Monsters in the Sand by David Harris Page A

August, 1572 in the year of our calendar, our enemies butchered us. Some of our survivors fled to England, where Queen Elizabeth gave us a secret room in Westminster Abbey for our sabbath meetings – a room we use to this day. As you can guess, I am sensitive about justice for religious minorities.’
    His guards moved into a straight line, as if preparing to charge. Austen’s horse, with its empty saddle, was in the centre of the formation.
    Tahyar touched Austen’s arm. ‘May Tanri protect you, my friend.’ It was the old northern Turkish word for Allah. Austen wondered whether Tahyar had used it when he was a child.
    ‘Cease fire!’ the officer called, and the soldiers lowered their weapons.
    Austen rode with his guards towards Mirkan, where the guns also stopped firing. An ominous silence settled over the valley.
    Nobody from Mirkan came forward to talk with Austen.
    ‘Stay together,’ Austen told the men.
    Fifty or so yards from the first houses, he stopped and called out, ‘You know who I am. You can trust me. I tell the truth when I say that the new ruler, Tahyar, will keep his promises of safety.’
    No answer.
    ‘Devil-worshippers,’ muttered the officer.
    ‘Give them time,’ Austen said.
    The officer stood in his stirrups and yelled, ‘Give us your answer!’
    Perhaps it was an accident when he stood and his horse had been scraped with spurs, but the horse stepped forward a few paces, as if it were about to charge. There was a volley of shots, two red patches spread across the officer’s back and he fell stone dead.The man beside Austen grunted and slid sideways in his saddle.
    The three surviving guards fired back, turned their horses and galloped for safety. One by one they were hit and fell from their mounts.
    Soldiers screaming for blood charged past Austen in overwhelming numbers and rushed into the first houses they could see. House after house was ransacked and put to the torch. From the smoke and flames, seven heads appeared on spears. Soldiers yelling in triumph waved their trophies – the heads of three old women and four old men, probably too weak, lame or stubborn to leave their houses.
    Beyond the houses, shooting broke out in a narrow gorge. A few men hidden on the cliffs would easily defend that gorge against Tahyar’s army. Fighting would go on until dark and it was unlikely either side could win. Maybe tomorrow, after a few skirmishes, both sides would retreat and claim victory.
    Austen could do nothing more here. But he could still save Nineveh if he rode day and night.

Chapter 31
    ‘The Lion is here!’ Two children ran from the sheik’s hut and raced each other across the sand to Austen.
    The sheik’s little daughter Hadla ran like a leaf blown by a gust. Her black hair flew around her head and she kept a few paces in front of her brother Masoud, whose balance was thrown by a large wicker cage strapped to his back.
    On the top of Nimrud, smoke rose in front of three mud huts. Austen wondered what they were doing there. Worse, why were two oxen dragging a plough between the palaces?
    Hadla heard Masoud close behind her and, with a desperate effort, she sprinted the last few yards and slapped Austen’s boot. Masoud scowled as he touched second. The fat partridge in his cage was no longer achick. It had grown up in the months when Austen was away and it rolled about in the cage, ruffling its feathers.
    Austen opened a bag at his belt and took out two wobbly red cubes of Turkish delight coated with sticky icing sugar. The children took them in their grubby hands and stared in awe. Then Masoud shoved the whole cube in his mouth. One cheek bulged, and strawberry juice oozed between his lips. Hadla sniffed hers, turned it over and over, held it up to see the glowing sun through it, touched one side with the tip of her tongue, then nibbled the edge like a mouse. Her eyes narrowed at the man riding close beside Austen, like a bodyguard.
    Abraham Agha, fom Mirkan, seemed to be wearing