmen walked around the perimeter of the camp, checking all was as it should be, making sure the night's wind hadn't torn lose any coverings, and that their beasts were still secure down by the river. To lose even one animal would be costly. The nomadic people could not afford a lesson such as that. The drought they were suffering had already taken a great toll on them. Before its end, the cost would become much higher. They were a proud people. They would prevail.

Inside the stranger's tent, Zayed woke from troubled slumber to find his unwelcome guest still sleeping fitfully. His fever had broken. Zayed couldn't help but wish that they had not found the stranger out on the plains. Although he respected the traditions of his people, he also wished that they would be more pragmatic, especially in this day and age. Sometimes tradition had to be modernised, so he thought. Making his way out of the tent, Zayed heard the man stir, but did not look back.

Again he thought, "This is a mistake". Lifting the drape of his Keffiyeh scarf across his face, Zayed stalked through the camp in search of the tribe's leader, the sheikh, also his father "He must see the sense in this. There can be no other way"

Disoriented and confused, Zayed's unwelcome guest held his pounding head in his hands. His eyes felt as if red hot pokers had stabbed him blind. He ran his hands and fingers up through warm blankets and furs and across his bare chest, he was naked, lying on top of a cotton quilted mattress. He hadn't a clue where he was. His memory was muddled and incomplete. Daringly, he opened his pain filled eyes. Walls of colorful striped cloth hung all around him, and the ground was covered in well-worn and threadbare rugs. He guessed that he was inside a tent of some kind. Struggling to push himself up, his hand fell upon a bundle of material. Clothes of a sort, he realized. A second larger bundle sat further over to the side, his own clothes, folded with his possessions placed on top, but not his weapons. With a sudden flash of anxiety, Humboldt scrambled over to the larger bundle and frantically searched for the Emerald pendant. His fingers probed each pocket in turn, finding nothing but lint. He delved into the pockets of his tunic, in the breast pocket his fingers this time brushed against a familiar solid object. Relieved, he withdrew the Emerald. It was safe. He sighed. Panic over. Humboldt reached for the fresh new clothing and dressed himself.

Light poured in through the open tent flap. Outside, Humboldt could hear the daily commotion of people going about their business. Unable to understand what the voices were saying he still recognized it as Egyptian. Pulling the floor length shirt over his head, and putting on the ghoutra head cloth and rope circlet, just as he had seen Egyptian men wear back in Alexandria, he walked out into the busy camp. 'Time to see whose hospitality I have the pleasure of accepting.'

His head still pounding, Humboldt raised his arm to shield his eyes against the blinding morning light. As his eyes adjusted to the sun, he walked through the camp, taking in the colorful tents and the strange nomadic people.

Avoiding his gaze, the Bedouin women gave him a wide berth, and carried on with their daily chores. Over at the center of the camp, around a freshly built fire, a group of men had gathered on rugs and large cushions, sharing smoke from a large shisha water pipe and drinking heavily perfumed coffee. Not wishing to appear disrespectful and unsure of what to do next, Humboldt bowed slowly and asked if any of them spoke English. Weather worn olive skinned faces studied him intently, saying nothing. Instead they continuing to drink and pass around the pipe. An old man sprang to his feet with surprising agility that belied his years. Standing in front of Humboldt, the old man greeted him in an unfamiliar language and touched his forehead to Humboldt's, and spoke in broken English.

"Welcome. We sit, you sit"

The old man stretched out his arm towards the gathered tribesmen, indicating for Humboldt to sit and join them. Settling down by the side of his host and next to a younger sterner looking Bedouin male, Humboldt nodded his greetings. Out of nowhere, a small cup of sweet tea was offered to him, and he was urged to drink. Humboldt could feel their eyes on him, waiting to see what he would do. Without fail, Humboldt drank the tea and placed the cup back on the small tray, nodding his thanks. The older man quickly filled the cup and urged him to drink once again. Still the Bedouin men watched as he emptied the cup. As fast as it was placed on the tray it was filled yet again, and thrust into his hands. Holding the cup, Humboldt smiled and raised it to his lips. As he sipped he raised his eyes to see them all smiling and nodding their approval.

