"Have you turned lily-livered?" The Jackal asked sardonically.
Ahmet answered, "I do not think so, but better a lily than a
sword-pierced liver."
"Have I not planned well?" The Jackal demanded.
"One who can select thirty-four men, scatter them throughout a Moslem
_Hadj_ and bring all safely to Mecca, has planned as wisely as he chose
men," Ahmet commented. "Just let there be no mistake at this late hour."
The Jackal said, "The only mistake of which we can be guilty now is in
leaving this place without The Black Stone."
Ali clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. The Jackal was
indeed playing for big stakes, one of the most colossal prizes in the
history of brigandage, and he seemed in a fair position to get it. Fixed
in the wall of The Kaaba, an edifice so ancient that some claimed it was
here even before Mohammed, The Black Stone was possibly the holiest of
Moslem shrines. In common with all other pilgrims, Ali had dutifully
kissed it. As far as its physical aspects were concerned, it was a
small, dark mass that at one time might have been part of a meteor.
Should anyone ever succeed in stealing it, the Moslem world would pay a
fantastic ransom for its safe return. If nobody stopped The Jackal and
his accomplices, each of them could be so wealthy that the Pasha of
Damascus would seem a beggar by comparison.
Ben Akbar swung his head to nudge Ali's shoulder with an inquiring nose,
and Ali stroked the _dalul's_ soft cheek. Accustomed to spending his
nights in some peaceful pasture, Ben Akbar had no liking for this
confined place, and he was telling his friend so.
Ali tried to conjure up a mental image of The Sacred Course, but he
couldn't do it, in spite of the fact that he had run its length the
stipulated seven times. Because he had hoped to find that in their faces
which would tell him just why they had come to Mecca, and thus furnish
some sure basis upon which he could build his own right motivation for
coming, Ali had studied his fellow pilgrims and ignored the street. Who
could imagine that he or anyone else might have to leave The Masa by the
nearest and quietest path?
There had to be a way because there was always a way, but Ali was still
seeking it when Ben Akbar, increasingly eager to be out of the city that
he did not like and into the desert he did, expressed his impatience in
a racking grunt.
Then there was just one way. Ali drew his dagger and waited.
Out in the night, there was sudden silence, but the very lack of noise
was as lethal as and somehow remarkably similar to the desert adder that
awaits its prey in complete silence and, in striking, makes no noise
that is ever heard by the victim. Ali considered the situation.
Since it was most improbable that there'd be a camel at this place and
hour without a camel driver, the conspirators knew they had been
overheard. In addition, since every camel has its own distinctive voice,
The Jackal had probably recognized Ben Akbar. Therefore, he knew that
Ali had overheard him.
Swiftly, Ali weighed the advantages and disadvantages and considered
possible ways to make the best use of the former, while yielding as
little as possible to the latter.
Beyond any doubt, The Jackal knew that Ben Akbar accepted certain
favored human beings and rejected all others, unless they foolishly
tried to interfere with him. Then he showed his resentment, often
violently. So only a fool would rush in, and The Jackal was no fool.
Neither, Ali told himself, was he a coward who'd be swerved from his
determined purpose by a threatening incident. He'd face a dozen Ben
Akbars before he'd abandon his plan to steal The Black Stone and seek
refuge in flight, but he'd face them in his own way. Ali took a
calculated risk.
"Kneel," he whispered in the _dalul's_ ear.
Ben Akbar obeyed. Stifling a sigh of relief, Ali slipped five paces to
one side and turned so that he was again facing the _dalul_. There had
been a certain unavoidable rattling of pebbles and other small noises
when Ben Akbar knelt, but no sound of a camel leaving the scene. If
Allah were kind, The Jackal would know that Ben Akbar remained where he
had been and would expect to find Ali with him. Rushing in from an
unexpected quarter at the right moment, Ali would have the advantage of
surprise and some hope of victory, in spite of two to one odds.
Ali thought, but very fleetingly, of calling out an offer to negotiate.
He'd go his way and maintain his silence, if the pair would promise no
interference. But The Jackal had come too far and risked too much to
incur the further risk of a knowing head and a possibly loose tongue;
he'd never accept the offer. Nor could Ali really have brought himself
to make it.
Even though he had failed to find the assured spiritual awakening he'd
earnestly hoped to discover in Mecca, he could not be disloyal to a
Faith he'd voluntarily accepted. Even though he himself failed to
appreciate the significance of The Black Stone, as a good Moslem, he
could not see it defiled.
Dagger in hand, Ali stood very quietly in the darkness. Though he was
looking toward Ben Akbar and the _dalul_ was only a few paces away, the
darkness was so intense that he could barely discern the camel's
outline. He neither saw nor heard anything else. It was as though Ali
and Ben Akbar were the only inhabitants of a world suddenly turned
black.
