Yakub he did not attempt to make direct contact with Nazeera or anyone else who knew his true identity. He communicated with Wad Hagma only through Yakub.
The preparations for Rebecca’s rescue were long drawn-out, seemingly interminable. Wad Hagma encountered many obstacles, all of which could only be surmounted with money and patience. Every time Yakub brought a message to Penrod it was for more cash to buy camels, hire guides or bribe guards and petty officials. Gradually the contents of Penrod’s once-heavy money belt were whittled down. Weeks became months, and he fretted and fumed. Many times he considered making his own arrangements for a lightning raid to snatch the captives and run with them for the Egyptian border. But by now he knew just how futile that would be. The zenana of the Mahdi was impenetrable without inside help, and daily the Dervish were exerting more control and restrictions on strangers entering or leaving Omdurman. Alone Penrod was able to move around with relative freedom, but with a party of women it would be almost impossible unless the way had been carefully prepared.
At last he discovered a small cave in a limestone outcrop in the desert a few miles beyond the town. This had once been the haunt of a religious hermit. The old man had been dead for some years, but the spot had such an unhealthy reputation among the local people that Penrod felt reasonably secure in taking it over. There was a tiny water seep at the back of the cave, just sufficient for the needs of one or two persons, and for the small herd of goats he purchased from a shepherd he met on the road. Penrod used the animals to support his disguise as a desert herder. From the cave back to Omdurman was a journey on foot of a mere two or three hours. Thus he was always in contact with Yakub, who rode out at night to bring him a little food and the latest news from his uncle.
Often Yakub stayed in the cave for a few days, and Penrod was glad of his company. He was unable to carry openly the European sword that Ryder Hardinge had given him at Metemma. It would attract too much attention. He buried it in the desert from where he would be able to retrieve it, and perhaps one day return it to Major Hardinge’s wife. He instructed Yakub to find him a Sudanese broadsword, then practised and exercised each day with it.
Whenever Yakub visited him they sparred in the wadi at the front of the cave where they were hidden from the eyes of a casual traveller or a wandering shepherd. Such was his skill that after half the day at practice Yakub disengaged their blades with the sweat dripping from his chin. “Enough, Abadan Riji!” he cried. “I swear, in the Name of God, that no man in this land can prevail against your blade. You have become a paragon of the long steel.”
They rested in the low mouth of the cave, and Penrod asked, “What word from your uncle?” He knew the news could not be good: if it had been Yakub would have given it to him immediately on his arrival.
“There was a vizier of the Mahdi with whom my uncle had come to an understanding and everything was at last in readiness. Three days ago the vizier fell foul of his master on another matter. He had stolen money from the treasury. On the Mahdi’s orders he was arrested and beheaded.” Yakub made a gesture of helplessness, then saw his master’s face darken with rage. “But do not despair. There is another man more reliable who is in direct charge of the zenana. He is willing.”
“Let me guess,” said Penrod. “Your uncle needs only fifty pounds more.”
“Nay, my lord.” Yakub was hurt by the suggestion. “He needs a mere thirty to seal the matter.”
“I will give him fifteen, and if all is not in readiness by this new moon at the latest, I will come to Omdurman to have further speech with him. When I arrive I will be carrying the long steel in my right hand.”
Yakub thought about this seriously for a while then replied, just as seriously, “It comes to me that my uncle will probably agree to your offer.”
Yakub’s instincts proved correct. Four days later he returned to the hermit’s cave. When he was still some way off he waved cheerfully and as soon as he was within hail he shouted, “Effendi, all is in readiness.”
