“Something tells me, my lady,” he said, “that you and I shall become good friends before our excursion is done.” And he winked at her good-naturedly.
Suddenly Diona’s expression turned dour again. Her complexion darkened and a small scowl toyed at the comers of her mouth. “Save your sweet words for another, Sinbad!” she rasped. And, using her whip, she urged her camel forward onto the path that led down to the road.
Sinbad shook his head and sighed, wiping perspiration from his brow as he watched the girl ride quickly away from the estate she loathed. “You know, my friend,” he confided to Giovanni, “I suspect your estimation of this matter may be right. I’m afraid we’re going to have our hands full.” And, with a slap and a whoop, he pressed his own camel on in hot pursuit, tightly holding the reins of the third camel, laden with supplies and luggage. The beast wheezed as he tore down the road after Diona.
“May Allah ride with you, Sinbad!” cried Avilia after him. Then she stood in the middle of the path, smiling as the mariner caught Diona’s camel and slowed him down. When they had passed the gates of her home and disappeared from sight, she shrugged, sighed wistfully, and walked slowly back toward the gardens where Argulo stood impatiently waiting.
“He’s gone,” was all she said. The lord glowered. “Good riddance.” His brows slanted and he looked at her intently. “Well, my dear? Do you think our handsome sailor suspects?”
Avilia shook her head, smiling thinly. “Not a chance. I made sure of it.”
Argulo laughed. “Then double good riddance. They deserve each other.”
*
Sinbad soon reached the open road. Passing rows of cypress and date trees, he waved to workers in the fields as his small party crossed over well-trodden paths. Lush fields of wheat and barley caught the strong morning sunshine. Far off to his right he saw the high walls of Damascus glistening against a perfect sky, while before him lay only the endless sand of the open desert. A beautiful panorama — but every bit as deadly as it was alluring. Even the best of men had fallen prey to the deserts traps. Once a man was lost in those wastes, he would not take long to die.
The bottom of the huge red ball that was the setting sun brushed softly against the peaks of mountainous dunes, scattering scarlet hues along the length and breadth of the vast sweep, changing the sand from gold to blood-red.
Already the night chill was in the air. Although day was blistering and scorched the sand, nighttime was cold enough to chill to the bone, and a cruel wind bit fiercely through all those who dared face the desert’s wrath.
Sinbad glanced at the roughly sketched map given to him by one of the skinners. They had stayed close to the caravan route, he knew, and had now come to a place where the dunes broadened and a valley of sand, like a riverbed, sloped and narrowed as it twisted its way south. The skinner had told of an oasis nearby, one always used by travelers taking this route to the hills of Judea. Yet Sinbad could see no sign of such a welcome haven — only more of the same.
He swung his camel around and looked to Diona. The girl was shivering at the feel of the gusty wind whirling among the dunes. The bridle jangled as Sinbad leaned over in the saddle. She seemed tired, perhaps, but no worse for wear. All day they had ridden with barely a pause, putting good distance between themselves and Damascus. And in all that time Diona had not spoken a single word to him. She had remained poised and calm, following Sinbad’s lead and showing no interest in the journey at all.
“It will be dark soon,” said Sinbad, breaking the quiet between them. “We’re going to need some kind of shelter over our heads.”
Diona nodded.
Sinbad watched the sun slide below the horizon and shivered. There was little point in even trying to find this oasis. He dismounted, offered Diona his hand, and helped her down. Then, using blankets and rope, he carefully constructed a small windbreak so they could rest with their faces turned to the shelter of the blanket. He built a tiny fire from dung and apportioned out some salted meat and dried biscuits from his saddlebags.
Diona ate somberly, still unwilling to speak, and Sinbad respected her desire for solitude, although from the corner of his eye he saw her glancing at him several times.
It was growing colder by the minute. He handed the girl a quilt and made his own place opposite her to lie down. “Best that we should sleep now,” he told her. “I hope to be up well before dawn to continued our journey.”
Diona chewed slowly on the last of her biscuits and cleaned her hands in the sand. Then, not even bothering to say good night, she wrapped herself in the quilt, turned her back on Sinbad, and went to sleep.
“I do not trust her, Sinbad,” whispered Don Giovanni as the mariner made himself comfortable. Sinbad made no reply.
He stared at the flapping blanket and listened to the low howl of the wind. Above, the stars were resplendently aglitter and he fancied himself upon the sea, wishing the dunes were salty waves gently bobbing against the hull.
