ON A WATERLESS WAY 131 



heavy blankets, huddled motionless, silent on the camels. 

 They never looked out of the folds. They never spoke, 

 even to each other. I wondered if they ever thought of 

 anything in particular, yet one of them, by the strange 

 chance of a night's phantasy, might be the mother of 

 the future all-powerful Sheikh es Senussi. In Islam only 

 paternity counts. Be the mother slave or princess, the 

 eldest son inherits. 



On December 28 we got away at 7.40, and had to 

 march for eleven and a half hours before we had done 

 46 kilometres. The first day the camels had made a 

 good average of over 4 kilometres an hour, for there 

 was no temptation to wander in order to graze, but the 

 second day everyone was tired and cross, and it was 

 difficult to make the men drive them in a straight line. 

 The third day the blacks' feet began to blister. My own 

 foot was swollen again. It is very difficult to walk for 

 any length of time in the huge heel-less slippers. 

 Hassanein and Yusuf were both limping, and Mora j a 

 could not keep on his legs, for all the veins were inflamed. 

 I was so tired I could hardly smile, but, luckily, the 

 unexpected distribution of a bag of dates encouraged 

 the retinue a httle. The mirage distorted two tiny heaps 

 of stones into a couple of hills, and Yusuf playfully built 

 the last camel skeleton into an original shape with one 

 leg Hfted high. It was not till I had laughed at its 

 fantastic kick that I noticed the human skull that 

 crowned it! 



One had to divide one's attention evenly between the 

 two camps. If one walked for an hour with Abdullah, 

 and heard how our opponent's agent in Jedabia had 

 tried to bribe him not to accompany the caravan and 

 how the said agent had subsequently received the beating 

 he deserved, one had to devote the same amount of 

 time to conversation with Mora j a on the glories of 