The stern younger man on Humboldt's left said "You have honored us with the drinking" He spoke surprisingly good English "but you may wish to refuse more tea. To do so hold the cup between finger and thumb and shake it side to side, like so" the younger man shook his cup as he had said, and placed it onto the tray.

"I am Zayed, son of Abduallah, our tribe's leader and Sheikh" he indicated towards the older man on Humboldt's right, who had greeted him. "I shall speak for him. You will understand me better". Humboldt thought his smile seemed forced and strained.

Humboldt nodded in acknowledgement to the Sheikh.

"My name is Humboldt Granger. I'm a captain in the British Army. Thank you for your hospitality. I believe I also need to thank you for saving my life. Thank you." Humboldt climbed to his feet and bowed several time to the gathered men then sat back down.

Zayed spoke aloud to the gathering and to his father. Explaining, and indicating everything Humboldt had said. A murmur ran from man to man around the fire, until it reached the Sheikh, who raised his hand to his breast and smiled. Again he spoke quickly and fluidly in an unintelligible language to Humboldt. The Sheikh paused, and Zayed spoke.

"Father said that you Honor us with you presence, and wishes you to stay and be our guest until you are fully recovered. You shall be as a family member to us, and as so, you shall have our full protection. To offer anything less would be a disgrace. You have complete freedom in our humble abode. But he would like to make it clear that, unaccustomed to our traditions as you are, you may need to ask me for advice on how to proceed, especially around our women. This is as much for their honor as is for yours."

Zayed bowed his head once, and then proffered the shisha pipe for Humboldt to inhale. Not wishing to seem rude, he took the pipe from the young man and drew a long deep breath of a sweet tasting mu'assel smoke. With utmost concentration Humboldt tried his best to exhale slowly and smoothly, but could not help but cough towards the end. Taking a cup offered to him, Humboldt drank more sweet tea to sooth his dry throat. The Bedouin men laughed in good humor at Humboldt's hacking, and clapped hands in enthusiasm for him to partake once more.

Zayed less grim, said "We mean no offense, it isn't often that a stranger comes into our camp and entertains us so well"

Humboldt smiled and said "No offense taken. Smoking is popular where I come from too, but I never took up the practice." He tipped the pipe in salute and took another smaller draw. This time it seemed smoother, less irritating. Again his audience smiled and clapped their approval. Releasing the sweet flavored smoke, Humboldt passed the pipe to Zayed, who passed it to the next olive skinned man.

Humboldt asked "You speak very good English, Zayed. Do many of you do so?".

Zayed quickly translated as Humboldt spoke. Turning back he said.

"A few others speak a little. But only I speak it so completely. I learned to do so as a child. Many years ago another stranger such as you, arrived at our camp. And as is our custom we accepted him into our tribe and showed him kindness. He stayed for nearly five years. He told us he was an explorer from England and that he was traveling across the deserts in search of nomadic peoples. He wished to stay and live with us so he could learn our ways. This we allowed with the understanding that he became one of us. For five years he worked and toiled as we did. Along the way he taught us many things of the west. He taught me and several others to speak English. It seems I have a talent for language and I picked it up rather easily."

Zayed paused to imbibe the sweet smoke. Exhaling a cloud, he continued "He told father that in the coming years our tribe will encounter many situations where the ability to understand and speak English would be vital for our survival. Then one day he just packed up and left, telling us that he was needed elsewhere. We never heard from him again. His name was Ernest Bingham"

Humboldt nodded as Zayed spoke. At the mention the explorer's name, Humboldt raised an interested eyebrow "Professor Ernest .S. Bingham?"

Zayed raised an eyebrow "Yes. You know him?"

