“After my sister told me the truth, she killed herself. It was as if Yasir had plunged the knife into her. He killed my sister, and on that day I swore revenge. I waited, but Yasir knew of my sworn hatred and never ventured from his camp alone. He never forgot I was waiting for him, and I waited too long. Yasir died a happy man, without suffering the way my sister suffered.”
“But all that has nothing to do with me. Why do you want me dead?” Philip asked. He believed the story. Yasir had lived with the memory of his first and only wife until the day he died. He probably never knew that Margiana loved him and was suffering because of it.
“You will take Yasir’s place,” said Ali Hejaz. “You, his beloved son, who were everything to him, as my sister was to me. You, who gave Yasir pleasure in his last years when he should have had none. You, the son of the woman who was to blame for my sister’s death. You, who are just like your father in every way, taking women without marriage and making them suffer.
“You shall die, and I will be avenged at long last.” Ali laughed, a short, satanic laugh. “Ah, but revenge is sweet. If only Yasir were here to see your death, I would be the happiest of men. I will even grant you a last wish if it is reasonable.”
“You are too kind,” said Philip sarcastically. “I would like to see Christina Wakefield now.”
“Ah yes, the woman. I did say that you could see her, did I not? But first I must warn you, I am afraid she met with a slight accident before she came here.”
“An accident? Where is she?” Philip demanded.
Ali Hejaz motioned to one of the men behind Philip. The man lifted a curtain at the back of the tent.
Philip saw Christina huddled on the floor. “Oh, my God!” he gasped. He bent down to touch her, but she didn’t move.
“I thought it best to drug her for a few days until the swelling goes down,” Ali said from behind him.
Philip stood up and turned very slowly to face the old man. The muscles in his cheeks twitched with the violent rage consuming him.
“Who did this?” he said quietly, emotions held tautly in check. “Who did this to her?”
“It should not have happened. The man who beat her has always been cruel to women. When she ran from him he went wild and beat her before my men could stop him. He will die, of course. I gave strict orders not to harm the woman, and he disobeyed me. I have not yet decided how he will die, but he will.”
“Give him to me,” Philip said grimly.
“What?”
“Give the man who did this to me. You have granted me one request. I want the man who beat her.”
Ali looked at Philip incredulously, then his old eyes widened. “Of course! It is right that you have the honor. I have no doubt you will win, but it will be a fair fight. You will fight with knives, immediately, in the center of the camp. After Cassim dies, you shall die a slower death.”
Philip followed the old man from the tent. He could think only of killing the man who had dared hurt Christina.
“Bring Cassim out and tell him what is expected,” Ali ordered.
Ali took his own knife from his belt and handed it to Philip. “When the fight is over, you will throw down the knife and offer no resistance. If you do not, Christina Wakefield will never be returned to her brother, but will be sold into slavery. Do you understand?”
Philip nodded and took the knife. He stuck it into his waistband, removed his robe and tunic, then grasped the knife in his right hand. Cassim was brought out of a nearby tent, fear showing clearly on his face. He was dragged forward to stand before Philip.
“I will not fight this man!” Cassim screamed. “If I must die, then shoot me!”
“Stand up and fight like a man. Or I will have your heart torn from your living body!” Ali shouted.
Philip felt no pity for the man cowering before him. All he could see was Christina’s swollen face. “Prepare to die, woman-beater.”
Cassim was released and fell back a few feet, then lunged forward. But Philip was ready for him. He stepped aside, and his knife caught Cassim in the right arm, below the shoulder. They circled each other warily, arms outstretched. Cassim jabbed forward again, intending to stab Philip in the chest. But Philip moved like lightning striking its unsuspecting victim. He cut downward on Cassim’s extended arm, slicing it to the bone. Cassim dropped his knife to the ground, staring dumbfounded at the wound. Philip backhanded him across the face, knocking him down.
He gave Cassim time to retrieve his knife, then attacked again. Cassim was obviously no knife-fighter and his fear made him careless and an easy victim for Philip’s skill.
Philip knew many tricks he had learned from his father, but he had no need of tricks now. Philip’s knife struck Cassim again and again until he was covered with his own blood. Philip finally tired of the game and cut his throat. Cassim fell forward onto the sand.
Philip felt disgusted. He wouldn’t have believed that he had such violence in him. How could he kill a man so mercilessly? The man would have died anyway, and he deserved to suffer for hurting Christina, but Philip felt sick for executing him. He threw the knife down beside Cassim’s body and walked over to Ali Hejaz.
“You do not look pleased, Abu. Perhaps you will feel better knowing that Cassim also shot your tribesman.”
“There’s no way to feel better after killing a man,” Philip replied.
