“This is all a bit slow, isn’t it, Colonel?”
“That’s exactly what I want the enemy to think, Wake. That we’re bloated and fat, just like the sultan’s armies have been for a hundred years. The Berbers are anything but bloated and fat. I want them to see us moving slow today. And be assured, they are watching us. Right now.”
“Ah yes, deception in war can save a hundred men or kill a thousand,” added Sohkoor as he trotted up, bowing in the saddle without effort. “Our dear colonel is a master of that art.”
“Sounds like a quote from Napoleon or Jomini,” offered Wake, hurting all over, especially his crotch and thighs, from the strain of merely staying in his saddle. He hoped he’d be able to walk normally again but doubted it.
Woodgerd answered before Sohkoor. “It’s from one of the greatest of warriors—Saladin the Magnificent.”
“Don’t know of him. Sounds famous though with a name like that,” Wake said.
“Oh, he’s famous all right,” said Woodgerd. “Probably the most famous Arab warrior in modern history. Every Muslim knows of him. He’s the one who defeated the Crusaders under Richard the Lion-Hearted.”
“And protected the Christian prisoners,” added Sohkoor. “He is known for his terror in battle and his compassion afterward. He sent fruit and snow ice to the sick Richard, whom he honored as a true warrior.”
“Let’s hope we don’t run into any Saladins on this little jaunt,” muttered Wake.
Sohkoor laughed and wheeled his horse around, bound for the van of the column as Woodgerd continued back along the line of troops. The road ahead inclined steeply and Wake couldn’t see far ahead. The hills were getting higher.
Rork twisted around and pointed west. “Say goodbye to the sea, sir. Won’t see it anymore after this here hill. An’ I don’t feel good about that, sir.”
Wake tried to calm the gnawing in his gut as he watched the sea disappear behind them. “I agree with you there, Rork.”
***
Even in the gray dusk Wake could see the chieftain didn’t look impressed. Sohkoor had asked the man if he had any knowledge of captured foreigners in the area, to which the leathery ancient, head of the mountain Berber clan who lived in the tiny cluster of skin-walled huts, simply shrugged, then smiled idiotically. Told that he was now a hostage, the man didn’t even flinch. He knew he would be taken the moment he saw the sultan’s banner.
Sohkoor explained to Wake as they resumed the march. “He knows we consider him an enemy, until he proves himself a friend. He further knows that one should hold their enemies closely, until the issue is resolved.”
“Another of Saladin’s sayings, sir?”
The scholar grinned. “No, my friend. That one comes from Caesar. Tene tuum inimicum etiam iuxtior quam tuum amicum. He had very good reason to know that rule.”
Wake was astonished. “You speak Latin too?”
“And Greek and Hebrew and French and Spanish. I am but a scholar and I study knowledge already gained by others. It is not much, admittedly, but it is what I do.”
“You are a very interesting man, sir,” said Wake. “I think I’ll be learning quite a lot from you in the next few days.”
“The ability to learn is a salient, but rare, characteristic in men, Lieutenant Wake. Done humbly, it is what separates the few from the many. I shall look forward to learning from you, too, as we travel together on this journey.”
Two hours later they stopped for the night on the crest of a hill, the blue and silver stars above them crisp in the gradually chilling air. Tired as they must have been, Wake registered that the camp was set up in minutes, the soldiers going about their business without direction. First the perimeter pickets were posted and interior works erected, next the horses fed and watered and groomed, and only then did the cooks prepare a mush of vegetables and grains as others put up tents for the officers. His watch said ten in the evening when Wake lay down next to Rork under a goatskin lean-to.
Sohkoor appeared out of the gloom and walked by. “Bonne nuit, mes amis.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t understand that. What did you say, sir?” asked Wake.
Sohkoor stopped. “Oh, it is for me to be sorry, Lieutenant. I was under the impression that you had recently learned conversational French.” He paused in thought for a second. “Please pardon me. I said to you, ‘good night, my friends.’ I fear our departure will be early and I hope you gain a good rest. Good night.”
“Yes, sir. Good night to you, too, sir.”
“Oh, sir really is far too pretentious a word for a humble scholar such as myself. I am no soldier and need no rank. And Mu’al-lim Sohkoor is a bit long for your western tongue. Please just call me Sohkoor and I would be honored to have the privilege of calling you Peter and Sean.”
“Yes, sir . . . er, I mean . . . Sohkoor.”
The scholar slipped away in the dark, calling back, “Pleasant dreams, Peter.”
Lying there on the rocky ground, assailed by a hundred images of doom, Wake had the distinct feeling that Sohkoor didn’t mean a word of it. But he wasn’t fearful anymore. Now he was just plain angry at being stuck in the middle of nowhere with a vague plan at rescuing vanished people, one of whom had nearly ruined his life.
33
Wind of the Atlas
They didn’t leave at dawn. They left at three in the morning—without the column. Woodgerd woke them up and told them “the interesting part is about to begin.” Then he rounded
