So their attackers had been sent, but by whom? The Black Cobra, or someone else? The bey? Someone in the palace?
Regardless, given they were locals, killing any would be unwise.
A knife flashed and nicked Gareth’s arm. Jaw clenching against the sting, he shook aside all distractions and refocused his energies on defeating the men.
A crowd started to gather in the street. Their assailants, finding no easy way to penetrate his and Mooktu’s deadly defense, called to others in the crowd. Called for help.
Most hung back, shocked and shaking their heads. But three young men came forward, eyes eager as they drew the typical short Arab blades from scabbards at their waists. Then they grinned, and pushed their way in to join the fight.
Just as the gate alongside Mooktu opened, and Bister, Mullins, and Jimmy rushed out, swords in hands.
And then the fight was truly on.
It was messy. It was confused.
Then one pair of opponents bumped into some onlookers, sending a woman sprawling, and that started a fight among some of the onlookers-and then it was impossible to tell what was going on.
Women joined the fray on the edges, thumping men over the head with basins, bundles, and baskets.
To Gareth’s horror, Emily, Dorcas, and Arnia emerged from the gate. Armed with ladles, they started laying about them.
For one godforsaken instant chaos reigned, then shouts came from the rear of the crowd. Large, muscled bodies started forging their way in.
The bey’s guards.
Gareth looked at Emily, trying to catch her eye to direct her back into the guesthouse-to no avail. Giving up, he fought his way to her side, arriving there just as the captain of the guard reached her.
It was the same man who had led the detachment to fetch them earlier in the day.
His dark eyes met Gareth’s. After a moment, he said, “You must, if you please, all come with me.”
It took another ten minutes to restore calm, but the captain evenhandedly gathered all those involved-those of Gareth’s party as well as all the locals, including the women. The captain had brought a full troop with him. The miscreants were formed two-by-two into a long line and, flanked by the guards, marched to the palace.
Walking with Mooktu at the head of the procession, Gareth looked back, confirming that the five locals who had initially attacked them, plus the three who had later joined in, had had their hands tied. All the rest had been left unrestrained. The captain had spoken in Arabic to those locals who had hung back and abstained from involvement, and had clearly got the basic story straight. Gareth took that as a good sign.
Glancing at Emily and Arnia, walking directly behind him and Mooktu, he murmured, “When we get to the palace, leave the talking to me.”
Emily looked up at him through the lace panel of her burka. “I seriously doubt the bey will deign to speak with me. With us.” With her eyes, she included Arnia, then looked away, head tilting as if beneath the burka she’d put her nose in the air. “Men always think men know everything.”
Gareth thought he heard a small “humph.” He also had the feeling she wasn’t talking solely about the bey.
Facing forward, he tried to remember if there was a British consulate anywhere in Tunisia, or even in neighboring Algeria, currently Tunisia’s overlord.
When they reached the palace, they were all ushered into a large hall, then left waiting there with the guards, armed, keeping watch over them. Unlike his earlier visit, this time they did not have to wait long. A bare ten minues had passed when a door at the end of the hall opened, and the bey, an average-sized man of middle years, tending slightly portly, with a silk turban wound about his head and a wide silk sash going over one shoulder and around his waist, came striding through, his personal guards at his back.
The captain bowed low.
The bey waved him up, and demanded an explanation for the crowd in his hall.
The captain’s story was brief and to the point-and accurate, much to Gareth’s relief.
The bey ran his eye down the line of those gathered. Then he ran his gaze back and fixed it on Gareth. “Major-I believe we met briefly this afternoon.” This time the bey spoke flawless English.
Gareth bowed. “Your Excellency.”
“Am I to take it that certain of these men attacked you as you returned to your lodgings?” When Gareth inclined his head, the bey raised his brows. “Which ones?”
Gareth shifted so he could point along the line. “These five first, then when they called for support, those three joined in.”
“Very good.” The bey marched down the line until he stood directly in front of the five. “Why did you attack these people, who I had only just welcomed to our fair city?”
The five fell to their knees, then further, prostrating themselves. After uttering various obeisances, one hurriedly said, “We were hired, Excellency, by another foreigner.”
The bey frowned, and glanced back at Gareth. “Who?”
“He wore a turban like the tall one”-the attacker pointed at Mooktu-“but his had a black band.”
Gareth shared a glance with Mooktu and Mullins beyond him.
The bey noticed, and came striding back to halt before Gareth. “You know of this black-turbaned man.”
A statement, not a question. Gareth met the bey’s dark eyes. “Sadly, yes, Your Excellency. It appears we’ve been followed-or perhaps this person reached here before us-but they are acting on behalf of an Indian cult leader who wishes revenge against a lady, the Governor of Bombay’s niece, who was instrumental in gathering vital evidence against the cult leader. The cult threatens the government and the people of India.”
As Gareth had suspected, as a ruler himself the bey had no time for anyone who threatened any government.
“This cult,” the bey declared to the room at large, “is to be given no help by my people.” He paused, then returned to the five still kneeling men. “You have been foolish beyond belief in attacking one I had welcomed at the behest of a foreigner. Captain!”
The captain approached. “Yes, Excellency?”
“Take these five, and the other three as well, and have them sweep the streets about the palace and clean the palace stables for the next three months. Then perhaps they will think again before they take coin from a foreigner to attack one of this city’s guests.”
The eight men all prostrated themselves. It was a lenient sentence, but, Gareth felt, a wise one. He and his party would soon be gone, but the bey would remain and continue to rule these people.
The bey briefly interrogated, then dismissed the other onlookers who had joined the fight. As they all filed out, relieved to have been spared any punishment, the bey strode back up the hall to where Gareth and his party remained.
The bey’s gaze raked the three women, all incognito behind their burkas, then lifted to Gareth’s face. “This lady, the governor’s niece-she travels with you?”
Gareth nodded. “It is my duty to keep her safe from the cult on our journey back to England.”
“Good.” The bey clapped a hand to Gareth’s shoulder. “Come-walk a little way with me.” He glanced back at the women. “And if it is not against your rules, as I believe it is not, perhaps your lady might join us?”
Without a second’s hesitation, Emily lifted her burka, putting it back from her face, then stepped forward and curtsied. “Your Excellency.”
The bey appeared pleased by the graceful obeisance. He bowed in return. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” Gallantly he offered his arm. “This is how it is done, is it not?”
Emily smiled and placed her hand on his arm. “Just so, Your Excellency.”
“Good.” Looking to Gareth, the bey waved him on. “Come-walk with me in the cloisters.”
Gareth glanced pointedly at the others of their party, standing quietly waiting.
Following his glance, the bey raised a hand. “My apologies. Your people may return to your lodgings. I will send guards to escort them, and the captain will escort you and your lady there shortly.”
Gareth inclined his head. “Thank you.”
Leaving the others filing out of the hall with the guards, Gareth walked by Emily’s side as the bey led them through a wonderfully carved archway into the tiled cloisters surrounding a courtyard.