As he came to where Penrod was waiting he slid down from the saddle of his camel, and embraced his master. “My uncle, so honest and trustworthy, has arranged everything as he promised. Al-Jamal, her little sister, and Nazeera will be waiting behind the old mosque at the river end of the execution ground three midnights hence. You should return to Omdurman earlier that day. It is best if you come alone and on foot, driving the goats before you in all innocence. I will meet you and the three women at the try sting place. I will bring six strong fresh camels all provisioned with waterskins, fodder and food. Then I, Yakub the intrepid, will guide you to the first meeting place with the next relay of camels. There will be five changes of animals along the road to the Egyptian border, so we will be able to ride like the wind. We will be gone before the Mahdi knows that his concubines are missing from the harem.”
They sat in the shade of the cave and went over every detail of the plans that Wad Hagma had laid out for Yakub. “Thus you will see, Abadan Riji, that all your money has been spent wisely, and that there was no reason to distrust my beloved uncle, who is a saint and a prince among men.”
Three days later, Penrod gathered up his few meagre possessions, slipped the sword in its scabbard down the back of his robe, wrapped the turban round his head and face, whistled up his goats and ambled off towards the river and the city. Yakub had give him a flute carved from a bamboo shoot, and over the months Penrod had taught himself to play it. The goats had become accustomed to him and they followed him obediently, bleating appreciatively whenever he struck up a tune.
He wanted to arrive on the outskirts of Omdurman an hour or so before sunset, but he was a little premature. Half a mile short of the first buildings he turned the goats loose to graze on the dried-out thorn scrub and settled down to wait beside the track. Although he wrapped himself in his robe and pretended to doze, he was wide awake. An old man leading a string of six donkeys loaded with firewood passed him.
Penrod continued to feign sleep, and after calling an uncertain greeting the old man walked on.
A short while later Penrod heard singing accompanied by the tapping of finger drums. He recognized the traditional country wedding songs, and then a large party of guests came along the road from the nearest village only a short distance to the south of the city. In their midst walked the bride. She was covered from head to foot with veils and the tinkling jewellery of gold and silver coins that formed part of her dowry. The guests and her male relatives were singing and clapping, and despite the Mahdi’s restrictions on these ceremonies, they were dancing, laughing and shouting ribald advice to her. When they saw Penrod squatting on the roadside they called to him, “Come on, old man. Leave your flea-bitten animals and join the fun.”
“There will be more food than you can eat, and perhaps even a sip of arak. Something you have not tasted for many years.” The man displayed a small waters king with a conspiratorial smirk.
Penrod answered them in a quavering unsteady voice: “I was married once myself, and I do not wish to see another innocent fellow take that same hard road.”
They roared with laughter.
“What a waggish old rascal you are.”
“You can give wise counsel to our doomed cousin in how best to appease a demanding woman.”
Then Penrod noticed that all the guests had the broad, overdeveloped shoulders of swordsmen, and despite their humble attire their swagger and strutting self-confidence was more that of aggagiers than cringing country oafs. He glanced down at the bare feet of the bride, all that was visible of her, and saw that they were broad and flat, not painted with henna, and that the toenails were ragged and broken.
Not the feet of a young virgin, Penrod thought. He reached over his shoulder and took a grip on the hilt of the sword concealed down the back of his robe. As his blade rasped from the scabbard he sprang to his feet, but the wedding guests had surrounded him. Penrod saw that they, too, had drawn weapons as they rushed at him from every direction. With surprise he realized that they were not edged blades but heavy clubs. He had little time to think about it before they were on him in a pack.
He killed the first with a straight thrust at the throat, but before he could disengage and recover, a blow from behind smashed into his shoulder and he felt the bone break. Still, he parried one-handed the next blow at his head. Then another hit him in the small of the back,
aimed at his kidneys, and his legs started to give way. He stayed upright just long enough to send a deep thrust into the chest of the man who had broken his shoulder. Then a great iron door slammed shut in the centre of his skull and darkness descended upon him like an ocean wave driven by the storm.
When Penrod regained consciousness he was uncertain where he was and what had happened to him. Close by where he lay, he heard a woman moaning and groaning in labour.
Why does not the stupid bitch hold her mouth, and have her brat elsewhere? he wondered. She should show