Ali battled the illusion, for the very silence and the feeling that he
was alone were sufficient evidence that he faced deadly danger. The
Jackal was no amateur who would seek to cow his enemy by hissed threats,
mislead him by thrown stones or other ruses, or indulge in any other
melodrama. He compared favorably with the tawny-maned lion who lays his
ambush at a water hole where gazelles drink. Having decided that killing
was in order, The Jackal would kill with a maximum of speed and
efficiency, brought about by a lifetime of experience.
Ben Akbar did not even move. He would remain exactly as he was and where
he was until Ali himself gave permission to get up or until circumstances
beyond his friend's control forced him to arise. A lump rose in Ali's
throat. Ben Akbar was far more than just a magnificent _dalul_. He was
Ali's other self, a true brother and to be loved as such. Ali renewed
his vow that, so long as Allah saw fit to spare him, just so long would
he and Ben Akbar face the same winds, traveling side by side.
Suddenly, seeing his pilgrimage in an entirely new light, it was no
longer a disappointment but more than rewarding. Perhaps, in His
infinite wisdom, Allah bestowed different gifts upon different
pilgrims, according to their true intentions. Ali knew that he was
contented now, for, because of his pilgrimage, he had Ben Akbar. He
would no longer stand alone against the world.
Presently, Ali became aware of great and immediate danger.
It was no sudden perception accompanied by sudden shock, but a complete
and whole revelation, the ripening of each separate incident since The
Jackal and Ahmet had appeared. Unless he did something about it, Ali's
senses told him, he would be dead very shortly. At the same time, so
clear was the light that bathed his mind, he was instantly able to
understand exactly how this had come about.
He had underestimated The Jackal. Hearing Ben Akbar grunt, the man had
identified him instantly. But he had also identified the tiny sounds
made by a camel kneeling and he'd known why Ben Akbar was made to kneel.
The Jackal, had decided, not only that Ali would not await directly
beside Ben Akbar, but also exactly where he would be found. It was what
The Jackal himself might have done under similar circumstances. Now,
dagger poised, he stood directly behind Ali and needed only one more
silent step to carry him into a striking position.
When Ali moved, he did so swiftly, bending at the knees even while he
swiveled the upper portion of his body forward to make a smaller
target. At the same time, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, so that
he made a complete turn and faced his enemy. He thrust with all his
strength.
The dagger's point found resistance, but not unyielding resistance. It
bit hungrily into something that was both soft and warm. There was a
gasp, a strangled grunt, then an almost gentle rustle as The Jackal
wilted backwards and his own burnous enfolded him.
A shout cracked the darkness as a hammer blow might crack a pane of
glass. "Now then! Close in!"
Bloody dagger still in his extended hand, Ali only half heard either the
shout or the patter of running feet that immediately followed. Aghast at
what he'd done but never intended to do, he remained rooted in his
tracks. This was Mecca, The Holy City, and shedding blood within its
borders was one of the very few sins for which there was no pardon.
Mohammed himself, when making prisoners of some enemies who sought to
hide in Mecca, could carry out his own death sentence only by locking
them in a building and letting them starve. No Moslem was wealthy or
influential enough to attain forgiveness for shedding blood in Mecca.
So complete was his horror and so shocking, for a short space Ali was
only vaguely aware of rough hands that gripped him. Then someone spoke.
Ali recognized the voice of the fierce officer who had ambushed the
Druse.
"It is the camel rider who was made keeper of the _dalul_, and he too
has let his charge stray."
A groan sounded in the darkness.
"He has done more than that," someone whom Ali could barely see said in
an awed whisper. "He has shed blood in the Holy City."
"Fool!" the officer said to Ali contemptuously. "We knew who they were
and were ready to take them! I would not care to wear your burnous at
this moment!"
The single reason why he was not already lying beside the wounded man,
Ali told himself, could be ascribed to the fact that the fierce officer
dared not shed blood in Mecca. Certainly his execution would not be
delayed when they no longer stood on Holy Ground.
Then the fog that had dulled Ali's brain when he stabbed The Jackal
faded away. He thought of words voiced by the officer, 'the camel rider
who was made keeper of the _dalul_, and he too has let his charge
stray.' Obviously, the soldiers were unaware of Ben Akbar's nearness.
Ali saw his one hope of escape.
"Ho!" he called loudly and clearly. "Ben Akbar! Come to me! Run!"
There was a rattling of pebbles as Ben Akbar hastened to obey.
Astonished soldiers, who hadn't even suspected this and needed a moment
to decide what it might be, dodged out of the _dalul's_ path or were
knocked out of it.
Side by side, Ali and Ben Akbar ran on until the friendly mantle of
night hid both.