94 | JohnW.WamerIV another day. For once be a level-headed officer and gentlewoman. Gwafa did so, haggling with flair. They want gold, or better yet ten rifles and ammunition, madame. Bea held her nose bridge. Offer five rifles, plus the jackass. Gwafa bargained hard. They now say eleven and the jackass. Or they will turn us over to the Germans for ransom. Right, Im getting the gist. Ten it is. They agree. You must stay here in good faith, madame. The Chieftain wants to meet you, he has never seen a femme blanche, and wants to be sure you are not an evil spirit, a Jinn. Tell him you believe in the teachings of their prophet El Maghili and the Islamic tradition of honored guests. Gwafa whispered some words in her ear discreetly. Bea trundled over to the Chieftains tent with the two Tuaregs. She was met graciously by the big-nosed Chieftain who sat on a cheetah skin and spoke a wee dram of Mali French with a thick accent; she nodded and listened, nodded and listened. Long-winded chap, he is… Gwafa and Takuta went off out of sight. Bea was heralded with music, singing, and poetry, none of which she understood, but she enjoyed her cheese, dates, millet, melon, and a rare treat for them, a roasted goat meal. Their singing really is terrific I must say, she thought, sitting on a beautiful carpet and eating ravenously next to the old leader, who then reached for her chin, turning her face from one side to the other, an inspection of potential trade goods. Enchanting and colorful nomads, yes, fine artisans in jewelry of course, a legendary culture to be sure, melodic singers, but still patriarchal slavers and fearsome raiders, she mused. With a smile, she toasted him with sweet mint tea. Tanmert, Saha. Love old El Maghili, Allah be praised and all that. Get back here soon lads, orlTlendup chained to a camel in a Sheiks harem somewhere with my arse in the air… Two very long hours later as the sun began to set, Gwafa and Takuta returned with the jackass and six Italian rifles plus leather belts of ammunition. Bea met them. Gwafa panted. An Italian patrol was eating their pasta supper. An easy theft, madame. They will think the local people stole them, or perhaps us nouveaux Tuaregs. Pretty lazy lot, one was sleeping by the fire, panted Takuta. She inspected the rifles for damage or malfunction. The Germans respect them.