In the Eye of the Storm

29. Camelkaboom

I expected Mr Ambrose to charge at the bandits single-handedly. I expected bullets to fly and gallons of blood to flow. I expected a terrifying battle. What I didn't expect was Mr Ambrose sliding from his camel, falling to his knees and throwing his rifle away.

'Please! Please don't hurt us! We are just merchants! We mean nobody any harm. Please don't hurt us!'

I stared at him open-mouthed.

The foremost bandit, the leader, to judge by the arrogant smirk on his face, pulled his camel to a halt in front of Mr Ambrose and spat on the ground.

'English pig! So much for your famous "stiff upper lip"! Tell your men to throw their weapons away!'

'Men!' Mr Ambrose called, his voice trembling, yes, actually trembling with fear! 'Throw your weapons away, immediately! These people won't harm us if we don't resist!'

The bandit laughed.

'I didn't say anything about that, pig! Out of my way!'

'But...'

Mr Ambrose didn't get any further. Driving his camel forward, the bandit leader rode directly at him, and Mr Ambrose had just enough time to throw himself out of the way. Riding directly into the centre of the valley, the leader raised his gun over his head and shot into the sky, silencing everyone.

'All right, men!' he hollered. 'Gather up the weapons! Drive the camels to the east of the valley, and those English pigs to the west!'

So far, I had watched the whole proceedings with mouth agape. But now my stunned brain jumped into action. I drove my camel forward and bent down to pick up Mr Ambrose's fallen rifle from the ground.

'Hey, you!' A shot rang out over my head. 'Stop that!'

I was just about to right myself and return fire – if I could figure out how a rifle worked in three seconds, that is – when a hard hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me down from the camel. A moment later I was flat on the ground, encaged in Mr Ambrose's arms.

'Forgive my wife!' he pleaded with the bandits. 'She's had a heatstroke. She's not right in the head!' And into my ear, he hissed in his usual, cold, commanding tone: 'If you don't keep still, I will knock you out, understand?'

I froze. That didn't sound like the voice of a defeated man. That sounded suspiciously like a man with a plan.

'Your wife?' The bandit barked a laugh. 'You've got one woman among you all, and she's the only one who is man enough to pick up a rifle! That is a good joke! So much for the famed courage of the English! Now, do as you're told! Get over to the west of the valley, or I'll shoot you down here and now!'

Rising to his feet and pulling me up with him, Mr Ambrose led me over to the west side of the valley, all the while keeping a tight hold on me. Bandits rode around us and all the others in circles, herding everybody off to the west, shouting 'Move! Do as we tell you, and you won't get hurt!'. Nobody was fooled by the show they were putting on. I could see it in my companions' faces: they knew what awaited them. All the previous caravans had been massacred. This one would be, too. The bandits were just dangling the possibility of life in front of us so we wouldn't resist. And so far, it seemed to be working.

Or was it?

I caught a glimpse of the cold, calculating look in Mr Ambrose's dark eyes, and suddenly wasn't so sure anymore. But then the look was gone again, replaced by abject terror and whining submission.

'Please!' he begged the bandits. 'Please don't take everything! I invested all my whole fortune into this caravan! If you take everything, you'll leave me a beggar! Please!'