“He has watched every dream he has ever had of Iraq becoming a peaceful, prosperous country dashed, both by the hatred of the Islamists and by the West’s neglect.”  He took another drag on the cigarette.  “But he still believes that a man’s honor must be tied to his word.  That is a uniquely Western viewpoint, you know?  Here, a man’s honor is tied to how much esteem he is held in, in the perception of his wealth and his family.”  He blew the smoke skyward.  The sun was dipping toward the perpetual haze that stole its strength about an hour before it actually set.  “I don’t know where he got the idea; he has never traveled to England or America that I know.  He has been to several foreign military academies, back before the embargo after the war in the ‘90s.”  He turned to look at me, his face serious.  “He has given his word that he wants to be a Praetorian.  He means it.  He will honor it.  Which means these men, his tribesmen, will honor it as well.”