Believe or Die (21 page)

“Do I collect we are to make a sea voyage Lord?”

“We are my friend. It will be a long voyage and we are risking all upon it. Why do you frown so Captain? Risks and perils have never concerned you of much before?”

“Risks and perils be dammed! It’s the seasickness. I hate the fucking sea, as God is my witness, I hate it!”

De Rood’s ‘Messengers’ were a select group of Saadian horsemen whom he deployed on reconnaissance and as guides and despatch riders. They answered to none but he. Letters, written in Simon’s meticulous hand under dictation from the Wolf, were issued to individuals and the messengers, riding in pairs, disappeared to all points of the compass. These Saadians had once been a wealthy people who ruled large portions of Northern Morocco. Then came the Tauregs, the Berbers, and lunatics like Yusef. But by volunteering to serve in Yusef’s army, they successfully kept all three threats at bay. Yet, though officially mercenaries in the pay of Yusef, these hard riding warriors, a mere handful in number, had all somehow wound up under the Wolf’s banner, and nobody was incautious enough to ask how or why.

After a hushed conversation with De Rood, Van Ryer rode west with a single guide, straight to the Sultan’s court at Rabat. As the Wolf had no doubt anticipated, Yusef was engrossed in counting his newly arrived spoils, some of it still stained with the dried blood of the citizens of Fez. Outside, his cavalry performed wild fantasies and mounted stunts in his honour. The Sultan barely acknowledged the request from De Rood that he be allowed to pursue and finish off some remnants of the enemy forces that had fled to the north. The first part of his mission completed, Van Ryer headed for De Rood’s modest but well-appointed dwelling overlooking the River Boufekrane. There among the olive groves, he found a number of De Rood’s Bodyguard guarding a host of heavily laden and ill-tempered camels. Satisfying himself that all was as it should be, Van Ryer led the caravan westwards leaving the occasional rider at strategic points to watch the rear and give notice if any of the Sultan’s forces became curious.

Elsewhere, Pitkin watched the sunset and wondered if he would ever see another one. Then he became ill. Or rather, that is what he told his second-in-command. He bade the Lieutenant to rouse out the company and march them back to Sale, and then he collapsed back onto his pallet awash with sweat and vibrating with the shivers. Jacob, who had been treating the soon delirious Wil, walked the Lieutenant to the door shaking his head doubtfully.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked the Frenchman glancing back over his shoulder at the muttering pile of bedding.

“I cannot say for sure, not just yet. But I advise you not to tarry, there may be some contagion here.”

The Frenchman stopped abruptly and glared at his now shouting Captain.

“What kind of contagion?”

Jacob silently mouthed the word ‘plague’ and the Frenchman backed quickly out of the door. Within an hour, Pitkin’s men were gone. As they trudged through the night, the French Lieutenant began considering the possibilities of the situation. Now, HE was in command. The notion appealed to him and the more he thought on it, the more he thanked his good fortune. He had been more than a little scared of Pitkin, but now his course was clear. Pitkin would die. Whether by plague or a stiletto was irrelevant. None of the rest of the men appeared to have any symptoms of illness so it looked like they had escaped the contagion. The Frenchman continued his musing. Much booty had been taken in Fez and as a consequence of Pitkin’s anticipated demise, his portion had just increased considerably. Perhaps life in this desert shitheap might become bearable after all. C’est La Guerre!

Jacob watched the last flurries of dust disappear over the horizon and turned back to Pitkin’s sickbed.

“You can stop dying now Englishman, they’ve gone.”

Wil swung his legs to the floor and laughed somewhat nervously.

“You missed your vocation Master Jacob, you would have made a fine actor.”

“I’ll settle for being a live Jew!” snorted Jacob.

Wil buckled on his weapons and followed Jacob into a nearby courtyard. There they found Simon fussing over a heavily laden group of camels. Ehud and his sons crouched dejectedly together in one corner edgily watching the preparations. Half a dozen of De Rood’s personal bodyguards, bristling with weaponry, stood guard. There came a clatter of harness and hoofs and the Wolf appeared. Wil noted that he was wearing his favourite cloak, bright of colour and richly decorated, which seemed exceedingly ill-advised considering the nature of the scheme they were undertaking. Equally distinctive was his magnificent horse known to everyone in the Army and most if not all his enemies. De Rood carefully checked the loading of the caravan then waved to his Saadian guides who wheeled their mounts around and disappeared up the narrow streets. Jacob, who shared Pitkin’s loathing of camels, glared at the leading animal. The beast haughtily returned the look then spat with wondrous accuracy at Jacob before turning disdainfully away. The Jew wiped the copious spittle from his chest and picked up his staff.

