his Adam’s apple. The mob backed away a pace or two and then, almost as one turned on the travellers’ animals and belongings, grabbing everything they could and taking it back into their tents. A small group kept guard over the travellers, waving their swords and new guns menacingly.
‘Stop that this minute! I shall have you all hung as thieves,’ cried out Layard as he watched the last of his precious belongings disappear into the encampment.
His words had a marked effect on the mob – although not the one that Layard had hoped for. They began to pelt the party with stones, a number of which hit their chief who squeaked in outrage, struggling in Layard’s grip. Layard swung the wriggling bundle over his shoulder and levelled his gun at the nomads, who backed a way a few paces, but continued to throw stones.
‘This way, Effendi!’ cried Awad, who had spotted an opening in the retreating crowd.
Layard and the others scrambled for safety, the captive sheikh all the while screaming out ‘Infidels! Infidels!’. They had managed to run some twenty or thirty yards before the mob collected itself and began pursuit. There was a bang and a rifle ball whizzed over their heads – leading to a shrill squawk of alarm from the sheikh, who in his unaccustomedly lofty position across Layard’s shoulder was the nearest to its trajectory. Layard turned and fired a single barrel over the heads of the crowd, which scattered in fear.
‘Now, before they have time to regroup!’ shouted Awad and the travellers hurried towards the beckoning refuge of the hills.
A small group of nomads followed them at a cautious distance for some half a mile or so but decided that the Frank’s gun was not worth the effort of rescuing their sheikh and their pursuit petered out in the heat. With their pursuers gone, Layard roughly dumped his burden on the sand and marched him at gunpoint before them. With the harsh persuasion of his freshly reloaded gun, the now cursing and spitting sheikh guided them back to the road.
‘Infidel dog!’ spat the sheikh. ‘You will pay dearly for this indignity to my person.’
‘If I do not recover my animals and belongings, Sheikh, it will be you who pays,’ said Layard, punctuating his statement with a hefty prod of his gun in the small of the sheikh’s back.
‘We will see what the Mujelli makes of your treatment of his guests, when we reach Kerak.’
‘Ha, you will never reach Kerak,’ growled Mahmoud. ‘My men will fall upon you as soon as night comes and cut your throats to avenge my suffering.’
‘Why then,’ smiled Layard grimly and cocking his gun, ‘we shall make a good account of ourselves. You will see our throats will cost you a greater price than my few possessions.’
Mahmoud’s eyes widened momentarily and then he spat and lapsed into a sullen silence, tottering along on his spindly legs with occasional rude encouragement from Layard’s gun-barrel. Out of earshot of their captive, Awad spoke softly to Antonio, who came up to Layard’s side and spoke in Italian.
‘Effendi, Awad says that the sheikh may be right. His men are not brave, but they know the desert and if we are still in the open at night they will have the advantage.’
‘If that’s the case Antonio, we will just have to prepare ourselves for another fight.’ Layard scanned the horizon. Something dark shimmered in the distance.
‘Awad,’ he called, ‘you have good eyes. Are those tents?’
The tents belonged to a group of the Mujelli’s men. After an hour’s more march, Layard and his weary band arrived in their welcoming shade. Yusuf Effendi’s papers and the presence of Abu Dhaouk’s men were enough to quickly secure water, bread and the use of four camels to take them swiftly to Kerak. Under the grim gaze of the Mujelli’s men, Mahmoud underwent yet another metamorphosis of humour.
‘Effendi,’ he addressed Layard in a wheedling, placatory voice. ‘I have guided you across the desert as
‘Stop that this minute! I shall have you all hung as thieves,’ cried out Layard as he watched the last of his precious belongings disappear into the encampment.
His words had a marked effect on the mob – although not the one that Layard had hoped for. They began to pelt the party with stones, a number of which hit their chief who squeaked in outrage, struggling in Layard’s grip. Layard swung the wriggling bundle over his shoulder and levelled his gun at the nomads, who backed a way a few paces, but continued to throw stones.
‘This way, Effendi!’ cried Awad, who had spotted an opening in the retreating crowd.
Layard and the others scrambled for safety, the captive sheikh all the while screaming out ‘Infidels! Infidels!’. They had managed to run some twenty or thirty yards before the mob collected itself and began pursuit. There was a bang and a rifle ball whizzed over their heads – leading to a shrill squawk of alarm from the sheikh, who in his unaccustomedly lofty position across Layard’s shoulder was the nearest to its trajectory. Layard turned and fired a single barrel over the heads of the crowd, which scattered in fear.
‘Now, before they have time to regroup!’ shouted Awad and the travellers hurried towards the beckoning refuge of the hills.
A small group of nomads followed them at a cautious distance for some half a mile or so but decided that the Frank’s gun was not worth the effort of rescuing their sheikh and their pursuit petered out in the heat. With their pursuers gone, Layard roughly dumped his burden on the sand and marched him at gunpoint before them. With the harsh persuasion of his freshly reloaded gun, the now cursing and spitting sheikh guided them back to the road.
‘Infidel dog!’ spat the sheikh. ‘You will pay dearly for this indignity to my person.’
‘If I do not recover my animals and belongings, Sheikh, it will be you who pays,’ said Layard, punctuating his statement with a hefty prod of his gun in the small of the sheikh’s back.
‘We will see what the Mujelli makes of your treatment of his guests, when we reach Kerak.’
‘Ha, you will never reach Kerak,’ growled Mahmoud. ‘My men will fall upon you as soon as night comes and cut your throats to avenge my suffering.’
‘Why then,’ smiled Layard grimly and cocking his gun, ‘we shall make a good account of ourselves. You will see our throats will cost you a greater price than my few possessions.’
Mahmoud’s eyes widened momentarily and then he spat and lapsed into a sullen silence, tottering along on his spindly legs with occasional rude encouragement from Layard’s gun-barrel. Out of earshot of their captive, Awad spoke softly to Antonio, who came up to Layard’s side and spoke in Italian.
‘Effendi, Awad says that the sheikh may be right. His men are not brave, but they know the desert and if we are still in the open at night they will have the advantage.’
‘If that’s the case Antonio, we will just have to prepare ourselves for another fight.’ Layard scanned the horizon. Something dark shimmered in the distance.
‘Awad,’ he called, ‘you have good eyes. Are those tents?’
The tents belonged to a group of the Mujelli’s men. After an hour’s more march, Layard and his weary band arrived in their welcoming shade. Yusuf Effendi’s papers and the presence of Abu Dhaouk’s men were enough to quickly secure water, bread and the use of four camels to take them swiftly to Kerak. Under the grim gaze of the Mujelli’s men, Mahmoud underwent yet another metamorphosis of humour.
‘Effendi,’ he addressed Layard in a wheedling, placatory voice. ‘I have guided you across the desert as
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