Read Online The Scorpion’s Bite by Aileen G. Baron - Free Book Online
Authors: Aileen G. Baron
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of nine,” Jalil explained.
“And then what?”
“Then we do bisha’a ,” ibn Achmad said.
“Exactly what is bisha’a ?”
“A way to the true light of Allah,” ibn Achmad answered.
Chapter Eleven
They reached the camp of Khalid ibn Achmed near Qusayr Amra by late morning. He had arranged for a large encampment of Bedouin to gather there to bear witness to the bisha’a .
Qusayr Amra was the abandoned hunting lodge of the desultory eighth century Umayyad Caliph al-Walid. Lily and Gideon had been there once before during the survey, and been awed by frescoes on the domed ceilings in the bath, with paintings of animals, of naked dancing ladies, of plump, scantily clad singers clutching ouds. Klaus had busied himself with his tripod and light meter while Gideon commented that the slaves who stoked the hypercaust must have used pasturage for miles around for fuel while goats and sheep of the Bedouin starved. That day, Klaus took two rolls of film, and used all his flash bulbs, saying “ooh” and “aah” each time the flash went off, while Gideon parodied the excesses of the long dead caliph, shouting, “More heat, more heat,” with an imperious gesture to slaves he pictured laboring to produce it.
***
The encampment was located on high ground near a wadi. As they approached the camp, sounds carried on the wind: the bray of donkeys; the tired honking of camels complaining about their fortune; the bleating of sheep and goats; the clucking and crowing of wandering chickens; the call of crows, flapping and cawing and picking on garbage at the edge of the camp.
Closer to the camp, dogs chased them, barking and growling, playing tag with the wheels of the vehicles. Jalil parked the Buick down-slope, near the edge of the camp; Gideon pulled the Jeep up next to it.
“What is bisha’a ,” Lily asked Jalil as they trudged up the hill toward the camp.
“It’s a fire test, a test of guilt or innocence. A red-hot piece of metal is placed against the tongue of the accused. If his tongue burns, he is guilty.”
Lily shook her head, astonished. “That’s trial by ordeal,” she murmured. “It’s medieval.”
“Not to worry,” Jalil said. “Gideon will come through it.”
“How do you know?”
“It works on a principle similar to a lie detector. If he’s lying, his mouth will be dry, and his tongue will burn. Otherwise, not.”
Lily threw up her hands. “And what happens if his tongue burns?”
Jalil shrugged. “Then he’s guilty. It’s up to the judges. And Khalid. This has all the authority of a court procedure.”
Lily heard a sharp intake of breath from Gideon.
“Have you witnessed bisha’a before?” she asked Jalil.
“Just a couple of times. Once, the accused burnt his tongue so badly he got blood poisoning.” He thought a minute. “Actually, gangrene.”
To die slowly, of hideous, evil-smelling sores. Lily glanced over at Gideon, at his pale face, at his labored breathing as he plodded up the hill, and knew that his mouth was dry with fear.
Guilty or innocent, Khalid isn’t out for money or camels. He’s out for vengeance.
Lily backtracked to the wadi, picking at the scrub vegetation, searching the surface of the wadi.
“What are you doing down there?” Gideon called.
She picked up a few water-washed stones. “Nothing really.”
She plucked two tiny wildflowers, climbed back up, called to Gideon, “Look what I found.”
She handed him the wildflowers, pressed the pebbles into his palm surreptitiously, and whispered, “Put these in your mouth. Hide them in your cheek.”
He looked puzzled.
“It’s an old Indian trick,” she said. “I learned it from the Cahuilla Indians around Palm Springs when I was growing up. They would suck on stones when they walked in the desert to keep their mouths from going dry.”
“This works?”
“Worked for them. It’ll work for you.”
In the camp, men were seated around campfires, blackened coffee pots ever present, talking,
“And then what?”
“Then we do bisha’a ,” ibn Achmad said.
“Exactly what is bisha’a ?”
“A way to the true light of Allah,” ibn Achmad answered.
Chapter Eleven
They reached the camp of Khalid ibn Achmed near Qusayr Amra by late morning. He had arranged for a large encampment of Bedouin to gather there to bear witness to the bisha’a .
Qusayr Amra was the abandoned hunting lodge of the desultory eighth century Umayyad Caliph al-Walid. Lily and Gideon had been there once before during the survey, and been awed by frescoes on the domed ceilings in the bath, with paintings of animals, of naked dancing ladies, of plump, scantily clad singers clutching ouds. Klaus had busied himself with his tripod and light meter while Gideon commented that the slaves who stoked the hypercaust must have used pasturage for miles around for fuel while goats and sheep of the Bedouin starved. That day, Klaus took two rolls of film, and used all his flash bulbs, saying “ooh” and “aah” each time the flash went off, while Gideon parodied the excesses of the long dead caliph, shouting, “More heat, more heat,” with an imperious gesture to slaves he pictured laboring to produce it.
***
The encampment was located on high ground near a wadi. As they approached the camp, sounds carried on the wind: the bray of donkeys; the tired honking of camels complaining about their fortune; the bleating of sheep and goats; the clucking and crowing of wandering chickens; the call of crows, flapping and cawing and picking on garbage at the edge of the camp.
Closer to the camp, dogs chased them, barking and growling, playing tag with the wheels of the vehicles. Jalil parked the Buick down-slope, near the edge of the camp; Gideon pulled the Jeep up next to it.
“What is bisha’a ,” Lily asked Jalil as they trudged up the hill toward the camp.
“It’s a fire test, a test of guilt or innocence. A red-hot piece of metal is placed against the tongue of the accused. If his tongue burns, he is guilty.”
Lily shook her head, astonished. “That’s trial by ordeal,” she murmured. “It’s medieval.”
“Not to worry,” Jalil said. “Gideon will come through it.”
“How do you know?”
“It works on a principle similar to a lie detector. If he’s lying, his mouth will be dry, and his tongue will burn. Otherwise, not.”
Lily threw up her hands. “And what happens if his tongue burns?”
Jalil shrugged. “Then he’s guilty. It’s up to the judges. And Khalid. This has all the authority of a court procedure.”
Lily heard a sharp intake of breath from Gideon.
“Have you witnessed bisha’a before?” she asked Jalil.
“Just a couple of times. Once, the accused burnt his tongue so badly he got blood poisoning.” He thought a minute. “Actually, gangrene.”
To die slowly, of hideous, evil-smelling sores. Lily glanced over at Gideon, at his pale face, at his labored breathing as he plodded up the hill, and knew that his mouth was dry with fear.
Guilty or innocent, Khalid isn’t out for money or camels. He’s out for vengeance.
Lily backtracked to the wadi, picking at the scrub vegetation, searching the surface of the wadi.
“What are you doing down there?” Gideon called.
She picked up a few water-washed stones. “Nothing really.”
She plucked two tiny wildflowers, climbed back up, called to Gideon, “Look what I found.”
She handed him the wildflowers, pressed the pebbles into his palm surreptitiously, and whispered, “Put these in your mouth. Hide them in your cheek.”
He looked puzzled.
“It’s an old Indian trick,” she said. “I learned it from the Cahuilla Indians around Palm Springs when I was growing up. They would suck on stones when they walked in the desert to keep their mouths from going dry.”
“This works?”
“Worked for them. It’ll work for you.”
In the camp, men were seated around campfires, blackened coffee pots ever present, talking,
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