“I think I’ll walk a while,” he muttered.

De Rood nodded to his bodyguards and they prodded Ehud into life. Then the Wolf took Wil aside.

“Watch our rear Wil,” he instructed. “Look out for my messengers.”

Wil mounted the scraggy mount he’d been provided with and made his way to the rear of the assembling column. There he found Simon perched on an ass and pondering over his ledger. Almost immediately, with the caravan not yet fully out of the courtyard, two riders appeared out of the twilight and held a rapid conference with the Wolf. De Rood nodded, thanked them, and away they sped again into the dusk. The Wolf waved the column on past him.

“Trouble Lord?” inquired Wil.

De Rood smiled mirthlessly and pulled the hood of his djellabah up over his head.

“Not yet Wil, not just yet,” he said coldly and galloped off. Wil noticed that he had glared venomously in the direction of Ehud when he said this.

Amongst his numerous scribe-like talents, Simon was also skilled in the art of map-making. From deep within his cavernous satchels, he began producing a series of detailed depictions of the area through which they now travelled. Occasionally, guides would appear, report to De Rood, and then vanish again in a cloud of sand. The Wolf would then call Simon to him, unroll a map, and bid the clerk to add or alter something. Wil got the distinct impression that De Rood did not need the map to navigate the wilderness and was instead using the chart to plan something.

Progress was leisurely and marches were dictated by the location of the next source of water. Because all were well used to the heat, and their speed was being regulated, fatigue was not a problem. Slowly they drew nearer to the northern coast, nearer to Tangier. Ehud was getting increasingly jumpy. Had he been aware of the thoughtful looks the Wolf had been casting in his direction, he would have been even more so. But the nervousness was contagious. Wil was also twitchy as were De Rood’s bodyguards, but in their case it was due to the unmistakable sensation of being watched. Yet despite the party passing through some prime ambush sites, nothing untoward occurred. For his part, De Rood seemed sublimely unconcerned. The apprehension within Wil grew day by day until it felt like an icy hand was gripping his innards. At camp on the fifth night, he could bear it no longer and approached the Wolf who was taking his ease and perusing a map. De Rood looked up as Pitkin drew near.

“Come sit you Wil. Sit and tell me what concerns you.”

“Lord, correct me if I am wrong, but are we not in hostile lands?”

“Indeed we are. It teams with all manner of vicious tribes and evil brigands.”

“Then why have we not been attacked?”

“Patience Wil. Matters are conducted differently out here. Soon we will be rejoined by Van Ryer. After that, things will soon become clearer.”

Pitkin frowned, bowed and went to leave. De Rood held up his hand and bade him sit again.

“Ehud’s merchandise is of very great value Wil. When combined with my’baggage’, this will be a very valuable caravan indeed, possibly the greatest to have crossed these lands for hundreds of years. The possible prospect of gaining such instant wealth does strange things to men and we must be watchful. I believe there is great treachery afoot and that we now tread an even more perilous path than we first anticipated.”

“Who is it you mistrust Lord?”

“Oh, as to that, Allah will be my guide and my advisor. All men either betray themselves or become revered by their deeds. Thus all will shortly be revealed. If it is of any comfort to you, I believe you to be true and would bid you to look to your weapons. Stay close to me over the next few days. Say nothing but observe everything and before long, all will become clear.”

Van Ryer rejoined them at the next camp leading half a dozen camels and a mixed bunch of bodyguards and animal handlers.

“Our task proceeds apace my friends,” said the Wolf. “Captains, let us treat ourselves to a decent meal. Bring all the guards in and bid them celebrate and relax. They have done well but more work lies ahead; let us all feast together while we may.”

“My Lord, who stands watch if all the guards are brought in?” protested Wil.

Van Ryer and his companions were already opening panniers and ‘discovering’ numerous hidden bottles. So much then for their conversion to Islam!

“Tonight my messengers will stand guard,” explained De Rood. “Fear not Wil, none can get past them, remember they have lived all their lives in this harsh land.”