Ah, Sherry, would that you were with me now, he thought, gazing blankly into the distance. And then, as Don Giovanni nestled between the warmth of his shirt on one side and the blanket on the other, Sinbad closed his eyes, drifting into a peaceful sleep.
He stirred at the feel of a hand nudging his shoulder. His eyes opened to find Diona, her unbound cocoa hair flowing freely in the breeze.
“My lady, what — ?” He froze.
Diona smiled thinly and wielded a curved knife before his eyes. A knife she had no doubt secretly hidden within the folds of her garments before they had left Damascus.
Her eyes flicked with uncertainty and she bit at her lip. “I don’t want to kill you, Sinbad,” she told him in a low, throaty tone. “But I won’t hesitate if I have to. Do you understand?”
Sinbad made no move to dissuade her, not knowing if she could really murder a man but unwilling to take undue risks. Experience had taught him much about women, and a woman betrayed was never to be taken lightly.
“What are you going to do?” he asked in a calm voice.
Diona glanced around uneasily, then turned her cold eyes back to the sailor. She pressed the tip of her knife against his jugular and ground her teeth. “I’m going to tie you up and leave you here,” she said at last. “No harm will come to you, with luck a caravan may be along in a day or two … ”
Sinbad narrowed his eyes, holding her gaze while fully aware that the frog had slipped from sight and was now circling behind her.
“And what about you, my lady? I need not warn how dangerous the desert can be to a novice.”
Diona frowned, and then, as though her mood had changed with the bat of an eye, she laughed. “Ah, good Captain! Do not worry for me. I promise you I’ll find safety long before you will.”
“Safety where?” he asked speculatively. “Surely not here?” And he lifted his arm to gesture around him.
“Keep still!” snapped the girl. The knife pressed harder against his flesh and Sinbad held his breath. “I warn you, Sinbad! Don’t play little games with me. I’m not your beloved Avilia. I’d just as soon gouge out your eyes as let you go.”
Sinbad drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. Diona, it seemed, was even more determined than he thought. “All right, then. Bind my hands, if you will. But first, hadn’t you better give more thought to your circumstances?”
“What do you mean?”
“The wind is rising,” said the sailor. “We face a desert storm, a sirocco. You’ll be blinded in an hour, drowned within a sea of sand … ”
Diona looked around again. The wind was blowing more furiously than before.
“You’re trying to frighten me,” she said.
Sinbad shook his head. “No, my lady, I’m not. I’m serious. To leave our camp now would insure your death — and that lover of yours will never see you again.”
Diona felt confused; she lightened the pressure of her knife and tensely pondered her choices. Sinbad smiled inwardly, realizing his ruse had worked.
“Now, Gi
ovanni!” he barked, and the frog leapt from the side, his webbed feet knocking into her hand and causing the knife to fall.
Diona, caught badly off guard, tried to recover and grab the weapon. But Sinbad was up like a bolt, scooping up the blade and tossing it into the wind. Diona started to go for it, but the mariner caught her arm and swung her around, bringing her to her knees as he twisted her arm behind her back.
Diona squirmed and writhed, swinging her free fist blindly, trying to throw sand in Sinbad’s eyes, jab him in the ribs with her elbow, topple him over. But the more she tried, the firmer his hold became, until tears were streaming down her face.
“Had enough?” bellowed the sailor, angrily pushing her face farther and farther down until her lips almost touched the sand.
Diona was determined not to scream or plead. “Damn you,” she sniveled, her shoulders shaking.
Sinbad let go suddenly and she fell in a heap upon the ground. He leaned over and waved a menacing finger at her. “Don’t ever try that again,” he warned sternly. “Next time I won’t be so lenient.”
“Next time you’d better kill me!” Diona cried, holding her injured arm and tending her more-injured pride. “You’ll never reach Jerusalem with me! Never!”
Sinbad threw up his hands in exasperation. “Maybe Argulo was right,” he mumbled. “You are a little hellcat. A vixen like you deserves to be tied like a dog.”
At this Diona put her hands to her face and began to cry oceans of bitter tears.
Sinbad felt his anger quickly flee. He saw within the girl a trace of Sherry, the way Sherry had looked that night before their attempted escape. Suddenly Sinbad was filled with compassion; he reached out to soothe her and she brushed him away. “Leave me alone,” she wept. “The last thing I want is your pity.”
Sinbad nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said, staring up at the moon and stars. He realized there were hours left before dawn, enough time to sleep again and perhaps put this little episode behind forever.
