“Look, brother, the other Englishman is moving again.”
“He thinks to creep up on the Serahin while they are hiding themselves from that machine,” said Hassan. “Let us follow him as well.”
They moved closer, their gray robes hugging the ground like silent fog. Their quarry was awkward and obviously fatigued. His movements seemed sluggish and strained.
“The man’s boots are too tight for him,” said Hakeem.
“Yes, he should have thrown them away. How can he feel the ground? A good pair of sandals would have served him better.”
They crept forward in Nordhausen’s wake, until they had rounded the northern hill and were well into the cloven depression in the center. They paused, watching where the Englishman seemed to crouch in tense anticipation.
“Look how his hand shakes,” Hassan breathed.
“Hush, brother!” Hakeem hissed a sibilant warning. He had spied movement and saw another man, in white Meccan robes, coming up from the rail line. Hakeem squinted at the figure as the two brothers pressed themselves flat on the ground. “It is him!”
“El Aurens?” Hassan’s eyes and ears were not so good as his younger brother.
“Yes! Allah be praised. I know him by his headdress. Look, he makes for that low sage in the middle of the wadi. Should we go to him, brother? Perhaps he will let us join his raiding party.”
“Quiet!” Hassan gave him a warning stare. “We must see what the Englishman is about. Why does he not move? Surely he has labored to meet this man here.”
They waited, expecting their quarry to announce himself and complete the tryst that he had obviously been planning, but the Englishman did not move. It was almost as if he did not want to reveal himself, as if he was afraid to be seen. Hakeem was still gaping in awe as he watched the resplendent figure of Aurens while he worked the earth at the base of the low sage. Then the man stood up, looking over the ground as if he sensed the presence of the three intruders. The two Arab brothers lowered their faces to the earth and joined the quiet stillness of the morning, invisible to all but the most careful eyes.
A white mist seemed to descend from the sky, veiling the ground ahead. When it parted they saw that Aurens was making his way up the side of the hill, probably to join the Serahin raiders who waited there. They caught a brief glimpse of the Englishman, crawling forward with labored effort through the vapors that still shrouded the hillside. He seemed to be making for the same low sage that Aurens had visited.
“Ah!” Hassan breathed a sigh of realization. “This was to be a secret meeting, Hakeem. Look! Perhaps Aurens left something at the roots of that sage yonder.”
“A message?” Hakeem suggested the first thing that came to mind. “Or perhaps gold? Why would he not speak with this man face to face?”
“The English are devious people,” said Hassan with obvious suspicion in his voice. “Some say they come here only for what they think they might keep when the war is finished. Some say they would use us to beat upon the Turks, and then go home when we have won their war for them. I do not like this. There is mischief here.”
“Brother!” Hakeem seemed to be searching the ground ahead, his eyes darting about with alarm. “The Englishman!”
“Will you shout so the Serahin will hear us?” Hassan started to chastise his younger brother again, until he realized the cause of his surprise. He peered into the misted gully, looking this way and that, but seeing nothing.
“He is gone brother,” Hakkem mouthed the words with great surprise. “The Englishman is gone!”
“What is this?” Hassan was not so quick to believe. “He must have scrambled off to meet El Aurens. Are you sure you do not see him? Look closely. He must be there.”
“I see nothing.” Hakeem’s eyes watered over with fear. “I saw him crawling to reach the sage, and then… a moment later…” His hand cupped his chin, covering his mouth as if he feared to say more.
“This cannot be.” Hassan tried to keep his voice low, but his frustration was obvious. The two men looked at one another, each trying to surmise the answer to the riddle in the other’s eyes. The haunting howl of a wild dog pack came to them from afar, breaking the tense stillness of the morning. There was a slight breeze sweeping up the wadi from the open lands beyond, yet the mist ahead seemed impervious, hanging like frosty vapor over the ground.
Hakeem shivered with a sudden chill of fear. “The Beni Hillal,” he rasped. He was speaking of the ancient peoples who had first settled this land. They were long since gone from the earth now, but tales were still told to frighten children from wandering too far from their campfires in the desert. The Beni Hillal had built all the old forts, six haunted towers and many water cairns in this region, in the deeps of time, long ago. They were gone now, but it was said that their dogs still roamed the night, and howled at the first light of the dawn, restlessly seeking their masters.
“Be still brother, you speak nonsense.” Hassan was not one to believe the old myth, though his eyes betrayed a moment of fear as the distant wail of the dogs swelled and then faded to wretched silence. “They are but jackals; hyaenas, nothing more.”
“The Beni Hillal!” Hakeem was not dissuaded. His fear was unseemly, and he hid his face from his brother, ashamed that he should be so unnerved. Yet his eyes had seen a strange thing just now, and it shook his frame with fright. The Englishman was there, not twenty meters ahead on the stony bed of the wadi. He moved, his frame shaken by unseen hands. The white mist descended upon him, and Hakeem thought he could feel the morning air grow colder, as though chilled by the breath of some unnatural thing. When he looked again, the Englishman was gone. He had vanished! By God, by Holy God, he was gone!
He covered his face. “Allah be praised,” he whispered. “Protect us from the mischief of those who practice secret arts…” The words of the morning prayer returned to him, haunting and replete with new meaning. He was very frightened.
Hassan saw his brother’s fear, but he fought to quell the rising sense of unease in his own heart. He must see this thing for himself. The Englishman must be there. How far could he have crawled, or even run? He would go and look for the man. “Wait here, brother. Do not be fearful. Allah, our God, protects us. I will go and see where the Englishman has run. You will see.” He gave his younger brother a reassuring nod and started off, creeping low on the ground as he made his way forward. He would steal up on the low sage and see what mystery it struggled to hide from the gray morning.
When he was half way to the place, he felt a frosty chill on the air. The ground itself seemed icy to his touch and he drew his hands back from the stones, suddenly afraid. He shivered, struggling to master his emotions. He would not be shamed before his brother. He was elder, and he must not give way to the terror in his heart. He prayed to Allah, that he be protected from the darkness that seemed to surround his mind, and he forced himself to creep forward, his hands shaking in spite of every effort.
He made his way to the low sage, but there was no sign of the Englishman, or of Aurens. He stood up, looking this way and that, confused and frightened. Then his foot struck something hard that had been concealed beneath the plant. He looked to see the squat, rusted box of an exploder. He had nearly knocked it on its side with the frantic movements of his search. El Aurens had put it there to fire the charges hidden beneath the rail line. God save him, he must not lay hands upon this thing. He searched about, desperate for some sign of the Englishman, but he was nowhere to be seen. He studied the ground, using all his art and craft for reading the signs of passing feet, but it was clear to him that only one man had come to this place, and he had been very careful to mask his passage. Where would the Englishman go if not here? A great doubt descended on him, like the darkness he sought refuge from in his morning prayer. There was mischief here, strange, unaccountable mischief. He turned and fled, back along the trail he had taken, but he edged away from the cold spot in the earth, unwilling to traverse that ground a second time. When he reached his brother the fear in his eyes was obvious, though he struggled to master it.