This opinion proved premature. An hour after I had expressed it we came to the first split. I held up my hand to signal my cohort to halt. Then I confirmed this with a verbal command to Zaras.
‘Let the men dismount and stretch their legs. They can each drink two mugs of water. But they must stay back and take care not to confuse the tracks until I have read them.’
Splitting the chase was an old Bedouin ploy that consisted of dividing their numbers into two equal groups. Then each group would take off in a separate direction. In this instance it was doubly effective, in that it would be impossible for us to decide which of the two groups had taken Tehuti with them. We would be forced to split our own forces to follow both of theirs.
I dismounted and handed the reins of my camel to Zaras to hold for me. I went forward on foot, stepping gingerly until I reached the point at which the gang had split. I saw that they had not dismounted to do so. Thus I was unable to pick up Tehuti’s footprints. I squatted down and once again called on my gods for help.
‘Great Horus, let me see. Open these weak blind eyes and show me the way, I beg of you. Open my eyes, beloved Hathor, and I will make you a blood sacrifice to delight your heart.’
I closed my eyes and listened to my heart beat twenty times before I opened them again. I looked around carefully but my eyesight was unaltered. The desert was the same. There was no translucent glow lighting the brutal sands; no dancing shadows to lead me on.
Then I heard a voice, and I cocked my head to listen to it. But it was only the wind soughing through the dunes. I turned my head slowly to allow the wind to brush my ear. I heard her then, softly but distinctly.
‘Let Hathor show you the way.’ It was the voice of Tehuti. I looked about me quickly expecting to find her at my shoulder. But she was not there. I closed my eyes and waited for the little miracle I knew would come. Silently I bowed my head and closed my eyes in atonement to the goddess Hathor for the recent derogatory thoughts I had directed at her.
‘We need you now, sweet Hathor. Tehuti and I need you.’
Then a scene from years ago began to replay itself behind my closed eyelids. Tehuti and I were once again in the small reed boat, drifting on the sacred waters of the Nile. She was smiling with delight and holding up the gift which I had just given her to celebrate the red flowering of her womanhood. It was a lovely jewel into which I had worked all my love and all my skill. On a fine chain was suspended a tiny golden head of Hathor, the horned goddess of love and virginity.
Still smiling Tehuti passed the gold chain around her neck and with both hands secured the clasp behind her. The golden head dangled down into the valley of silken skin between her breasts, and the image of the goddess smiled at me enigmatically.
‘I shall wear it always, Tata.’ I recalled Tehuti’s exact words. ‘Every time I feel it against my skin I shall think of you and my love for you will grow stronger.’ She had kept her promise. Whenever we were reunited after even a brief absence she showed me the charm, dangling it on the gold chain and then touching it to her lips.
Why I had thought of that now when time and speed were so critical, I could not fathom, and I tried to put it out of my mind. The memory persisted. Then with a sudden stab of excitement it occurred to me that the jewel would by now be imbued with Tehuti’s essential ethos. I would be able to detect it as unerringly as if she were here in the flesh. Then the voice in the wind confirmed what I had already sensed.
‘Find Hathor and you will find me.’
When I jumped to my feet I was still standing at the point at which Al Hawsawi’s gang had split. I saw that one group of ten had turned away towards the north. I decided to follow them first. I moved slowly, keeping to one side of the tracks made by the hooves of their horses.
I opened my inner senses to receive directions from either Tehuti or from Hathor. I felt nothing. I kept walking and then I felt an emotion stir within me. It was a sense of frustration and loneliness which grew stronger with every step I took.
I turned back towards the point from which I had started and the unpleasant sensation subsided gradually and then evaporated when I reached the splitting point again.
The second group of bandits had turned away towards the south. I followed their tracks.
Almost immediately I felt a lift of my spirits. I grew more elated with every few paces I took, and then I felt a small warm hand take my own hand and squeeze it. I looked down, but my hand was empty, and I knew with complete certainty that there was a presence beside me, leading me on.
