Thirty Pieces of Silver by G.G. Pendarves

Author:G.G. Pendarves [Pendarves, G.G.]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Publisher: Black Dog Books
Published: 2012-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

6

In an Ancient Granary

In the ancient granary built into the foundation of the temple-palace of the sheikh, Philip and Ben Seghir spent long sleepless hours that night. Momentarily they hoped and expected to see, or at least receive some message from Deland.

In the thick darkness there was the sound of intermittent rustlings, the scurryings of little creatures over the stone and straw of the granary pavements, the squeak and chirp of many small night-things on their hunting, and faint and far off, through the slits in the massive walls, came the sighing breath of the desert wind to the ears of the two prisoners.

But no stealthy footstep, no welcome, cautious whisper greeted their straining ears. At last the dense blackness began to be streaked with gray, and the outlines of the huge earthen pots for storing grain became visible. It was a vast granary, built for year-long sieges in olden times, when the Zangalis were but a handful of wandering nomads on the desert, and the palace was a temple devoted to strange and long-forgotten gods.

In the gray dawn, both men secretly admitted to themselves that they might expect nothing but the vengeance of the demented sheikh. Defeat was doubly bitter now. To have seen Deland again, and to be butchered for Ibn Askia’s amusement without ever joining forces with the man they had tracked so far and so long! Not even to have the chance of one good fight with the enemy, and die side by side with the man they had found at last!

Philip cursed aloud that he had not used his weapon to kill the devil-haunted ruler when he was face to face with him, and unbound, the previous night.

“Effendi, it is the wisdom of the unwise thus to heap mud upon thine own head. It was not written that the sheikh should die by thy hand. Neither dost thou reckon on the price we should have paid for that killing. We—and also Deland effendi, may Allah protect him!”

“With my weapon gone, and my hands shackled, I can only remember the chance I missed. And we are going to pay anyhow. We’ve gained nothing—nothing! Not even a word or a look from my uncle. I should have shot Ibn Askia between his eyes when I had the chance.”

“All is as Allah wills!” was the imperturbable reply. “We live still, and here is another day. Who can say what good and evil lie between sunrise and its setting?”

Lacking the Arab’s profound fatalism, Philip continued to gird himself, while the gray light grew clearer in their prison. Not until a strong shaft struck through an opening in the walls, and fell on a vast jar towering above its fellows, did Philip notice the marking on it.

Idly at first, his mind still preoccupied, his eyes saw the uneven clumsy lettering without attaching any significance to it. Quite suddenly, however, he scrambled to his feet, the chains clanking about his wrists and ankles. With stiff, awkward movements, he stumbled over to the jar.

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