“We’re friends,” said Gideon. “Friends!”
“As-salamu alaykum,” Imogen said in Arabic. “Peace be with you.”
Both greetings were ignored. The heavily bearded man and two others stepped forward, moving in absolute silence, like ghosts. The bearded man seized Gideon’s upraised hand, pulled it behind him, and in one efficient movement threw him facedown on the ground. Gideon struggled but the man quickly tied Gideon’s wrists together with a leather thong, then pulled him back to his feet. In seconds the three of them had been seized and tied, then leashed to each other in a line. It was done so swiftly Gideon barely had time to think, let alone resist.
The huge bearded man took the end of the leash and gave it a jerk, pointing down the trail.
Garza yanked back. “No one’s going to lead me around like a dog!”
The man stepped toward Garza, waving his crude dagger. Garza charged him, intent on butting him with his head, but the man was too fast and dodged the blow, neatly stepping aside and slamming Garza across the face with the back of his fist. Then the man spun Garza and held a dagger to his throat.
“Son of a bitch!” Garza said as struggled.
“Don’t—!” Gideon cried as the blackbeard cut him across the neck, Garza crying out in pain as he did so. It took Gideon a moment of horror to realize the cut was superficial, just deep enough to draw blood.
Blackbeard released Garza, gave a loud order, and the other warriors closed in on them. Imogen tried to speak Arabic again but was quickly muffled by a hairy goatskin that was stuffed in her mouth, then tied with a gag. Gideon and Garza got the same treatment. The skin in Gideon’s mouth was horribly rank.
Blackbeard now gestured at them again to walk down the trail. Gideon glanced at Garza. He was pale and shaken, a rivulet of blood running down his neck. For a few moments at least, Garza must also have thought he’d been about to die.
In silence they hiked along the trail, emerging from the misty valley at the far end into higher mountain country, the land rising in a series of ridges, surrounded by peaks. Topping the highest ridge they turned sharply westward, then came to a pass. Below, a second, even more remarkable valley opened up: a vast, mysterious world hidden within the mountains, carpeted in grass and dotted with groves of trees. Gideon could see tiny goatherds driving their flocks and several herds of camels grazing. The tinkling of bells reached his ears. In the middle of the great valley, at least a mile or more away, stood an encampment of tents arranged around a grassy plaza. It was as if they had fallen through a time warp: there was not the slightest evidence of the modern world visible anywhere.
With a shouted command, Blackbeard prodded them down the trail. At length, they entered the encampment and were led to a large tent that stood on a promontory of rock in the middle of the settlement, dyed deep yellow, with an elaborate geometric design in black along its border—the residence, Gideon surmised, of whatever chief ruled that land. As they approached, the flap of the tent was thrown aside and an old man emerged. He wore a long saffron-colored robe with a leather belt in which was tucked a dagger with a handle trimmed in precious metal. He carried a tall staff. The man’s wizened face was small and dark, with two eyes under bushy eyebrows peeping out from under a headcloth. Those pinpoint eyes, glittering with suspicion, rested on each of them in turn. As the eyes fell on Gideon, he had a crawling sensation of doom.
The flap of the tent moved again and out stepped a most extraordinary-looking old hag, so bent her body was practically the shape of a question mark, dressed in greasy goatskins. She was using two canes to support herself, and they looked to Gideon as if they were made of human long bones. A veil, draped over her head, trailed on the ground behind her. She slowly worked her way around until she was standing just behind the old man. Lastly, a young woman materialized out of the darkness of the tent. Unlike the others, she was dressed in a soft, gauzy material that no doubt passed for finery. Gideon saw a long swirl of dark, mahogany hair and equally dark eyes. She came up to stand beside the chief, looking at them with the same suspicious gaze as the other two.
A crowd began to gather.
Imogen bowed to the man and tried to speak, gesturing vigorously for the gag to be removed. After a few moments, the old man said something to Blackbeard, who stepped forward and removed her gag. Imogen spat out the disgusting goatskin. The old man waited for her to speak, leaning on his staff.
Collecting herself, Imogen began again in Arabic. The old man listened briefly and then interrupted her angrily. Imogen tried to continue, but Blackbeard made a cutting motion across his throat with the dagger, making it clear she should stop talking. She fell silent.
Now the crone began to speak, in a language that to Gideon did not sound at all like Arabic. What she said caused a stir in the crowd; a wave of suppressed excitement. In response, Blackbeard began prodding the three forward with his dagger, herding them along a faint trail that led out the far end of the valley. Meanwhile, the young woman and old crone were lifted and placed together in a rudely fashioned sedan chair, hoisted up by four men, in preparation for the journey. The crowd gathered behind, chattering excitedly, as if in anticipation of a sporting event.
25
AS THEY WERE herded along a faint trail, Imogen tried to speak again, but Blackbeard silenced her with a blow from the flat of his dagger. At length, they entered a ravine at the end of the valley and continued along a trail that skirted a cliff, with a drop on one side and a sheer wall on the other. A hot wind blew up from the depths of the ravine and a pair of ravens rode on the air, cawing at them before sweeping away.
Around the side of the cliff a small barren area came into sight, surrounded by scree slopes. A hideous spectacle revealed itself: a rough pit dug into the hard ground, surrounded by a semicircle of twisted wooden spikes on which human heads had been impaled. The heads were mummified, mouths agape, lips shrunken and drawn back from rotten teeth, with only hollow sockets for eyes. Some were clearly far older than others. Several ravens sitting on the spiked heads now rose into the sky, screeching their displeasure at being disturbed.
The crowd following them spread out and fell quiet, kneeling, heads bowed, waiting for the show to commence.
They were led to the edge of the pit. The ends of the leather ropes they were tied with were drawn tight, then staked into the ground on either side of the pit. Blackbeard took up a position behind them.
It was becoming all too clear to Gideon what was about to happen.
He began to mumble desperately, trying to speak through the foul gag, but nobody paid any attention. Imogen began speaking Arabic again, in a soft, pleading tone, but was also ignored.
The four men carrying the young woman and old crone now lowered the sedan chair to the ground, helping the crone out of it. Taking up her gruesome walking sticks, she shuffled forward with the presumed chief and came to a stop on the opposite side of the pit. She was joined by four old men in white robes, each with a long, forked beard. They looked like priests, it seemed to Gideon.
The crone, flanked by the old men, gave them what looked like a series of instructions or—perhaps—commands. Then she raised her withered arms to the sky, tilted her head back, and broke out in a strange, high-pitched wail that then turned into a sort of chant. The crowd dropped to their knees, heads bowed as the crone’s cracked voice echoed among the surrounding cliffs. Gideon tried not to look into the pit, but found that he could not help himself. In the gloom below, he could make out numerous corpses sprawled at the bottom, in various states of mummification. A few retained the rotting vestiges of Western clothing, but most wore Arab garb. All were missing their heads. Gideon took a shuddering breath. They were transgressors—and now they were going to be ritually beheaded, their bodies thrown into the pit, and their heads placed on stakes. What an end.