— 15 —
The war room of Caid Ali Tamzali was magnificent. High, rounded ceilings topped the room, with stained glass windows depicting battle scenes on all sides. The walls were painted a dark orange, as the Caid wanted to provide the room with a forbidding feeling. A gigantic round wooden table, intricately inlaid with black marble, sat in the middle with perhaps twenty chairs around it. The chairs were wide and long in the back, made of varnished oak and fashioned with goose down pillows covered in burgundy silk. The room was inspired by King Arthur’s court and the Knights of the Round Table. The Caid was always impressed with Western Civilization and the British in particular. He liked nothing more than to emulate his heroes. On most days, he loved to sit around the table and talk strategy with his generals.
However, on this day, the Caid was not happy. In fact, the Caid was furious.
The Caid paced back and forth in the war room. His generals and colonels sat nervously around the table.
He was missing an entire search party and one of his best captains. The prisoners had escaped, making him look the fool. To top it off, a sandstorm had descended upon the kasbah. Sending another search party was now impossible.
The Caid was a large and imposing man. His belly protruded before him. His bald head dripped with sweat under his turban. His black robe extended out over his arms and two gold necklaces draped from his neck into a bushel of black chest hair. His eyes, however, were his most memorable features. They were dark and devoid of emotion. To look into the Caid’s eyes was to look into an abyss—an empty well missing any sort of feeling or humanity.
“So, they just up and walked out of our jail?” he asked again.
“It would seem so, Sire,” a general replied.
“And then they stole camels, rode off into the desert, and escaped in a freak sandstorm?” the Caid asked yet again.
“Yes, Sire.”
“And, this is the second escape we’ve had in a month?” the Caid asked.
“Yes, Sire.”
The Caid paced some more, his hands behind his back, thinking.
“It’s quite obvious our security forces are not only incompetent, but completely useless as well.”
“If I may add something,” a general asked.
The Caid said nothing; he simply glared at the general.
“Zahir was in charge of security. As you know, he has fled like a fugitive dog. With a new Security Supervisor, I expect that things will improve.”
The Caid continued to glare at the general. He was not in the mood for excuses or explanations. In fact, the general had just made himself a target.
“We look like incompetent fools to our people and our enemies. Children escaping from our jails? Our security officer running off like a dog in the night? I think perhaps the problem is that I’ve become entirely too soft.”
Nobody said anything to this. Nobody, anywhere, would ever have described the Caid as soft. In fact, he relished his reputation as a marauder and tyrant. He believed in instilling fear in his people. Without fear, there was no respect. Without respect, there was no power.
“I want these prisoners, all of them, captured and returned to the kasbah—dead or alive!” the Caid ordered.
“Yes, Sire!” the entire audience responded.
“I want a price of one hundred gold pieces on each prisoner’s head. I want a price of one thousand gold pieces on that fat Zahir. Two thousand if he is brought back alive.”
“Yes, Sire!”
“I want the guard details doubled.”
“Yes, Sire!”
“I want a search detail scouring the mountains, destroying anything and everything in its path!” he screamed.
“Yes, Sire!”
The energy in the room was felt by each officer. Each of them felt the Caid’s anger. Each of them fully understood the reach of his power and his capacity for destruction. If the Caid felt any one of his officers was weak or worse, a threat, he would order their execution without a second thought.
The winds howled outside the room, beating against the walls and ceiling, the sound of which provided a brief reprieve from the blasting of the Caid.
Outside, faint voices could be heard, barely audible through the doors and winds. Just then, a guard came rushing into the room.
“We are under attack!” he yelled.
“What?” the Caid asked.
“They are everywhere. The attackers have lit fire to two tents and have killed dozens of our soldiers!” the guard explained, exasperated.
The Caid looked at his officers. They looked at one another in disbelief. Each one thought exactly the same thing—they were being attacked?