Humboldt nodded "Of him, yes. In England he was a renowned Academic, a teacher. He traveled the world, exploring hidden civilizations from history. He believed that by learning the ways of modern people, he could more fully understand their ancient origins"

Zayed asked worriedly "You say that he was, not is. Is he no longer?"

Humboldt dipped his head to show respect for Zayed's friend "I'm sorry Zayed. I did not know him, but I do remember reading that on return from a long extensive trip he was taken ill. They believe he died of malaria" Showing little outward signs of sadness, Zayed kissed his hand and touched his forehead "I shall pray for him. He was a good man and a dear friend. I shall mourn his memory"

For several hours Humboldt sat and shared coffee, the pipe and conversation with his hosts. He answered many questions about his life, as well as his love for his sweet Jessica. They found pleasure in the smallest details. Food was served by their women without a single word spoken. Zayed steered the conversation around to the whereabouts of Humboldt's recent difficulties and why he found himself out in an unforgiving desert without shelter, water or a horse.

Humboldt hungrily accepted a dish of rice and vegetables with lumps of unrecognizable meat mixed in. He guessed it was more than likely goat. With the eyes of the Bedouin men once again focusing on him, Humboldt spooned the rice into his mouth and chewed. The flavors were pungent with spices. The meat was tender and delicious. He tore a piece of fresh bread from the loaves being passed around. It was heavy, with a hard crust, but tasted good.

Humboldt told his story "I was out on patrol with a small unit of my best men. The evening drew in, so we made camp and bedded down for the night. My men settled, but I decided to travel back to our main contingent, to acquire for further orders. On return to my men the following morning, we were attacked by a rebel force greater than our own. My men battled heroically, but we were outnumbered. My men were all killed. Only I survived. I had fallen down into an underground chamber. Unconscious and Hidden from the eyes of the rebels, I was overlooked. Later I came to, and eventually found my way out. With little water, and our horses taken, I set out to find my way on foot across the plains. I resolved to find a way back to my main unit. Somehow I must have gotten turned around. I soon drank the last of the water. It wasn't long before the sun had the best of me. The last I remember was the wind stinging my face as a storm whipped the sands into a furor. Blindly, I stumbled on. I remember nothing else after that. Then I awoke in this oasis and to your hospitality" Humboldt kept the finding of the Emerald and the destruction of the secret weapons stash to himself. He raised the bread in his hand and nodded to the sheikh.

Zayed tore a piece of bread for himself "Ah yes, this would be when we found you. The storm was five days ago now. Two days ago we sent our eldest children to guide our herd of sheep out onto the plains in search of better pastures. Over to the north, before the desert begins, you can find a small strip of land sheltered by the surrounding hills. Grasses there are too tough for most small beasts, but our sheep happily graze upon them. Later, on their return journey the eldest boy Mohamed found you halfway hidden under a bush. You were delirious and close to death. Once the alarm was raised, I and two others made our way to that place and brought you back here. You are a lucky man Humboldt. Most would have died within hours, a day at best. You survived three days with no water or shelter before you were found. Beshna has taken care of you ever since. He's a very skilled healer. He says you have recovered with surprising speed. Impossibly fast. Praise be to Allah"

Humboldt asked "If it is permitted, I would like to thank the young man who saved my life. If it was not for him I may not have survived."

Zayed, his patience wearing, said "You shall have plenty of time over the next few days as you build up your strength, and before you leave."'

Humboldt understood the inflection in Zayed voice. He realized the young man didn't want him here, and thought "I'll have to speak to him in private and find out if there's a problem"

After they had all eaten their fill, and more aromatic coffee had been drunk, each member of the party, one by one, stood, bowed and departed.

Finally Humboldt stood and bowed to the Sheikh and Zayed "Again, I must thank you for your kindness and hospitality. I wish I could repay you in some way, but I regret that I am at a loss so far from home. It has been a long day and I still feel a little weak. I beg your pardon and your leave. I think I should return to my tent and rest." Bowing once again Humboldt retreated back to his tent and settled down among the soft warmth of the animal furs.

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