[The Tent of Sheikh – well, the tent of Sheemy Wurmit from Paisley, incognito as the Sheikh – took the breath away from our valiant trio of Aelius, Heraklia and Ideefixe. Bryce just grinned, having spent many an evening playing strip poker with the Sheikh (who cheated). From floor to ceiling, gorgeous carpets (some still bearing price tags of caravans from Antioch to Alexandria) hung in soft jewel tones; aromatic braziers gave off scented warmth, while a gang of cut-throats, no-gooders, bad boys, and other desert rif-raff chattered in the shadows and passed the wine, making Heraklia instantly feel at home. Clutching to him the XVI scrolls of Lindsius, Sheemy was in high spirits. Clapping his hands, a very large African staggered in carrying a solid-brass platter wider than Aelius’ toga, on which saffron rice and spiced meats softly steamed. Guests of honor and sitting next to the sheik, this confection was plopped down next to Ideefixe, who turned pale when he realized that part of the meat was staring back. Sheeps’ eyes! He forebore to mention this to his friends, who plunged in happily without looking…

Aelius: Er . . . is that a local Bedouin custom?

Sheemy: It’s a good Glasgwegian custom – plenty o’ booze, pretty gairls, a wee dance or two . . . I have some new belly talent, let me show ‘em off! Prisoners from t’other side of the daissert, y’know . . . I set ‘em to lairnin’ something useful.

[Sheemy clapped his hands and sent a ferocious look at the doorkeeper, nicknamed “Big Joe,” who quickly disappeared. Heraklia, finding Sheemy’s cellar definitely of vintage quality, busied herself with the wine. Ideefixe looked nervous; Aelius and Sheemy fell into a deep scholarly discussion in which “hoot toots!” and “history of belly dancing” emerged with occasional yelps. Suddenly the tent carpets were pulled back and a gaggle of interestingly-dressed slaves was thrust into the center of the room. As the robbers settled back happily, two musicians sat down quickly, ducking their heads, and busied themselves making a little dancing music.

It was a few seconds before the nervous dancers got themselves sorted, but then they proceeded into a peculiar set of movements involving lots of filmy scarves, wiggling posteriors, and a little foxtrotting...one couple, desperately, appeared to be trying a variation on The Tango. You’ve probably figured it out, but sheeps’ eyes and Falernian don’t make for quick reflexes . . . it was Aelius who, watching a striking red-head, heavily veiled, hopping on one foot, suddenly noticed . . . ]

Aelius: My dear, isn’t that peculiar? Do you recall that crossed-anchor tattoo Cornellia bore, just above her right knee? How unusual that this dancer bears the same mark! Could it be some sort of initiation symbol for an unknown cult?

Heraklia [riveted]: Wait a minute. One of ‘em’s got long, manicured fingernails painted Roman red. EIRENE always liked that color!

Sheemy [oblivious and frowning with displeasure]: Damn me, they aren’t doing well at all. It’s MUSCLES you need for this, not a damned lot of gallumphin’ amatoors! Where’s that dance trainer? I want a word with her! And get that musician here too!

[Big Joe at the entrance went over to the two musicians and roughly yanked one to its feet. Swathed from head to foot in draperies, the woman was thrown to the floor before the Sheikh. The male, wearing a douce outfit in which sequins and black feather trim starred a soft sky-blue caftan, visibly seethed. To the utter astonishment of Our Party, as she threw back her veils, who was revealed but . . .

TYLA!!

And right behind her, the legendary, the famous, the notorious, the long missingMighty Thews himself,

ANTICUS CORNELIUS

[As Heraklia leaped to her feet, shrieking ”ERNIE!!!!”, the belly-dancing crowd dissolved into chaos and, in the howls of joy, we find among their ranks
Cornellia

Senex
(who’d tried, rather well, to handle the foxtrot with)

Eirene

(and, dressed in a rather nice number involving see-through veils, ostrich feathers and skull bracelets, befitting her sibylline talents,)
Pomponia!

[Pandemonium erupted, in which shrieks of joy and recognition quickly revealed that the Mighty Sheikh had pocketed the evil camel train containing the kidnapped Mighty Thews and Tyla . . . and II nundinae later, managed to pick up the totally inept Rostrafarian party, trying to get overland from Antioch, Since the Sheikh’s tents covered approximately 2 miles of ground, none of the Rostrafarians had realized their compadres were also in keeping!

In the hurricane of voices, shouts, questions (and, Heraklia noticed, Ernie, thinking ahead, was going STRAIGHT for the Falernian, Sheemy Wurmit finally managed to shout them down to some kind of order….]

Bryce [beating Anticus on the shoulders]: Buddy! I thought I’d lost you, and you were here all the time!

Sheemy: Would ye hauld yer whist, now? What is this, sodding A FAMILY REUNION?

Ideefixe: Who ARE these guys?

Anticus: [bowing politely] No, Lord, simply the workings of Fate. We are all friends here, long separated across Our Sea and in some danger, reunited by the gods themselves at your feet.

Cornellia [whispering to Aelius] I TOLD you Venus was on our side!

Eirene [being pulled off Anticus by main force]: And these visitors you brought us to dance for, we’ve been searching for half over the world, after incredible trials! I haven’t had my roots touched up in IV months!

Pomponia [with dignity, in spite of having lost a bra strap]: I, great Sheikh, am actually Pomponia the Sybil. Unfortunately [she shot a venomous look at Big Joe] we were unable to reach you to explain ourselves after our capture!

Heraklia: Where are the rest of us? Back in the camp?

Eirene: Yes, we did a talent search when we were first picked up – [smugly] those with talent, the Sheikh’s men picked out as dancers. Those without – well, they’ve been cleaning out the camel latrines! Including, I regret to say, the Chief Justice of Babylon. Jojo’s a dear, but he NEVER had a sense of rhythm, poor luv!

Sheikh: [an acquisitive gleam lighting his eyes] Ehhh, so you’re all long-lost pards, and half of you, still me own slaves. I’ve already got the Lindsius scrolls . . . so what can ye pay me to secure the freedom of your friends?

[In the stunned and apprehensive silence, Anticus stood tall and, waving aside a few stray feathers from his deep blue bustier, announced . . . ]

Anticus: Lord, if you will let us go freely on our way, our mission is sure to reward you behind your wildest dreams . . . for we seek the lost Golden Treasure of Alexander the Great!

[Exeunt, amidst chaos, noise, heavy drinking, and TBC….]