Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [256]
The company was congenial enough, and consisted of men and women and children, for there were families going to Arawan. As the heat became less, they grew lively. Every hour, the ropes on the loads needed adjusting: a camel would kick and bite and, roaring, disrupt the procession; the goats would stray; a dispute would break out over some trifle. At such times, the caravan carried its own clamour with it, like a long, narrow household perpetually singing, arguing, quarrelling, cackling. They hardly stopped for food, except during the enforced sleep through the heat, but passed between them gourds of maize and sour milk or rough bread. The fresh food had spoiled by the second day.
On the second day, the blind man came to them both and said, ‘Lord? You have been generous.’ He spoke to Nicholas, but his eyes were on Umar, the katib, the man of learning.
Nicholas said, ‘You have need of something?’ He kept his voice low, like the other’s.
The man said, ‘It might please my lord to know that many horsemen have passed this way to Arawan recently. Not today. Perhaps three days ago.’
Nicholas said, ‘Someone told you?’ The pale, shining sands were everywhere pristine.
‘My nose,’ said the man. ‘The manure has been covered while fresh. It is unusual.’
‘It’s Akil,’ said Umar, when they were alone. ‘Not the commander himself, he was at the banquet. He must have sent his troops on. Arawan is a Maghsharen settlement.’ They sat within their makeshift tent, their clothes soaking. A camel groaned and someone, irritated by their voices, coughed and spat. It was time for sleeping.
Nicholas said, ‘Would Akil’s men dare to attack us?’
Umar was repairing the thong of a slipper. The needle slipped in and out, as it had done when, manager of a large household, he still contrived to keep his master’s garments in order. In Cyprus, in Trebizond.
He said, without looking up, ‘He would perhaps tell them to hold our six camels. Let the others go on, and then send us off alone on some pretext. We should be reported murdered by wandering bandits.’
‘You think he wants that?’ Nicholas said.
‘I think he knows the Koy wouldn’t mind. Akil has shared the power with the Koy for thirty years. I think he doesn’t want competition from Europeans and Christians traversing the Sahara. He wants to trade with them at the coast, on his terms. Now,’ Umar said, ‘you are going to ask me why I didn’t think of that, before I brought you to Guinea.’
‘You didn’t know. I’m going to ask you something else. Must we stop at Arawan?’
Umar put down his needle. His thread had broken. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘I’m not. Answer the question,’ said Nicholas.
‘We could avoid Arawan,’ Umar said. ‘But the rest of this caravan won’t. Some are staying there. The others only came this way to pick up protection. It’s late in the season. Two or three hundred camels are rather few against troops of armed Berbers.’
‘Six would move quickly,’ said Nicholas.
‘Until the nomads observe them,’ said Umar. ‘And it means only six camels to carry food, fodder and water, our belongings and us, if we tire. It leaves no margin for sandstorms or straying or accidents. And lastly, if we don’t get to the water at Arawan, there are exactly two hundred miles between the first well after that and the next one.’ He had rethreaded his needle. He said, ‘I think we should avoid Arawan.’
A large smile overcame Nicholas: he felt his beard creaking inside his dimples. He said, ‘You’re just trying to get us both killed. Let’s go and talk to the rest. Perhaps there are a few others who don’t fancy Akil.’
In the end, fifty camels separated from the rest and chose to carry on to the north without calling at the Arawan post of the Maghsharen Tuareg. They left within half a day of its gates, carrying with them (for a price) all the surplus water the remaining travellers could spare and also the guide, who received, and counted, a hundred gold mithqals for his services. Then they set off, rather fast, for the nearest oasis.
Later, Nicholas realised that Umar had been afraid that