Swords of Arabia: Betrayal Read Online Free PDF Page A

in a plot which had almost cost Nasir his own life.
    “Brothers, cousins, I too, welcome you.”
    “A belated greeting, brother; one we have waited over two years for!” grunted one of the older men in front of them, though less forcefully than he once would have done. Already well into middle-age when he’d been incarcerated in his young half-brother’s dungeons, Abdul had aged swiftly in the dark, scarcely ventilated boxes set deep below the citadel’s surface. His face was now heavily lined and, always thin, his body was now almost skeletal under the dirty, stinking clothes which were the same ones they’d been arrested in. “So, at last, it is to happen! I am surprised it has taken you so long!”
    “What is to happen, brother?” queried Nasir calmly.
    “Don’t play with me, boy!” he spat, his voice regaining some of his old force. “I mean our execution, of course. I’m surprised it is to be done openly. We have been expecting it to be done more quietly, any time the past two years,” he added, his voice suddenly cracking just a little. This unexpected chink in his demeanour gave the onlookers just a small glimpse into an existence of such horror that every minute of every day and of every night was spent expecting that it may well be their last; an existence where every creak of their cell’s door could herald their sudden and violent death.
    “We have considered what to do with yourselves, our kin, in view of what you were suspected of...” Nasir continued into the small silence that had greeted Abdul’s words.
    “Suspected of, yes – but nothing was ever proved!” spat Mansour, Abdul’s son, his own thin face filled with its usual spite.
    “I think, kinsman, that had a full investigation been held, this conversation may have taken a different direction than it may,” said Nasir coldly. “So I would not play the offended innocent before us!”
    “Cease playing with us, cousin, and tell us why we are here; dressed in rags and stinking of Allah knows what in front of our own kin!” spat Salman. Like his absent uncle and namesake, he had a dangerously short fuse.
    Nasir looked across at Isaac. They both had misgivings about what they were about to do. They both also agreed, however, that if Zahirah’s plan worked then it was a master-stroke.
    “We wish, at Talal’s request, to offer you your freedom, Brother,” Nasir responded
    quietly, speaking directly to Abdul.
    Whatever the four prisoners were expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. Their worn faces flared with sudden joy at the thought of again breathing air fresh from the desert rather than that eternally circulating in the dank filthiness of their cells, before they again breathed it in. Then, fearful caution set in. Breathing deeply to keep his voice steady and not shame himself in front of his young kin, Abdul spoke.
    “And what must we do for this gift, this belated gift?” he asked, with some flicker of his old bombastic self trying to compete against the long given up hope he felt starting to well up inside his tired body.
    “Merely let what is past, stay past. Commit to loyalty to Talal as Emir, if you feel able, and genuine neutrality if you can’t. That is all you need for us all to begin again, as kin,” responded Nasir, as agreed beforehand, being the spokesman for the group.
    “And if we don’t?” Mansour predictably asked, raising an angry glance from his father.
    “If you don’t, then much is still too unsure for us to risk giving you your freedom and you will be returned to your cells,” responded Nasir flatly, silently half-hoping their stubborn pride – or hatred of Fouad’s line – would keep them immured.
    “And if we do agree – how can we be sure our lives will still be safe?” asked Salman. Of the four, though he fought to hide it, he was the most eager for freedom, and at almost any price; a yearning he couldn’t quite conceal.
    “You have our word, cousin, on behalf of my nephew, all our line