Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (32 page)

Later,
they
sat
patiently
drinking
coffee
from
ornate
brass
coffee
pots
as
the
temperature
fell.
The
approaching
night
closed
swiftly
around
them
and
the
setting
sun
started
to
colour
the
surrounding
hills
and
dunes
with
the
softest
of
blue,
the
clearest
of
gold
and,
finally,
the
rich,
inky,
starlit
blackness
of
the
desert
night.
Then,
at
last,
their
guards,
stationed
around
the
camp
on
the
rocky
outcrops
surrounding
it,
alerted
them
to
a
party
of
approaching
riders.

“It’s
the
British!”
whispered
Talal
to
Nasir,
as
a
party,
also
mounted
on
camels,
rode
into
the
encampment.
“But
they
look
so
ordinary
–
and
they
are
so
few!”
he
added
in
disappointed
surprise.
His
youthful
expectation
of
a
show
to
equal
the
gaudy
trappings
of
the
Ottoman
emissaries
was
shattered
as
he
took
in
their
nondescript
khaki
clothing
and
quiet
demeanour
as
the
firelight
lit
the
approaching
emissaries.

“Don’t
be
fooled,
nephew,”
grunted
Badr.
He
had
come
into
contact
with
the
British
on
too
many
occasions
to
be
either
surprised
at
their
current
lack
of
display
or,
when
they
judged
the
occasion
needed
it,
their
ability
to
provide
such
a
display
that
put
the
attempts
of
anyone
else
into
the
shade.

“And
be
aware
also,
Talal,”
added
Nasir.
“Should
the
occasion
demand
it,
these
‘ordinary’
looking
men
can
call
on
armies
of
men
and
fleets
of
ships
that
you
can
scarce
imagine,
and
which
would
rival,
even
possibly
better,
those
of
the
Ottoman.
That
they
appear
thus,
is,
I
suspect,
to
keep
their
presence
a
secret
from
the
Turks
for
as
long
as
is
possible,”
he
added
astutely
and,
he
later
discovered,
entirely
correctly.

Then,
greetings
over,
introductions
made
and
ceremonial
hospitality
dispensed,
all
the
leaders
settled
down
for
the
main
business
of
the
gathering.

“I
never
had
the
honour
to
meet
your
father,
Highness,
and
regret
that
I
didn’t.
He
was
a
great
leader,”
the
head
of
the
small
British
delegation,
a
tall,
lean
man
with
piercing
grey
eyes,
said
courteously,
as
he
turned
to
Talal.

“Had
there
been
more
meetings,
perhaps
you
would
have – and
perhaps
my
father
would
still
be
alive!”
flashed
Talal,
silencing
the
Briton
and
surprising
his
regents.
Ay Allah
,
the son is truly turning into the man!
thought
Nasir,
not
at
all
put
out
that
his
nephew
had
got
the
meeting
off
to
an
awkward
start.

If,
however,
the
British
felt
any
awkwardness
it
didn’t
show.
“He
is
a
sad
loss
to
Arabia,
particularly
in
these
troubled
and
dangerous
times.
Much
has
happened
since
those
meetings,
though
only
a
few
short
years
have
passed,”
the
Briton
responded
quietly,
his
well-bred
voice
remaining
calm.
“Much
has
changed,”
he
added
quietly
and
with
only
a
slight
but
unmistakeable
emphasis.

Badr
nodded.
“That
is
indeed
so.
Had
they
not,
this
meeting
would
not
be
happening,
perhaps?”
he
interjected,
mildly
but
pointedly.

The
delegation
leader
nodded,
“Quite
probably
not,”
he
agreed.
“But
as
things
have
changed
and
we
are
meeting
here,
His
Majesty’s
Government
hopes
we
may
build
on
what
have
always
been
cordial
relations
between
our
two
countries,”
he
finished
blandly.

“We
have
always
before
been
regarded
as
too
close
to
our
Ottoman
friends
to
be
of
much
interest,
or
indeed
much
trusted
by,
His
Majesty’s
Government,
prior
to
this,”
Badr
responded,
with
just
the
slightest
of
mocking
emphasis
on
‘His
Majesty’s
Government’.

“This
is
so,
and,
if
we’re
speaking
frankly,
as
it
appears
we
are,”
responded
the
diplomat
with
a
slight
smile
and
inclination
of
his
head
to
Talal,
“it
is
entirely
understandable.
An
alliance
spanning
generations
is
not
one
that
is
lightly
broken.
Nor,”
he
shrugged,
“would
those
hearing
that
there
may
be
a
wish
for
it
to
be
severed,
lightly
come
to
believe
it,”
he
responded
quietly.

“So,
why
are
we
here?”
asked
Nasir,
equally
calmly.

“Because
it
is
possible
that
we
may
have
some
common
interests.
Having
said
that,
many
in
our
government
are
against
this
meeting
even
taking
place.
It
was
only
with
some
difficulty
that
agreement
was
given,”
was
the
unusually
blunt
response.