The officers quickly stood up and went outside the war building, along with the Caid. The wind immediately kicked up sand into their eyes. Each man quickly covered his eyes and face with a scarf and braced against the swirling winds.
A man outfitted entirely in sand-colored camouflage stuck his sword into the chest of an infantryman. Another threw a torch onto a tent, and still another was trying to gather horses.
Each general, officer, and even the Caid drew swords and lunged into battle. Although most of these men were in their forties, fifties, and sixties, they could all handle a sword. One cut down a rebel as he was about to burn another tent. Six officers formed a circle around the Caid in the event of an attack.
The scene was confusing and chaotic, as soldiers scattered looking for rebels. There had been no time for order or organization. Soon, fires raged across several tents; with the help of the strong wind, the tents were quickly engulfed in flames. Rifle shots rang out in several areas at once.
“To the barracks!” the Caid yelled.
The group quickly ran to the military barracks. Soldiers were everywhere. One of the generals ran about, rounding up as many soldiers as he could find, and organizing a small army of forty soldiers into formation. They gathered ten cavalry soldiers, although the barn storing the horses now stood empty, burning to the ground.
Another general organized a smaller group of twelve soldiers and had them act as fire marshals, going from fire to fire and extinguishing each one.
The squadron of soldiers quickly marched throughout the kasbah grounds, looking for any rebels and attempting to restore order.
Malik held his blood-covered sword in his hand. The raid had taken place just after dawn. They had waited until there was civilian movement in the kasbah to further confuse the military. Sneaking in through one of the tunnels, a small group of rebels had first attacked the armory, stolen a cache of rifles, killed several guards, and then set fire to the remaining ammunition and weapons. Another group of rebel soldiers set fire to the food storage area, depleting the Caid’s supplies, while another scattered the horses and set fire to the stable.
To the Caid’s troops, it looked to be an unorganized and messy attack. But in fact, it was a well-conceived and perfectly-timed raid. Each rebel party understood its target and task. Everyone was on a time clock. Malik calculated it might take ten minutes for the Caid’s military to organize a counterattack. Each unit was instructed to escape at the ten-minute mark. To further confuse the Caid’s forces, each unit had a separate escape route. Some would leave through hidden tunnels and others via gates. Outside the kasbah, even more rebels were stationed to attack any troops that might try to follow.
It was as strategic as it was effective.
Malik blew a conch, a loud horn signaling for the rebels to withdraw. He and his team quickly met at the base of a hidden tunnel. Ensuring that nobody was following them, they each descended down the hole and began running through the tunnel. Reaching the end, they climbed back up the ladder, opened the trap door, and gathered their waiting horses. A small group of archers covered their flanks in the event they were followed.
They were not.
In a moment’s time, the entire group rode off. They galloped at full stride, heading for the mountains. They expected to see a group of the Caid’s riders following closely behind. Fortunately, none presented themselves. The raid had been a remarkable success. The Caid and his troops were so disorganized and preoccupied with putting out fires, they couldn’t even mount a search party.
The rebels rode up through the mountain passes. The camp had been moved to a new location, and several traps had been set along the escape route. Not even an army of a thousand could catch or defeat them in these canyons and valleys.
Each separate group of warriors met at the rendezvous point. No one had been followed. They dismounted their horses, looked at their wounds, and dusted themselves off. Everyone was surging with adrenaline.
Malik made a pot of tea over an open fire; other warriors dressed their wounds and washed the blood from their clothes. They waited for over an hour, until at last, all the warriors were gathered.
Malik stood in the middle of a circle, surrounded by the beaming faces of his soldiers. They were tired, and some nursed serious injuries, but the look of pride in their eyes was immeasurable.
“They say a man is measured not by where he starts, but by how far he goes in life. They say not to measure a man by his lineage, or his nobility, but by his actions. I just witnessed a group of farmers and poor nomads perform a raid on an army twenty times its size. We dealt a blow to an evil and deceitful enemy that he will not soon forget. I have never been so proud of any army in my entire life!” Malik said, his eyes welling up with tears.