At length, all the bodyguards and both the Captains were enjoying a lively, raucous feast. Except that Wil was not feeling jovial in the slightest. He sat despondently between Jacob and Simon and gnawed on a goat bone. As things began to die down, Wil became restless and began to rise.

“Going somewhere Captain?” inquired De Rood.

“To check on the pickets Lord.”

‘No need. Resume your seat.”

“But … !”

“But me no ‘buts’ sit! You also Simon.”

“I have not yet made my daily inventory Lord.”

“Nor shall you this night. Sit!”

“Will the Lord allow this humble servant to go for a piss?” asked Jacob sarcastically.

“Only if you stay within the light of the fire. Beyond its aura a Djinn may get you.”

“A Saadian Djinn perhaps?”

“Who knows my friend.”

The following morning the caravan set off once again. At noon they halted at a rocky outcrop from which a small spring bubbled. Animals and men drank; water bags were refilled.

“We must be watchful now my friends,” advised the Wolf. “Soon we will be within the range of Portuguese patrols. Is that not so, Master Ehud?”

The merchant frowned at the ground and said nothing. The Wolf continued.

“Ah, but I am forgetting! How stupid of me! Tangier is no longer your destination is it?”

Ehud’s jaw dropped. De Rood’s cold eyes drilled into him.

“No, you are bound for Cuerta, you are heading for Spanish territory are you not? Pray then tell me, enlighten me, what caused you to have this change of mind?”

“I did,” said Van Ryer off to one side.

De rood dropped his head to his chest and chuckled humourlessly. He shook himself as if to remove stiffness and turned to see his former bodyguards drawing their weapons and siding with Van Ryer.

“So then, this is the way of it eh? I see, oh yes, I see now.”

Wil’s hand flew to his sword but a dozen blades and barrels levelled upon him. Reluctantly he let his hand drop and glared at De Rood.

“You may see Lord but not I! What treachery is this?”

“It is very simple Wil. The good Captain here wants it all. He and my illustrious ‘Bodyguard’ mean to have both mine and Heer Ehud’s merchandise for themselves.”

Jacob and Simon were prodded forcefully to stand alongside De Rood and Wil. The Wolf chuckled again, pushed well back the hood of his djellabah, and sat down heavily, resignedly, on a nearby rock.

“So then Van Ryer, will you kill us all now?”

“Nein De Rood, not I. Nothing so uncouth for one such as ‘The Wolf’. I have learned much from you, including an appreciation of irony and subtlety.
I
have no intention of killing you! See!”

Two of Van Ryer’s followers brought forth a pair of camels and Ehud and his sons hurriedly mounted and beat the animals northwards towards Cuerta. Van Ryer watched them go then turned back to his captives.

“Within hours that merchant will have reached one of the Spanish outposts. By dusk, I would estimate, their cavalry will be seeking you out. Think of it De Rood, some lowly Dago officer will have the honour to capture ‘The Wolf’!”

“Think you I will be found and taken so easily?”

“You will be unarmed and afoot. And I do mean ‘afoot’ for I shall take your shoes and this is a hard land for those so bereft. You will not go far.”

“Why play such games? Kill us now and be done with it!” sighed Jacob.

“Ah but you see, this way, when I am living in De Rood’s luxurious abode and counting all his money, I can think of you four chained to the oars of a Spanish galley. I find that a very pleasant notion.”

“What did Ehud get out of it?” asked Wil.

“His life and his brats. A couple of my men will follow them to ensure he obeys his instructions.”

“‘Your’ men?” laughed De Rood. Van Ryer shrugged and waved some accomplices forward to disarm and unshoe De Rood and his companions. The Wolf seemed strangely indifferent to the proceedings and put up no resistance. Wil and the others were puzzled by this uncharacteristic ambivalence. Van Ryer grinned at them. Then he removed The Wolf’s cloak from his very back and mounted his fine stallion.

“You do not object De Rood? You will have no further use for these things. And now I bid you good day mein heers. I must back to the Sultan, via Meknes of course, and advise him of your terrible deaths.”

“We may yet escape the Dons,” said Wil.

“Unlikely, but even if you did, the Berbers will get you, in which case you will wish you were indeed a galley slave. Hideous things those Berber womenfolk do to captured men.”