I ran forward searching the surface of the parched sands. I covered another hundred paces before I saw something sparkle on the desert floor ahead of me. It was half buried in the yellow sand but I recognized it at once. I went down on one knee and brushed the loose sand aside. Then I picked up the tiny scrap of yellow gold and I touched it to my lips.
I looked back at Zaras. He was standing beside his camel watching me. I waved one hand above my head, beckoning to him. He mounted quickly and urged his camel forward, dragging my own animal behind him on its lead rein.
‘How can you be certain that she went this way, and not the other?’ he demanded as he handed the reins of my camel to me.
‘Do you know this trinket?’ I opened my hand and showed him and goddess’s head cupped in my palm. He nodded speechlessly.
‘She left it for me to find, as a sign.’
‘She is so wonderful.’ His tone was reverent. ‘There can be no other woman to compare with her in all this world.’
We rode on for two hours before we came upon another of the Bedouin horses broken down. It stood with its head hanging, unable to take another step. Its rider had flogged it mercilessly before he abandoned it. Its hindquarters were lacerated by the whiplash and the blood had congealed black and shiny on the wounds.
‘Give it water,’ I ordered and Zaras himself dismounted to fill a leather bucket from the water-skin that his camel carried. At the same time I also dismounted and took up a position behind the animal’s shoulder. I drew my sword. Zaras placed the bucket of water in front of the unfortunate beast and it dipped its muzzle into it. I allowed it to suck a few mouthfuls before I lifted my sword with both hands above my head. The animal was still drinking when I brought the blade down with all my weight and strength behind it.
Decapitated cleanly, the head sprang from the stump of the neck. The carcass dropped to its knees with blood pumping from the severed blood vessels. Then it toppled over sideways.
‘Don’t waste the water,’ I warned Zaras as I wiped my blade clean on the horse’s shoulder, and then ran it back into its scabbard.
I watched Zaras pour the remains of the water in the bucket back into the water-skin. I needed a few moments to regain my composure. I was suffering almost as much as the horse had done before my mercy stroke. I detest unnecessary cruelty and suffering in all its forms, and the horse had been savagely abused. However, I prevented my true feeling from showing. If they had known how I felt my men would probably have thought me eccentric and lost a little of their respect for me.
By the time the sun touched the horizon we had passed another three downed horses, and I could see by the increased bite of the tracks in the sand that some of the fugitive Arabs were doubled up in the saddle behind their companions. Others were reduced to walking, clinging on to the stirrup leathers of their companions to keep themselves on their feet.
We gained more rapidly on them with every hour that passed. I kept my cohort moving after the sun had set. At last the full moon came up to light our way. It was so silvery bright that it threw a shadow in each of the hoof marks that the Arab horses had imprinted in the sand. I could pick them out from afar. Hathor is the moon goddess, so I knew that this was her answer to my prayers. We moved forward at a pace that I judged was twice that of the chase. The camels responded willingly.
We passed two more fallen horses beside the trail, but I saw that they were beyond suffering and did not waste more time attending to them.
Then I came upon a human figure lying directly in our path. There was something familiar about it. This time I halted my camel and forced it to kneel.
‘Take care, Taita!’ Zaras called to me anxiously. ‘This could be a trap. He may be playing dead. Perhaps he is holding a knife ready in his hand.’
I heeded his warning and drew my sword. But when I stood over the human form it stirred, lifted its head painfully and looked up at me. The moonlight played on the man’s face and I recognized him.
I stared at him, so astonished that at first I was unable to speak.
‘What is it, Taita? What ails you?’ Zaras shouted at me. ‘Do you know the man?’ I did not reply directly to his queries.
‘Send Al Namjoo to me,’ I ordered without looking back at Zaras. The man at my feet was whimpering with terror as he stared up at me. Then he covered the lower half of his face with the tattered keffiyeh head-dress that was knotted around his throat, and turned his head away from me.
