Swords of Arabia: Betrayal (35 page)

Badr,
who
appeared
to
be
slowly
coming
to
the
same
conclusion,
nodded
sombrely.

“Indeed,
sister,
indeed,
I
fear
you
are
right.
We
must
hope
whoever
it
is,
isn’t
successful!”
They
thought
at
first
he
was
merely
stating
his
obvious
wish
not
to
be
killed,
but
then
he
continued
quietly.
“My
death
would
cause
great
pain
to
those
who
were
responsible
–
and
the
revenge
of
my
people
could
well
bring
down
all
that
we
would
want
kept
safe,”
he
finished,
quietly
but
with
a
clear
warning.

Unfortunately,
his
listeners
knew
he
spoke
no
more
than
the
truth,
which
was
one
of
the
reasons
he
was
still
alive.
They
couldn’t
risk
the
instability
his
death
would
cause.
Not
yet,
anyway.
So,
for
a
while,
he
was
safe.

In
the
meantime
there
was
much
talking
and
many
plans
and
alliances
to
be
made
to
prepare
for
the
day
when
the
British
delegation
arrived
-
and
when
the
moment
of
decision
could
no
longer
be
delayed.

***

“We
are
pleased
to
be
here
amongst
–
we
hope
–
friends,”
the
new
leader
of
the
British
delegation
commenced
courteously,
as
the
dishes
of
dates,
olives,
cheese
and
small
pieces
of
succulent
lamb
were
removed.
Only
the
ornate
brass
coffee
pots
and
accompanying
small
cups
remained
and
the
crucial
meeting
began.
“We
appreciate
Narash’s
willingness
to
consider
becoming
our
allies,
after
so
long
riding
at
the
side
of
others.”
He
coughed
delicately.
“It
is
no
easy
decision,”
he
ended
smoothly.

Years
of
diplomacy
in
Arabia
and
before
that
in
India,
meant
that
no
one
was
aware
of
how
keenly
his
eyes
analysed
the
situation
before
him.
That
he
was
meeting
the
young
emir
and
his
regents
he’d
expected.
To
have
other
senior
sheikhs
of
his
family
seated
around
him
told
the
envoy
much
about
the
young
prince’s
position.
The
experienced
diplomat
knew
that
in
Fouad’s
time
no
one
would
have
sat
with
him
in
such
a
council
with
outside
envoys.
The
very
structure
of
the
meeting
told
him
that
reports
were
true
and
that
the
young
prince
was
as
yet
far
from
firmly
placed
on
his
throne.
It
could
hardly
be
otherwise,
he
knew.
That
the
boy
was
still
alive,
let
alone
seated
in
his
father’s
place,
owed
something
to
the
loyalty
that
still
held
to
his
father’s
memory.
He
knew,
though,
that
it
owed
more,
much
more,
to
the
implacable
will
of
his
closest
family
advisors.
Even
they,
however,
could
not
keep
the
boy
safe
should
he
–
or
they
–
stumble
over
something
as
important
as
deciding
which
side
to
back
in
the
bloody
struggle
which
was
now
engulfing
lands
just
to
the
north
of
them.
A
struggle
which,
they
well
knew
would,
inevitably,
one
day
reach
themselves.

The
two
key
questions
for
him,
as
Britain’s
senior
representative
in
the
Gulf,
were
firstly;
would
they
decide
to
change
sides
and
back
the
British?
And,
secondly,
if
they
did,
could
they
hold
the
country
together
and
be
able to
deliver
that
agreement,
against
the
powerful
forces
that
would
immediately
be
arrayed
against
them?
The
meeting
would
decide
the
first
–
but
only
events
would
decide
the
second.
As
he
looked
around
the
large
chamber,
his
eyes
slid
over,
without
seeming
to
notice
it,
the
half-screen
placed
immediately
behind
and
to
the
left
of
Talal.
Part
of
the
answer
to
both
–
perhaps
the
greatest
part,
lay
behind
those
screens.
Though
ill
and
becoming
old,
the
boy’s
grandmother
was
still
a
force
in
the
land.
And
then,
of
course,
there
was
his
mother,
who
was
neither
ill
nor
old.
They
would,
the
envoy
knew,
regardless
of
the
social
conventions,
need
to
be
met
face
to
face
at
some
point.

***

“You
realise
that
if
we
choose
the
Ottoman,
the
British
could
easily
land
a
force
in
the
town
and
crush
us?”
Isaac
had
worriedly
pointed
out
in
one
of
the
several
meetings
held
before
the
British
delegation
arrived
in
the
town.

“Of
course,
and
we
could
be
attacked
from
the
land
by
the
Ottoman
and
the
Rashid,
should
we
choose
the
British,”
responded
Firyal.