A safe distance from camp, Ali mounted and rode. He struck inland, veering away from the route that would be selected by most of the home-going pilgrims, letting Ben Akbar choose his own moderate pace all night long. Nobody could follow him in the darkness, anyhow, and it was wise to spare his mount.
Now, as he stood beside the reclining dalul and the burning sun pursued its torrid course, Ali considered that which was as inevitable as the eventual setting of the sun.
It was a foregone conclusion that some tracker had taken the trail as soon as he was able to see it, and the pursuers would waste no time. Nor would they ever give up. Who stole a dalul from the Pasha of Damascus might escape only if he sought and found asylum with one of the Pasha's powerful enemies. But who desecrated Holy Mecca would never find safety in any Moslem land. In addition, Ali thought, the officer and all the men who'd been with him would now make a heretic's punishment a point of honor, a blood quest from which only death would free them.
Ali still saw hope that could not have been without Ben Akbar. As individuals, either was assailable. Together, they were invincible.
Counting from the time they'd left Al Misri's camp to the first light of day, Ali gave meticulous consideration to the pace set by Ben Akbar and the type of terrain they'd traveled. When finished, he knew within a few rods either way just how far they had come and within a few minutes, plus or minus, when pursuers could be expected. Ali turned to Ben Akbar.
"Rest," he crooned, as he removed saddle and bridle. "Rest and forage, oh Prince among dalul. Come to me then, and you shall teach the Pasha's soldiers the true speed of a dalul."
Ben Akbar wandered forth to crop the coarse desert vegetation. Choosing the doubtful shade offered by a copse of scrub, Ali lay down and drew his burnous about him. He slept peacefully and soundly, as though he'd somehow managed to purge his mind of certain grim prospects for the immediate future and rest alone mattered. A bit more than three hours later, as Ali had planned when he chose his bed, the blazing sun shone directly upon him and its glare broke his slumber.
He did not, as had been his habit, lie quietly and without moving until he determined exactly what lay about him and what, if anything, he should do about it. Ben Akbar, who always knew long before his master when anything approached—and always let Ali know—made such precautions unnecessary. The great dalul was grazing quietly and only a few feet away.
"To me, my brother," Ali called softly.
Ben Akbar came at once and Ali replaced the saddle and bridle. About to take a swallow of water, he decided to wait until Ben Akbar could also have a satisfactory drink or until thirst became unbearable. In the latter event, they'd share the contents of the water bag.