Free Sahara Crosswind by T. Davis Bunn Page B

people the meaning of this Christian love and Christian peace.”
    â€œYou do me a great honor,” Jake said, humbled by the man’s gift of trust. “I will hope and pray that your decision brings new and eternal wealth to your tribe.”
    â€œThis also do I hope. Come,” Omar said. “Let us descend and make camp.”
    Travel-weary caravans from a dozen different locations took rest along the lake’s shoreline. As they walked the long path skirting the oasis, Omar intoned each name in turn. “They are of the Al Moyda’at. And those the M’Barek, agood people and our friends for many generations. And on the other side, the Mahmoudi. They are not to be trusted. Beyond them the Tebbeh from the reaches far to the south, here to trade their gold for salt and wares.”
    Each camp was carefully guarded, showing fierce hostility to most who passed or looked their way. At one camp a man strode forth, bowed and spoke and gestured for the chieftain to join him. Jake walked on with the rest of the tribe, drawing the desert hood down farther to shield his eyes, and watched as Omar respectfully declined the invitation.
    They kept themselves hidden from prying eyes by making camp at the lake’s far side. At dusk a pearly glow settled over the city. From the city’s ancient mosque, the muezzin called the faithful to the day’s final prayer.
    As night gathered, fires glowed the entire length of the lake and glimmered along the distant city’s walls. Their glow and the sunset burnished the lake to a coppery sheen. Fishermen glided gracefully across this brilliant surface, poling themselves in slender boats as long as the surrounding trees were tall. Jake spent the cool hour watching these fisherfolk, two polers working bow and stern, while from amidships three others fanned out nets, tossing and pulling them in with motions older than written history.
    While the evening meal was being prepared, Jake and Pierre brought Omar to the lakeside, and through Jasmyn explained the plan. He heard them out in silence, then stared out over the darkening lake. Finally he said, “For several days it has been clear that your brother is not up to the journey. But I did not feel it my place to speak first.”
    â€œIt’s the only idea we have had,” Jake said, speaking for them all. “But if you have a better one, we would like to hear it.”
    Omar examined him. “How can you be sure that the French are not after him as well?”
    â€œEven if they are, it will be for Patrique and not for us,” Jake replied, hoping that what he said was true.
    â€œIt is doubtful,” Pierre added, “that the traitor could order a hunt for Patrique through official French channels without revealing his plot.”
    â€œWe are hoping that the people who ordered us to proceed northward will be watching for anything like that,” Jake explained.
    Omar pondered their words long and hard before the call came to gather for the evening meal. Rising to his feet, the chieftain said, “I can see no danger in this plan that another plan would not also contain, and I have no other idea as sound as this one. We shall think on it further this night and see what the dawn brings before deciding.”
    Patrique was feeling fit enough to join them for the evening meal, but his eyes glittered feverishly in the firelight. Watching him, Jake knew at some deep level that tonight marked an ending. Come what may, this portion of his journey and his life was over. Jake looked about the campfire, studying each of the faces he had come to know so well, trying to etch the power of the memory and his feelings upon his very soul.
    He sat and ate as the others did, dipping into the communal pot using only his right hand, the action totally natural now. He accepted a goatskin, drank, passed it on. He listened to words he could not understand, seated in the dust at the very frontier of