The soldiers, now for the first time completely aware of their victory, began to hoot and holler and hug one another. Several came up and hugged Malik, each feeling the complete honesty of these embraces. There is perhaps nothing in the world that can compare to the feeling of warriors who have returned from battle. There is a bond and a camaraderie that cannot be experienced in any other way. They are more than friends or brothers—they are brothers-in-arms, willing to sacrifice their lives for one another.
The victory was not just a victory over the Caid; it was a moral and emotional victory. It showed each and every rebel warrior that the sacrifices and hardships they had suffered in their lives had been worth the price. It showed them that a better life was possible.
Further up valley, perhaps a day’s ride away, the remainder of the camp rode and walked single file. Most were women and children, with a few men for protection.
Tariq, Aseem, Fez, and Margaret walked together. The sun was almost at noon, although walking in the canyon shadows provided some shade.
“Do you think the raid was a success?” Fez asked.
“Of course, Malik is a brilliant general. His plan was a very good one,” Margaret answered. “Tariq, what do you think of the plan?”
Tariq was deep in thought. Something had been nagging at him all day; he just couldn’t place his thumb on it.
“Tariq!” Margaret said.
“What?” Tariq answered with a startled look.
“Where has your head been all day? What do you think of the plan?”
“Oh, it’s a very good one. I’m sure they will be successful. A sneak attack is always the best. With the information they have regarding the kasbah, the Caid won’t know what hit him.”
“Are you okay? You’ve been a bit off all day. Are you nervous about the raid?” Aseem asked.
“No, not that. Something else has been bothering me,” Tariq said aloud.
“Well, what is it?” Margaret asked.
“Aren’t we missing someone?”
“What? Who?”
Tariq couldn’t quite put his finger on what was bothering him. It kept nagging at him but he just couldn’t figure it out.
All three looked at Fez.
“That’s it! That’s what has been bothering me,” Tariq said.
“Wasn’t he with the wounded? Let’s check there first,” Margaret said.
All four quickly made their way to the back of the caravan, where the wounded were being cared for. They went through four wagons, but Jawad was nowhere to be found. They searched throughout the remaining caravan, but nobody had seen him for some time.
“If he escaped, he knows all about the plan. He even knows our escape route and where the new camp will be set up,” Tariq said, panic in his voice.
“We must tell the others!” Margaret said.
“Yes, we must let them know we are in danger,” Fez agreed.
The four went to Sanaa, who had been put in charge of the caravan, and explained the situation to her.
“Do we know how long he has gone missing?” she asked.
“We last saw him at breakfast; he must have slipped out during the day,” Margaret answered.
“We must assume he escaped just after breakfast. That would give him a seven-hour head start. On foot, it is at least thirty miles to the kasbah, depending upon how well he knows the landscape,” she thought aloud.
“Can we send a tracker after him?” Tariq asked.
“We don’t have any. All our trackers are with the raiding party.”
“If he makes it back to the Caid, he can tell him about our camp location, the size of our tribe, how many weapons we have—everything!” Fez said.
Sanaa looked at the four of them. This was a predicament. She really didn’t have any choice in the matter.
“We proceed as usual to the new rendezvous point. However, we won’t be able to set up camp as we had hoped. We’ll need to find a new location and hope the others reach us before the Caid’s troops are informed. If not, they’ll walk right into a massacre.”
The four of them were silent. This wasn’t what they were hoping to hear. It was because of them that Jawad was in their midst, and because of him, the entire raiding party might be walking into a slaughter.
Sanaa sensed their despair.
“Listen, it is not your fault. We tried to help Jawad, but some people are drunk with power. We will do as we always do—adapt and survive.”
The pep talk helped a little, but they still felt responsible.
“I can’t believe Jawad. We rescue him and we care for him and this is what he does to us?” Tariq said.
“You can’t hate Jawad, he’s just a boy. Remember, he helped you learn to ride a camel,” Margaret tried to interject.
