The Scorpion’s Bite by Aileen G. Baron Page A

man.”
    “He knows a great deal because he’s an old man,” Jalil said.
    Awadh, still beaming, gave a modest nod of his head. “I was with Lawrence.”
    Ibrahim looked ready to spring at him.
    “We can use both,” Klaus said. “The more the merrier. I’ve hired Ibrahim. He’s Ruwalla, knows this part of the desert.”
    Jalil nodded. “ Ahlen we Sahlen , Welcome in peace.” He spoke to Ibrahim, but he looked worried.
    “Suleimon is dead,” Jalil told them. “And there’s been infiltration from Syria. This morning, a Syrian raid at the saltpans. They came for the salt, stole flocks. Killed two men of Suleimon’s khamsa .”
    Lily envisioned tribal warfare raging across the desert. “They killed Suleimon?”
    “No, no. Heart attack. The tumult of the raid. He was ancient. He’s been sick. His men were distracted.”
    “We were guests for dinner in Suleimon’s tent just yesterday.” Lily pictured the old sheik who bent over her, squinting at her through clouded eyes. “It’s sad.”
    “We can’t count on Suleimon’s men now.” Jalil looked north. “Their camp is in confusion.” He nodded and took a few shallow breaths as if he were sniffing the air. “That’s not all. Umm al Quttein was attacked.”
    “Who attacked? Same raiders?” Gideon asked. “What did they attack?”
    “Umm al Quttein is on the south slope of Jebel Druze, just this side of the Syrian border. It’s an Arab Legion post, just a few kilometers from pumping station H5. A contingent of Syrians, Germans, Vichy French, and a force of Druze cavalry.” He looked north again. “Vichy French officers led the attack.”
    “H5?” Gideon asked. “On the Kirkuk-Haifa pipeline?”
    Jalil nodded. “They’re after sabotage. If they blow up the pipeline…”
    It was beginning to make sense to Lily now, this wandering through the desert from site to site, even the accidental meeting with Suleimon’s encampment.
    Jalil paused, wary, watching a man on a camel ride toward them, waving, his cloak flapping as he came over the ridge.
    When the man drew closer, Jalil relaxed. “It’s Hamud. Hamdulillah . May Allah be praised.”
    Lily gave Hamud a broad smile. “Welcome back. We missed you.”
    “I thought that whoever the scorpion bites will reach the grave,” Klaus said.
    “And so I shall,” Hamud said, dismounting and couching his camel. “Someday. But not yet.”
    “Even if it takes forty years?” Lily asked.
    “Or more. Inshallah . If Allah is willing.”
    “To what do you owe your good fortune?” Jalil asked, “ Ma’ah hadas ?”
    “My people have a cure for the bite.” Hamud spread out his hand and extended his fingers.
    “First.” He pressed down his index finger. “To break the spell of the scorpion, a friend slaughters a neighbor’s goat.
    “Second.” He pressed down his middle finger. “The friend puts the goat innards into the water to wash the bite.
    “Then,” he turned down the next finger. “The friend digs a grave.”
    Taking in his breath somberly for a dramatic pause, he looked at each of them in turn. “He carried me to the grave. In a few minutes, he carried me out, and quickly, quickly, put the innards of the goat in my place.
    “And the poison was passed to the goat.” He opened his hand and flung out his arm, as if to toss away an evil spell. “The spell of the scorpion was broken.” He clapped his hands together. “I lived.”
    “ Hamdulillah ,” said Lily.
    Jalil nodded in agreement. “ Hamdulillah , ” he said, and moved toward his horse. “But for now, we must get back to Azraq, check on H5 and make preparations to attack T3.”
    “What’s T3?” Lily asked.
    “A pumping station on the pipeline through Syria from Mosel. Feeds oil to the Vichy French and the Germans.”
    “That means,” Gideon said, “that we have to extend our archaeological survey as far north as Palmyra. It’s never been adequately excavated.”
    “Palmyra?” Lily said. “It’s in Syria.”
    “In