I heard Zaras calling Al Namjoo to come forward and then the sound of his camel being forced to kneel behind me.
‘Come here to me, Al Namjoo.’ My tone was harsh. I heard the crunching of his footsteps in the sand as he came to stand beside me. I did not look around at him.
‘I am here, master,’ he answered softly.
‘Do you recognize this person?’ I touched the man lying at my feet with the toe of my sandal.
‘No, lord, I cannot see his face …’ Al Namjoo murmured softly, but by the tremor in his voice I knew he was lying. I reached down and grabbed the corner of the keffiyeh head-dress and ripped it off the man’s face. I heard Al Namjoo gasp.
‘You see his face now,’ I told him. ‘Who is he?’
There was a drawn-out silence and the supine figure buried his face in the crook of his arm, and he began to sob in broken gusts. He was unable to look up at us.
‘Tell me, Al Namjoo, who is this piece of stinking pig shit?’ The figure of speech I had chosen to describe him was evidence of my outrage and distress.
‘He is my son, Haroun,’ the old man whispered.
‘And why is your son weeping, Al Namjoo?’
‘He is weeping because he has betrayed the trust you and I placed in him, lord.’
‘How did he betray our trust, old man?’
‘He told Al Hawsawi, the Jackal, where he could find us. He led him to the cavern pool to lie in wait for us.’
‘What is the fitting punishment for such treachery, Al Namjoo?’
‘The punishment is death. You must kill Haroun, lord.’
‘No, old man.’ I drew my sword. ‘I will not kill him. He is your son. You must kill him.’
‘I cannot kill my own son, master.’ He recoiled from me. ‘It would be the darkest and vilest deed imaginable. My son and I would be doomed to the dark otherworld of Seth for all eternity.’
‘Kill him and I will pray for your soul. You know that I am a man of power. You know I am an intercessor with the gods. It is always possible that they will harken to my prayers. You will have to take your chances on that.’
‘Please, beloved master. Spare me this terrible duty.’ Now he was also weeping, but silently. I could see the tears sparkling on his beard, silver in the moonlight. He fell to his knees and kissed my feet.
‘To die by his father’s hand is the only fitting punishment for him.’ I denied his entreaties. ‘Stand up, Al Namjoo. Kill him or I will kill your two younger sons Talal and Moosa first, then I will kill Haroun and finally I will kill you. There will be no male line in your house. There will be nobody to pray for your shade.’
He came to his feet shakily and I placed the hilt of my sword in his hands. He stared into my eyes; and he saw that my determination was hard as any diamond. He dropped his eyes in resignation.
‘Do it!’ I insisted and with both hands he wiped the tears from his own face. Then he raised his chin determinedly, and grasped the hilt of the sword that I was offering him. He stepped past me and stood over Haroun.
‘Do it!’ I repeated and he lifted the sword and struck once, twice and a third time. Then he dropped my sword and collapsed on top of the corpse of his eldest son. He hugged the cloven head to his chest and the yellow brains oozed out between his fingers. He began the keening wail of mourning.
I picked up my sword and wiped the blade on the corpse. Then I went back to my camel and mounted up. I left Al Namjoo to come to terms with his loss and I took up the trail of the Jackal once more.
My sense of compassion does not encompass all of mankind. My magnanimity does not cover all the sins committed against me.
In the first light of dawn we came to the spot at which Al Hawsawi had split his troop for the second time. This was an act of desperation. By now he must be certain that his first split had not thrown me off his tail.
I dismounted and studied the tracks to make an estimate of the Bedouin numbers.
There were six horses in one group and four in the second. Every horse was carrying two riders. That added up to twenty in total. In addition there were five men walking.
I raised my eyes to follow the spoor left by the larger troop which had turned off towards the north, and my heart pounded as I saw the small and dainty footprints that I knew so well following them. They had taken Tehuti with them.
However she was now dismounted and I saw from the signs that she was being dragged along unwillingly by two of the Arabs. I ran forward to examine her footprints more closely. My relief flared up in anger as I saw that one of her bare feet was bleeding. She had cut it on the jagged chips of flint which littered the sand.
