A string of camels walked sedately towards them, with the camel driver glancing curiously as the British soldiers and half a dozen men carrying jezails and Khyber knives as an escort.
“Salaam Alaikum,” the camel driver said as he drew level with Jack.
Salaam Alaikum“Salaam Alaikum,” Jack replied. He remembered passing a string of camels on his first trip to visit Batoor, twelve years previously. Rulers may alter, Amirs come and go, but time stood still in this part of the world.
Salaam Alaikum“May you never tire,” the camel driver said.
“May you never see poverty.”
The camels passed on, ageless as if the egos of Empire builders did not matter. Jack wondered if one or more of the three Magi had passed this way, two thousand years previously. Was Gaspar not from India? If so, he may hav