“No, I’m also just a boy and I know the difference between right and wrong. Whatever good he did is no excuse. He is my sworn enemy from this point on. I swear, if he turns traitor on us to the Caid, I will find him and destroy him,” Tariq said, his anger growing more resolute with each passing moment.
The others could hear the anger in his voice. Nobody tried to console him because, mostly, the others felt the same way. Jawad had no right to put these people in danger after they had nursed him back to health.
Now, there was genuine reason to worry. Nobody knew if the raid was a success and nobody was sure if the Caid knew of their whereabouts. If a kasbah scout picked up Jawad, he could have told the Caid everything by now, and the Caid could be sending troops to meet them at this very moment.
The four walked nervously and silently, hoping that Malik and the others had escaped. They wondered where he was just now and if he indeed had fallen into a trap.
There was something else. Tariq felt down to his chest and his pendant was gone. It was the most sacred thing in the world to him and it was missing. He had looked everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found. Had Jawad stolen it?
The following morning, the sun rose, but no one had slept during the night. The Caid had posted triple guards outside the kasbah gates and walls. He also sealed off all known passages and tunnels. The previous day and night had been spent putting out fires, tending to the wounded, and burying the dead. In all, over thirty of the Caid’s soldiers had been killed and six tents had been burned to the ground. The ammunition storage was severely damaged by fire and the rebels had stolen hundreds of rifles and thousands of rounds of ammunition.
The raid, by all accounts, had been a resounding success.
The Caid summoned all his generals back to the war room. Each sat, grimy with dirt and sweat, and tired from not sleeping for over a day. The Caid was dirty and sweaty as well. He walked to each and every one of his generals, looked them in the eye, and moved onto the next. He was looking for weakness.
“General Aqib, you were in charge of security, correct?” the Caid asked.
“Yes, Sire, but only for a couple of days after Zahir left…”
Before he could finish his sentence, the Caid had produced his sword and in one swipe decapitated the general. His head fell to the dirt floor.
The other generals gasped in surprise and fear.
Two guards quickly came and dragged both the head and body of General Aqib out of the room.
The Caid continued to walk and look each general in the eye. Finally, he finished and sat down.
“It is obvious I have been too soft on all of you. It is painfully obvious that all of you have become sloppy in your work. From this day forward, one hundred percent of your focus will be on your work and nothing else—not on concubines, or gambling, or hunting, or eating, or anything else. No distractions. Every one of you, including myself, will be focused on one thing—finding and killing every rebel within a thousand miles of this kasbah.”
The generals sat paralyzed with fear. They had seen the Caid’s temper, but never like this.
“None of you will be paid a penny. None of you will be allowed to attend festivities or races. None of you will be allowed to have any extracurricular activity of any kind until these rebels are found and dealt with.”
The Caid’s face was red, his eyes blazed with hatred, and purple veins bulged from his muscular neck.
Nobody dared say a word.
At that moment, the most inopportune moment, a guard presented himself. He stood there, not saying anything, terrified by the anger of the Caid.
The Caid, noticing the guard, turned and looked at him.
“What is it?” he shouted.
“Sire, we have—well, we’re not sure what we have. He may be a prisoner, or he may be one of us,” the guard stammered out.
“What are you talking about?”
“One of our scouts found a boy about five miles to the east. He was wandering alone. He said he had been captured by the rebels and knew their plans and whereabouts.”
This bit of good fortune calmed the Caid considerably. He stared at the guard a moment, thought a moment, and then spoke.
“Bring him in.”
Two guards brought in a dirty and scraped Jawad. A large bruise swelled over his right eye where a guard had hit him with a stick. His arms were shackled and his head hung low to the ground. He was nervous about being in the company of the Caid. He glanced around at the large tent and saw the serious, intent looks on the faces of the generals now staring at him. He didn’t notice the stream of blood that led out of the room.
