Ostrander said, and to everyone's surprise there seemed to be an element of worry in his voice too, "I know Colonel Midan Ibrahim, met him in Cairo and in Baghdad on various occasions. He's considered one of the best men in the Arab Legion. He doesn't make military blunders."
Bey said, "Come on, Kenny. Let's round up Guémama and take a look at the front." He led the way from the tent.
There was a guard posted before the tent which doubled as press and communications center, and the private quarters of David Moroka.
The figure that approached timidly was garbed in the traditional clothing of the young women of the Tégéhé Mellet tribe of the Tuareg and bore an imzad in her left hand, while her right held a corner of her gandoura over her face.
The guard, of the Kel Rela tribe, eyed the one-stringed violin with its string of hair and sounding box made of half a gourd covered with a thin membrane of skin, and grinned. A Tuareg maid was accustomed to sing and to make the high whining tones of desert music on the imzad before submitting to her lover's embrace. Wallahi! but these women of the Tégéhé Mellet were shameless.
"Where do you go?" he said gruffly. "El Hassan's vizier has ordered that he is occupied and none should approach."
"He awaits me," she wavered. There was kohl about her eyes, and indigo at the corners of her mouth. "We met at the tendi last night and he bid me come to his tent. It is for me he waits."
Wallahi! but his leader had taste, the sentry decided.
"Pass," he said gruffly. Even a vizier of such importance as this one must need solace at times, he decided philosophically.