Jimgrim - The Spy Thrillers Series. Talbot Mundy

      So they spread rugs and mats on the floor of the long second-floor passage, and we sent up such a chorus of snores as I dare say that roof had never echoed to before. But I know the Avenger didn’t sleep much, and don’t suppose Ayisha did. The Avenger sat in conference in a small room with the m’allim, discussing all the intricacies of marriage to another man’s wife. Fortunately the Avenger had only three wives, and the Koran permits four; fortunately, too, the Prophet Mahommed had set the precedent, by demanding the young wife of his faithful follower Ali and, better still, obtaining her.

      The m’allim said it was good doctrine that the willingness of Ali Higg to part with her constituted full divorce, and whether or not duress might have had anything to do with his consent made no difference. The lady’s preferences having no kind of bearing on the case, Ayisha was not consulted.

      But she was satisfied—no doubt of that. I think she admired Grim more than any man she had ever known; but tribal history was in her veins, as it is in every man’s and woman’s. What she wanted was an influential husband, and she had one, for which she was as grateful to Grim as a stray cat for a saucer of milk. It was up to her to establish a position for herself among the senior wives, and by the look in her eye I should say she felt like doing it.

      About four in the afternoon she asked leave of the Avenger to go and select the fifty men who were to constitute her dowry. Ali Higg demanded to go with her, to prevent her taking all the best; so Grim went, too, and our whole party rode with Grim to prevent any last-minute treachery on the Lion’s part.

      It was a good job that we all went in the circumstances. There was a new arrival behind that sugar-loaf hill, and a real reinforcement after all. Jael Higg, constitutionally restless, opportunist always, huntress with all hounds and runner with all hares in sight—everlastingly haunted, too, by doubt of Ali Higg’s ability—had scraped together every last man Petra could produce, and brought them to the scene, trusting to her own sharp wit to use them to the best advantage. She had scraped together nearly fifty, including some women, but they were a rather bob-tailed lot and their camels were living skeletons.

      Ali Higg tried to avoid her, but there wasn’t much of the retiring arbutus about Jael. She tackled him in front of us all, and tongue-lashed him bitterly when she had dragged the story out of him, he trying in return to assert his overlordship, but with small success. The part that seemed to sting her most was the discovery that Grim had all along retained that order on the bank.

      She advanced toward him with her thin lips quivering nervously, and cold hatred glaring from her eyes; and we all closed in, to prevent murder.

      “So you kept that letter, did you? Clever, aren’t you, Jimgrim! You’ve fooled me at every turn, haven’t you! Proud, aren’t you, to have me in money- hobbles for three years to come! Very well; you won this time, but wait and see!”

      “I’ve left you lots to build with, Jael, if you’ll only build to the line,” he answered kindly.

      “Left me lots—and fifty men and camels to go with that wandering gipsy Ayisha? Bah! You’ve skinned me to the bone. Ayisha may take these that I brought with me today.”

      But Ayisha was already choosing her contingent, and there was no reluctance to be chosen. Changing to the stronger side and a less irascible leader had its obvious advantages. Jael rushed off to interfere, and Ayisha cocked her rifle instantly.

      Quick work by Ali Baba’s men prevented that duel. Half a dozen of them pounced on Jael from behind, pinned her arms behind her, and the rest got in position to spoil Ayisha’s aim. Ayisha threatened to shoot through them, but they laughed at her, and at a word from Grim she put her rifle up. Then Grim went and stood in front of Jael, but did not tell Ali Baba’s men to let go her hands.

      “See here, Jael, old girl,” he said, “you’re nervous and jumpy. You’ll be doing something you’ll regret if you don’t watch points. Suppose you take that Lion of yours and your remaining men, and head straight back for Petra before you make your trouble any worse.”

      “Let me go then!”

      “Say the word, Jimgrim, and we cut her throat!” Ali Baba called out from behind.

      Beyond holding his hand up as a signal for nothing doing, Grim did not answer. He walked up to Ali Higg instead, and ordered him to take his men away. The Lion obeyed readily enough; he was sick of the whole business, and desperately eager to get back into his cave, where he could growl himself into better spirits.

      There was delay at the last minute, owing to the fact that many more than fifty men, including Ibrahim ben Ah, wanted to stay with Ayisha; but Ayisha had chosen her contingent and lined them up. Grim gave the rest thirty seconds to start after Ali Higg. He didn’t say what the consequences would be if they refused; but there were a couple of hundred of the Avenger’s men within hail, and they might imagine what they liked.

      When the last of the Lion’s men was about two hundred yards away Grim ordered Jael released and her camel brought to her. Ali Baba wanted to keep her weapons, but Grim disallowed that. She mounted and rode away without a word of farewell, and Ali Baba croaked out his opinion that hornet’s stings are usually in their tails. But Grim laughed.

      Jael did turn once, at about two hundred yards’ range and threaten Grim with her rifle, but as every single one of Ali Baba’s men promptly took aim at her she thought better of it.

      “We’ve not had quite the last of that lady, I suspect; she still has one chance left, and overlooks no bets,” said Grim.

      That one chance was obviously to waylay us on our road home; and, seeing that Grim had added fifty to his force, the Avenger was kind enough to offer us an escort of a hundred men as far as the British frontier. But if Grim had agreed to that, there would have been a fight in all likelihood, which in itself would constitute excuse for treating the signed agreement as a scrap of paper. If only one shot were fired by Jael’s men, the Avenger would interpret that as breach of faith and act accordingly.

      So Grim insisted on the treaty being carried out in full. We said good- bye to the Avenger and Ayisha, and stood by at dusk to see the whole force file southward out of Abu Lissan.

      The Avenger’s last words as he shook Grim’s hand were ominous:

      “By Allah and the Prophet’s body, Jimgrim, I shall hold thee to our terms! If no occasion rises to summon thee to my aid in a difficulty, may Allah change my face and roll me in the dust unless I make one!”

      Ayisha didn’t forget her obligations. She came and kissed Grim’s hand, and gave him her amber necklace.

      “If I have a new husband and am once more a princess, I am none the less beholden to thee for it,” she said prettily. And because Grim didn’t know quite what to do about the necklace and was obviously embarrassed, Narayan Singh came to the rescue with one of his heavy-handed jests:

      “By my teeth and the Prophet’s, belly!” he boomed impiously, “Princess thou mayest be; but I am a Pathan of the Orakzai! Let this be the Avenger’s hour, and let him make the most of it; for as surely as the moon will shine tonight—as surely as thine eyes are worth a ransom—I will slay ninety and nine Avengers—aye! and burn Arabia for one more look into Ayisha’s eyes!”

      The Avenger overheard that, and felt rather flattered. He tossed back over his shoulder a mocking invitation to Narayan Singh to come and fight him single-handed for the girl at any time. So we all parted in a rare good temper, Ayisha having the last word, as a lady should.

      “A Pathan is a pig, but thou art not so bad as some pigs!” she called back to Narayan Singh; and thereafter, all the way back home to El-Kalil, the gang kept chaffing him unmercifully about different breeds of pigs, pretending to wonder wherein he was so obviously different from the rest. But that was because they knew he was a Sikh, and that the Sikhs don’t object to pigs at all; if he had really been a Pathan those jokes would have cost a life or two.

      We were a whole day longer on the road home than if we had taken the shortest way. Grim led us over a water-less route to the southward; and