‘There were two pigs, see. And they ran off to one side. And the fat Frenchman went after them. Then he settled on one and rode after that. I could see him above the scrub, going up and down because the ground rose and fell at that point. And I thought, You’d better watch it, my fat friend, or else you’ll come off. And then you’ll be in trouble, especially if the pig turns and goes for you. And then I thought, That would be good to see. So I made haste to get there. But, Monsieur, I do not make haste very fast.’
He looked at Seymour apologetically.
‘I have to go like this.’
He showed Seymour how he ran: head down, almost touching the ground, hip up higher than his head. It was just like a hyena, Seymour thought.
‘And when I raised my head, I could not see him. “Lo, it has happened as I foretold,” I said to myself, and redoubled my efforts to get there. I heard the horse in the bushes and ran towards it, but not too fast in case it was the pig and not the horse.
‘And then I saw the lance. It was standing upright, just like this. And I thought, That is strange, but it must have fallen so. But when I went closer I saw that it was stuck through the fat Frenchman, and I thought, How can that be? He cannot have fallen thus. And then it came to me that he could not have done it himself and that someone else had a hand in this! So I sat beneath a bush and waited.
‘And gradually men came. I heard them speak. “What is this?” they said. “He needs help,” someone said. But then someone else said, “Nothing can help him now!” And another said, “Let us not go too close, for the Sheikh will send his men and then it will be better for us if we are not near.”
‘So they sat down and waited. And then the Sheikh’s men came. And they said, “Right, you bastards, who has done this?” And we all said, “Not I!” And they must have believed us, for one stayed and one rode away, and eventually he came back with another Frenchman, the tall captain.
‘That is all, and it was thus, and as I told you the first time.’
‘Not all,’ said Seymour, when Mustapha had finished interpreting.
‘Not all?’
‘Was not there another horse?’
‘Another horse?’
‘Didn’t someone ride in after the Frenchman? Immediately after.’
‘I saw no other horse.’
‘Ask him to think again. Carefully. Is he sure there was no other horse?’
Salah shook his head stubbornly.
‘I saw no other horse.’
‘Think again, Salah, for how else did the lance get there?’
‘That’s a good one,’ said Idris. ‘Someone stuck him, didn’t they? So someone else must have been there.’
‘Ah, but was he on a horse?’ asked Mustapha. ‘Well, was he, you little bastard?’ he said to the beggar boy.
‘I saw no one,’ repeated the beggar boy. ‘And no horse, either.’
‘Salah, I believe you,’ said Seymour. ‘But, then, as my friends say, there is left a riddle. Which, perhaps, you may still help us solve. Go on thinking. Think back to that day. You saw no other horse. Nor person, either. Might that not be because at the time you were running through the scrub with your head down, as you showed me?’
‘Well, it might, but-’
‘Go on thinking. Salah, you saw nothing. But you heard something. You told me. Something in the bushes. A pig, you said, or a horse. Could it not have been a horse?’
‘Well…’
‘You, yourself, were in doubt. Now, Salah, you heard this thing in the bushes, and you were concerned lest it might come upon you. Does that mean it was coming towards you? Or was it going away from you?’
‘Monsieur, I-’
‘Draw it in the sand. With your finger. Here is the spot where the Frenchman fell. And here is the track that he came from, where all the others were. Now, where were you? Draw it.’
Mustapha and Idris bent down to see.
‘So, Salah, you were here. Beside the main track?’
‘Watching the horses go by, yes.’
‘And the Frenchman rode into the scrub here, over to your right hand as you lay?’
‘That is so.’
‘And disappeared here. And you turned and went up to where you had last seen him. And then you heard something in the bushes…?’
‘Here,’ said Salah, pointing with his finger.
‘Near the spot where the fat Frenchman fell, but this side of it. Which means that whoever-it-was was coming away from where he fell?’
‘It seems so,’ Salah agreed.
‘And therefore towards you?’
Salah nodded.
‘Now, Salah, think hard. It did not stop, did it, or else you would have seen it when you got near the man. It must have gone on. Now, can you remember: did it pass you, or did it run away over to the left?’
‘Monsieur, it was I that ran away.’
‘And the horse — or pig?’
‘Carried on.’
‘Back down to the main track?’
‘I think so, Monsieur.’
‘Does not that make it seem as if it was a horse?’
‘If it was a pig,’ said Mustapha, ‘it was a very stupid one.’
‘But, Monsieur…’ said Idris.
‘Yes?’
‘You were asking Salah if there were not two horses. But Salah has been speaking only of one. Might not the horse that passed him have been the fat Frenchman’s horse?’
‘I didn’t hear two horses coming towards me,’ said Salah. ‘That I do know.’
Chapter Six
It was now well into the afternoon and the heat, as always in Tangier, had built up. Out in the bay there was a distinct haze. The sea was still, though, and not a boat was moving. Not much was moving on the land, either, and Seymour, mindful of Chantale’s injunction, looked around for a place where Mustapha and Idris might take a rest. They were not complaining but their faces were drawn and he guessed that this was the point in the day when they were missing their food.
He suggested that they stop in a cafe, whose tables conveniently spread out into the road; but when he sat down at a table Mustapha and Idris refused to join him.
‘No, no,’ they said, ‘we’ll sit down over here.’
And they sat down across the road in the shade of a big house and rested their backs against the wall.
He tried to persuade them but they were firm.
‘No, no: this gives us a better view.’
A better view? An undistinguished street with small, somnolent shops, a dog or two lying in the shade, the shutters on the houses closed and not a sign of life or a thing of interest: except that at the far end of the street there was another cafe, more populated than this one, with several people sitting at the tables but not much sign of action.
‘We can see them if they come,’ said Mustapha.
‘Both left and right,’ said Idris.
If they come? What were they expecting?
He tried again to persuade them but without success. At least, however, they were sitting down getting some respite, so he decided to leave them alone and ordered himself some mint tea. He wondered if he should order them some, too: but were they allowed to drink during the day? He knew they shouldn’t eat during Ramadan, but what about drink?
He went across and put it to them.
They thanked him politely but declined. A sip of water, however, would be welcomed.
Seymour went back to the cafe and asked if some water could be provided for his friends. He half expected a brusque dismissal, which is what he would certainly have got in England, but instead they nodded approvingly and took some across in an enamel mug; just the one mug, which Mustapha and Idris shared quite happily.
He suddenly realized that he was glad to sit down himself. Although he was in the shade, the heat was still considerable enough to make him languorous. The mint tea, though, was refreshing and he sat on for some time in an increasing doze; which seemed to be shared by everyone around him.
Not at the other end of the street, however. Shouts roused him. People in the cafe looked up. There seemed to be some sort of altercation centring on the other cafe. Mustapha, drawn to any form of disorder, went up the street to see what was going on. There was a crowd, growing every second, and voices were raised in protest.