The only way to enjoy a camel caravan, in my opinion, is to sleep through it. I was unable to do so. Baksheesh, I’m convinced, chose the camel with the more comfortable hump for himself; and promptly dozed off. I tried, first, riding astride; then with one leg crooked around the saddle horn. In both cases, it felt as if I were on the ridgepole of a high-pitched roof. Luckily, my lower quarters went numb and I felt nothing at all.

The raïs, in thanks for the use of our donkey, assigned us a place at the head of the column. Far better than the tail, where you eat and breathe the dust and whatever else from all the animals ahead of you. We had a good view of the rear end of the leading camel: decked out—by custom, I supposed—in festive finery with embroidered draperies, ribbons, tassels, and a little brass bell swinging from the harness.

The raïs had hired outriders, armed guards to patrol the vicinity, alert for any sign of robber bands. They seemed as brutal and ruffianly as any robbers I could imagine. I was glad of that. After all, if you need a watchdog, best get yourself a vicious mastiff, not one of those fluffy little pets that some of our Magenta ladies favored. A few of the merchants rode their own horses. Shira walked beside her mare. Salamon and the donkey stepped out in a steady pace, the donkey more cheerful than I had ever seen him.

However, apart from the crunch of the camels’ feet over the shale and gravel, and the endless tinkle-tinkle of that bell, the caravan was mostly silent. What was there to talk about? Hardly a setting for spirited conversation.

We halted once, and briefly, at a small oasis: the only spot of bright green in a trough between drab gray hills and scrubby woodlands. The raïs ordered us to move on until we reached a caravanserai.

We came to one before dusk. But it was deserted, already crumbling into ruins. The raïs was grimly disappointed though not surprised. It often happened, he explained, that caravanserais, even whole villages, would spring up, flourish for a time; then, for whatever reasons, fall into decay. Here, at least, we could shelter against the night chill. In what had been a courtyard stood a well of scummy water. It looked only mildly venomous.

Despite my screaming muscles, I was happy to be together with our little group. Baksheesh made a few sketchy gestures at unloading the camels; then quickly gave it up, wailing that his lumbago had viciously assaulted him. Salamon, as bright and unwilted at the end of the day as he had been at the start, offered to put his joints right.

“Hands off me, Saladino. You’ll do more harm than good,” he grumbled. “I’ll stretch out for a bit. I prefer to let nature take its course.”

As my chief camel-puller, I had yet to see him do anything resembling pulling a camel. So the rest of us tended to the animals. We sat, then, a little while on one of the stone slabs circling the court. Shira, restless, wanted to seek out the trader, who may have overlooked some scrap of information about Charkosh and his whereabouts.

I urged against it. She wasn’t listening. I suspected what she had in mind. Given half a chance, I believe she would have gone after him; probably with our best carving knife. Her dark mood puzzled Salamon until I spoke aside and briefly told him her reasons.

“Oh, dushizéh, that would be foolish,” he said to her, “and you do not have the look of a fool.”

“My business, not yours. You know nothing—” She put her hands over her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Forgive me.”

“Most certainly, I will not.” Salamon smiled fondly. “No need. Why ask forgiveness when you speak truth? I know nothing. Good heavens, I can hardly remember how much I’ve forgotten. The older I get, the less I’m sure of. I hope to end up sure of nothing at all.

“I only suggest to you: Will you dwell on killing this man? You wish revenge? If you do, he has already killed you by slow poison. So, let it go. Why waste your time? His life will see to his death.”

Shira did not answer. Whether she took his words to heart, I had no idea. Then again, I usually had no idea what she was thinking.

I did gain some skill in staying perched on my camel. What I lost was my sense of time. Caravanserais were few, far between, and all so much alike it might as well have been the same one again and again. We most often halted at a small oasis or meager watering place. When I slept, I dreamed I was still riding in the caravan; awake, I daydreamed I was asleep. Mornings and nights blurred into one another. As best I can reckon, we had been some three weeks out of Marakand.

That was when the butchery began.

I understood, later, how it came about. By then, it made no difference.

All that day, the raïs had been pressing us hard to speed our pace. We were going through a long, narrow stretch of road with steep slopes and dense woodlands on either side. The raïs was edgy. This would be the most likely spot for robbers to attack. Once the road widened again, we all breathed easier. Best yet, we soon reached a large oasis. Lush vegetation fringed a shimmering pool; and even banks of flowers a lot sweeter smelling than we were.

It was some while before nightfall, only the faintest streaks of purple and pink showed in the sky. We were all grateful for the chance to rest. Salamon and the donkey joined us, both in the best of spirits.

We began unloading our camels. The tail end of the caravan had not yet come to the oasis. I heard a terrible ruckus. Men on shaggy little mountain-bred ponies were riding full tilt into the rear of the column. How many I couldn’t tell, I only caught a glimpse. The raïs may have expected pitiful starvelings. These looked fairly well armed with lances and long-bladed swords.

The pack animals were shrieking. The bandits, I learned later, were trying to blind or maim them, cut the legs from under them, and rifle whatever valuables came to hand.

Our guards galloped to their defense. Whatever the raïs paid them, they more than earned it. They were ferocious, chopping and slashing with heavy, upcurving scimitars. But the robbers had been clever. This attack was only to lure the guards from the main body of the caravan.

There had been no sign of bandits along the way. They were already here.

They had been waiting for us. Now they burst out of the shrubbery, whooping and howling. A moment later they were among us. The only thing I clearly remember was taking hold of Shira and sending her into the arms of Baksheesh. I shouted at him to get her out of there. She struggled with him. Had he let go, I believe she would have gone hand to hand against the robbers. Salamon ran to Baksheesh. Between them, they pulled her away. That was the last I saw of them.

These things happened quickly. They seemed to go on forever. I was being shoved, stabbed at, battered back and forth. I struck out blindly, without even a chance to draw my dagger or tulwar. I thought it would never stop.

I have no idea exactly when the tide turned in our favor. The bandits surprised us. We surprised them. They never expected us to fight back so fiercely. I would see two or three traders and camel-pullers fling themselves against a robber, drag him down, and kill him on the ground. And so it went. At the end, our attackers lost heart. They broke and ran.

And I did one of the stupidest things in my life.