The trail was clear and unambiguous. I had not the slightest doubt that Tehuti was with the group that had gone north; and yet I knew that my anger might cloud my good judgement. I had to make certainty doubly certain.
‘Stay here until I call you,’ I shouted across to Zaras. I left him and I followed the string of distinctive footprints. I went only one hundred and twenty paces before her footprints disappeared completely, but I was not too concerned.
I could tell that she had been lifted off her feet by one of the mounted Arabs, probably Al Hawsawi himself. Now she was probably perched up behind his saddle again. Not only were these signs evident, but they were endorsed by the aura which emanated from the head of Hathor that I held in my right hand.
I looked back and signalled Zaras to join me. He brought up my camel. I mounted and led our cohort forward, following the tracks of the Arabs who had turned off to the north, taking Tehuti with them.
We rode up a slight undulation in the desert floor and as we topped the next rise I became aware of the fading power of the aura issuing from Tehuti’s golden jewel. I reined down my mount abruptly. I looked around slowly at the vast dun landscape.
‘What ails you, my lord?’ Zaras brought his camel up alongside mine.
‘Tehuti did not come this way, after all,’ I said with certainty. ‘The Jackal has tricked us.’
‘That is not possible, Taita. I also saw her footprints. There could be no doubt,’ he challenged me.
‘Sometimes the lie is clear to see, while the truth remains hidden,’ I told him as I turned my mount’s head.
‘I don’t understand, my lord.’
‘That I know full well, Zaras. There is a great deal you will never understand. So I will not waste any more time trying to explain it to you.’ It was naughty of me but I had to take my frustration out on somebody.
Even though it was muted, I heard the grumbling and complaining amongst the men as they were forced to turn back and follow me. Zaras silenced them with a snarl.
I rode back to the point where I had lost Tehuti’s naked footprints as she was lifted back into the saddle by Al Hawsawi. I dismounted and gave the lead rein of my camel to one of the men to hold.
I knew that there was something that I had overlooked, but it continued to elude me.
I walked back to where the two troops of Bedouin had split up, and I examined the ground minutely. Were
there any tracks going in a contrary direction? I pondered. The answer was that there were not. From the point at which they had separated the two troops had kept straight on; nobody had turned back.
However I knew that I was looking at the answer to the anomaly, but I could not recognize it.
‘She must have gone back,’ I whispered to myself. ‘She did not continue forward with the second troop, so she must have gone backwards.’
I checked myself. Why had I employed the word ‘backwards’? It was incorrect in that context and my usage of words is usually flawless.
‘A person does not go backwards.’ I spoke aloud now. I knew how close I was to the solution. ‘A person either turns back, or walks backwards …’ I broke off again. That was it! I had it!
I ran back to where the trail of Tehuti’s naked footprints ended.
Because I now knew what to look for, I picked it out immediately. There was another set of masculine footprints which seemed to be going in the same northerly direction as all the others in the troop. However, now I picked out subtle differences.
These odd footprints began where Tehuti’s footprints came to an end. They trod on top of all the other prints. Whoever had made those footprints was carrying a heavy weight. Most significantly at every pace the heel of his sandals had thrown a little feather of sand backwards … whereas I might have expect the toe to throw the sand forwards.
‘The Jackal made those footprints.’ I worked it out, almost seeing it happening as I spoke. ‘Firstly, he set Tehuti down at the point where the gang split. He forced her to walk forward in front of his horse, following this northerly troop. After they had covered two hundred paces he dismounted. He sent his horse on with the northerly troop. Then he picked Tehuti up bodily and carried her back to where the first group was waiting for him; but now he was walking backwards, carrying her over his shoulder. The first group had another horse waiting for him and Tehuti. On this horse he carried Tehuti away with the southerly troop, leaving us to chase off after the northerly group. All this was devilishly complicated and cunning. I smiled grimly.