Jawad bowed low to the feet of the Caid.
“So who are you?” the Caid asked.
“My name is Jawad. I served as a camel jockey for Your Highness for many years. I was only one win away from being freed from being a slave and allowed to join Your Highness’s royal cavalry,” Jawad stammered out.
“Why were you with that rebel scum? You seem more like a spy to me.”
“No, Your Highness. At my last race I was knocked to the ground. The rebels captured me and held me hostage.”
This was mostly a lie, but Jawad thought, correctly, that it would sound better if he said he had been captured.
“So you escaped and ran back to me?” the Caid asked.
“Yes. The rebels are moving their camp. I slipped out of a wagon without being noticed and walked to the kasbah.”
Even the Caid was amazed that a former slave would return to his services.
“So where are the rebels headed now?”
“To the eastern most mountain range, to a valley called Divinity’s Playground. They are planning to rendezvous with the raiding party tomorrow.”
The Caid listened to this information, as did the generals. It was a good bit of information, and the boy seemed sincere.
“What do you think of these rebels? How many are there? How equipped are they?”
“There are perhaps two hundred, half of them women and children. They are not well armed. A few rifles and bows and arrows. That is, until…” Jawad didn’t finish.
“Until what?”
“Until yesterday’s raid. A major objective was to get a good supply of rifles and ammunition.”
The Caid thought this over. What the boy said was true. The rebels had made off with an ample supply of weaponry and ammunition.
“How did they come to know how to attack us? Only a few people have knowledge of our weaponry. They seemed to know everything about our kasbah, even the times we changed the guards. Do they have spies?” the Caid asked.
“I don’t know if they have spies. They received the information from Zahir. They captured him just a few days ago, and he provided them with all the information.”
This reply angered the Caid. His face turned an even brighter red. Zahir! One of his most trusted officers had turned against him. He would find that fat dog and cut him down.
The Caid studied the boy. He liked him. He looked strong. He was willing to escape capture and make his way back to the kasbah, which showed he was loyal.
“Jawad, you have shown much bravery and, even more importantly, much loyalty. You are welcomed back with open arms into the embrace of my kasbah. Only this time, as a senior cadet in the royal cavalry.”
Jawad blushed with gratitude. This was beyond his wildest dreams. To be in the royal cavalry was an honor in itself. To be a senior cadet was unbelievable.
“Thank you, Your Highness. I am humbled by your generosity. You will not be disappointed,” Jawad answered.
“General Barak. See to it that this young man is outfitted and joins the cavalry as a senior level cadet.”
“Yes, Sire!” General Barak answered.
“Now, young Jawad, please sit with us and tell us everything you know about these rebels,” the Caid said and had Jawad sit down at the circle.
Jawad felt very important. For the next hour, he discussed everything he knew about the rebel army—the leadership of Malik, their strengths and weaknesses, their camps. He was even treated to a nine-course meal of the most delicious Moroccan food he had ever tasted.
After his debriefing, he was taken to the cavalry headquarters and given a uniform, a horse, and a bed in the cavalry sleeping quarters. Jawad could not believe his good fortune. His life was set, and he could see his future before him. He would not disappoint the Caid. He would prove himself and move up in ranks and become a great man.
Never once did he think of the rebels and what might become of them because of the information he had provided to the Caid. Never once did he consider that the Caid would slaughter every man, woman, and child in the encampment.
Back at the war room, the Caid and his generals were deciding upon a strategy.
“There’s a possibility the rebels know about his escape attempt. If they do, they will just move their camp,” General Barak said.
“Do not worry. I have a plan for crushing this rebel scum. In a short amount of time, they will be wiped from this earth,” the Caid said, his black eyes gleaming with hatred, his fists clenched with anger.
The generals all looked at each other. When the Caid had a plan, it was usually a good one. When he decided to crush an enemy, they were crushed. The mood in the room lightened and the generals even smiled. They could not wait to hear how the Caid was going to end this rebellion.