shot,” Joshua continued implacably. “There is no certainty, but it appears to have happened two or three days ago. There are jackals in the wadi.”
“Who?” Mahmoud’s voice had gone hoarse.
Joshua shook his head. “It could have been some woman’s husband.”
“Mikhail loved women,” Mahmoud admitted slowly, his fingers wandering briefly to his scar. “And he was often in difficulties over them. ‘The cupboard is not locked against a man with the key.’” His heart was not in his aphorism, however, and it did not sound to me as if he believed much in a jealous husband.
“This was one of your men?” asked Holmes.
“Mikhail was mine, yes.”
“What was he working on?”
“I don’t know,” Joshua admitted. Mahmoud stared at him, and I heard a brief stir from Ali in the dark reaches of the building. “It’s true. There were rumours, out in the desert, of problems. Nothing substantial. He went out to listen.”
“For the sounds of dogs amongst the sheep?” Holmessuggested. He even made it sound as if such pastoral imagery were his daily fare.
“There were no dogs. I’d have heard them, if there were.”
“Something more silent, then. Wolves.”
Joshua sighed deeply, his jovial face looking more troubled than I should have thought possible. He put his hand into his breast pocket, drew out a pouch, and began to roll a cigarette. Recognising the signs, I settled myself for a longish story.
“I do not know how much you two know about our war here, so forgive me if I travel familiar ground, but our situation is a delicate one. I spent the first months of the war on the Western Front,” he began. “That war, as you undoubtedly are aware, consisted primarily of crouching in the mud a hundred yards from the enemy and occasionally, at immense cost of life, pushing his line back a few yards, or, conversely, of being pushed and losing a few yards of one’s own. Here, it was rather different. Other than the catastrophe in the Dardanelles and the constant loss of life from submarines, we contented ourselves with sitting in Cairo, gathering titbits of information and protecting the Suez Canal.
“Until Allenby came.” Joshua’s tone of voice when he said the name was not far from worship, although I thought this deceptively soft little man would not venerate another easily. “Allenby was given command in June of 1917. Four months later—four months!—we found ourselves crossing the Sinai into Palestine. We took Beersheva and then Gaza, and by God, we were standing in the gates of Jerusalem by Christmas. Nine months later, a year to the day after he’d begun this impossible task, he gathered up his rag-tag army of camels and colonials and pushed, and before we knew it we were in Damascus.
“It was a brilliant campaign—elegant, meticulous, sly, and inexorable. The Battle of Megiddo was a mighty victory, a beautiful thing to behold. In two stages amere twelvemonth apart, Allenby had the country, and four hundred years of Turkish rule were broken.
“And now he’s stuck with it, and stuck with the job of keeping the country in one piece until they decide at the Paris talks how to cut it up. The French want it, the Arabs think it’s theirs, the Jews believe they were promised it, the British hold it, and General Allenby spends all the hours God gives him driving from Dan to Beersheva, calming arguments among the factions.”
“While you hear the rumour of distant wolves,” Holmes prompted.
“Who the wolves are I do not know, but yes, I believe I hear them. And I am quite certain, when we come close enough to hear their voices, we will find they speak Turkish.” Joshua was talking to Mahmoud now, and Mahmoud was listening attentively. “Not all of our enemy was taken, and by no means have all surrendered. Here as in Germany there are discontented young officers who blame their old regime for the losses during the war. They will be infuriated by the demands made by the Allies. The cost
“Who?” Mahmoud’s voice had gone hoarse.
Joshua shook his head. “It could have been some woman’s husband.”
“Mikhail loved women,” Mahmoud admitted slowly, his fingers wandering briefly to his scar. “And he was often in difficulties over them. ‘The cupboard is not locked against a man with the key.’” His heart was not in his aphorism, however, and it did not sound to me as if he believed much in a jealous husband.
“This was one of your men?” asked Holmes.
“Mikhail was mine, yes.”
“What was he working on?”
“I don’t know,” Joshua admitted. Mahmoud stared at him, and I heard a brief stir from Ali in the dark reaches of the building. “It’s true. There were rumours, out in the desert, of problems. Nothing substantial. He went out to listen.”
“For the sounds of dogs amongst the sheep?” Holmessuggested. He even made it sound as if such pastoral imagery were his daily fare.
“There were no dogs. I’d have heard them, if there were.”
“Something more silent, then. Wolves.”
Joshua sighed deeply, his jovial face looking more troubled than I should have thought possible. He put his hand into his breast pocket, drew out a pouch, and began to roll a cigarette. Recognising the signs, I settled myself for a longish story.
“I do not know how much you two know about our war here, so forgive me if I travel familiar ground, but our situation is a delicate one. I spent the first months of the war on the Western Front,” he began. “That war, as you undoubtedly are aware, consisted primarily of crouching in the mud a hundred yards from the enemy and occasionally, at immense cost of life, pushing his line back a few yards, or, conversely, of being pushed and losing a few yards of one’s own. Here, it was rather different. Other than the catastrophe in the Dardanelles and the constant loss of life from submarines, we contented ourselves with sitting in Cairo, gathering titbits of information and protecting the Suez Canal.
“Until Allenby came.” Joshua’s tone of voice when he said the name was not far from worship, although I thought this deceptively soft little man would not venerate another easily. “Allenby was given command in June of 1917. Four months later—four months!—we found ourselves crossing the Sinai into Palestine. We took Beersheva and then Gaza, and by God, we were standing in the gates of Jerusalem by Christmas. Nine months later, a year to the day after he’d begun this impossible task, he gathered up his rag-tag army of camels and colonials and pushed, and before we knew it we were in Damascus.
“It was a brilliant campaign—elegant, meticulous, sly, and inexorable. The Battle of Megiddo was a mighty victory, a beautiful thing to behold. In two stages amere twelvemonth apart, Allenby had the country, and four hundred years of Turkish rule were broken.
“And now he’s stuck with it, and stuck with the job of keeping the country in one piece until they decide at the Paris talks how to cut it up. The French want it, the Arabs think it’s theirs, the Jews believe they were promised it, the British hold it, and General Allenby spends all the hours God gives him driving from Dan to Beersheva, calming arguments among the factions.”
“While you hear the rumour of distant wolves,” Holmes prompted.
“Who the wolves are I do not know, but yes, I believe I hear them. And I am quite certain, when we come close enough to hear their voices, we will find they speak Turkish.” Joshua was talking to Mahmoud now, and Mahmoud was listening attentively. “Not all of our enemy was taken, and by no means have all surrendered. Here as in Germany there are discontented young officers who blame their old regime for the losses during the war. They will be infuriated by the demands made by the Allies. The cost
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