“You’d better go back to sleep,” he told Diona as Don Giovanni hopped back beside him. Then he threw her the blanket.
Diona turned around, looking at him with clear surprise. She held out her arms, wrists crossed and pressed together like a prisoner. “Aren’t you going to bind me?” she asked.
Sinbad shook his head. “Not if you give me your promise not to try and run away again tonight.”
Her almond eyes widened. “And what about tomorrow?” Sinbad wiped away a tear from her cheek and smiled. “We live our lives one day at a time,” he replied philosophically. “If you give me your word not to play any more games tonight, I’ll not tie you up.”
A tiny smile flickered somewhere deep within her eyes and Diona, exhausted because she hadn’t yet slept, readily agreed.
Sinbad grinned, relieved. “Good. Get some rest now. I’ll wake you an hour before dawn.”
She did as asked without complaint. Sinbad watched while she pulled the quilt around herself and hugged at it tightly. Moments later the weary girl was deep in slumber.
Women, mumbled Sinbad, warming his hands beside the dying fire. And with a long sigh he closed his eyes, confident there would be no more tricks at least until tomorrow.
*
The camels rambled slowly along the rocky riverbed, grunting as they lurched over ruts and gulleys in the parched terrain.
Scrub weed dotted the landscape in the most peculiar places, jutting from beneath great rocks and over rugged dunes, the only foliage in an otherwise deserted world. It was only early morning, but already the heat had become so oppressive that even lizards and snakes dared not venture from their burrowed nests into the open, and only the sounds of the camels broke the total silence and solitude.
Again and again Sinbad was forced to pause in the journey, allowing Diona to drink her full water ration before noon and part of his own as well. With the girl trailing behind, he led his beast to the height of a windswept dune and peered out across the expanse. His lips were dry and cracked, his tongue beginning to swell. He shaded his eyes and peered intently ahead, straining for a glimpse of the near horizon. The riverbed twisted and coiled until it ended abruptly, and there, where the desert became flat and rocky, he sighted tiny specks swaying darkly in the distance.
A mirage? he asked himself, as the forms seemed to take vague shape. Then he smiled.
“Can we rest soon?” asked Diona, bringing her camel beside his own and looking at him hopefully.
“Can you see those trees?” he said.
Diona stared and nodded.
“We’ve reached the oasis at last. We’ll be there in less than an hour, with any luck … ”
Diona smacked her lips at the prospect of fresh water and a cool shaded place to get out of the sun.
Sinbad rode down from the dune and, with the girl right behind, picked a path along the gulley until they were in full sight of the swaying trees. Shadows of the branches threw dark patches over a wide pool of water close beside the gnarled roots, and deep blue grass formed a circle of protection around the oasis, a patch of life in a desolate wilderness.
Without a word they dismounted and raced for the pool, drinking with frenzy, splashing it over themselves, dunking their heads, and sighing with relief.
“We’ll stay through evening,” Sinbad said, “then continue under the stars.” And while Diona gratefully rested beside the bank, laughing as Don Giovanni pranced at the water’s edge, Sinbad gathered dates from the trees. Then they quenched their thirsts again, ate, and stretched out to sleep beneath the lumbering branches of a great cypress.
The sun had begun to set by the time Sinbad awoke to find Diona already up, sitting with her chin on her knees and gazing blankly toward the west. Sinbad stretched lazily, wriggling around to work the stiffness out of his muscles. The girl pushed loose hair from her eyes, looked at him, and smiled. “Did you sleep well?” she asked.
He nodded and sat up. The camels were nibbling at grass along the edge of the oasis, making small noises as they chewed. The murmur of swaying grass drifted peacefully into his ears and he glanced at the still waters of the pool, thinking of the sea and the strange fascination it had always held for him.
“When do we leave?” asked Diona, breaking into his thoughts.
Sinbad frowned. “Soon. After we eat something and refill the waterbags.”
“Already done,” replied Diona, gesturing to the goatskin pouches left laying beside the bank. “I did it while you were still sleeping.”
Sinbad grinned and started to stand. Diona reached out and took hold of his sleeve. “Sinbad,” she said, casting down her eyes, “about last night … I want you to know that I’m sorry. I never would have harmed you. I want you to know that.”
“Forget it. I already have.”
She smiled fully and nudged him to sit down beside her. He hesitated. Her tugging became stronger, her hand folded over his. She wet her lips and looked deeply into his eyes, closing her own as she leaned forward and kissed him.
The mariner was taken by surprise. He shared the kiss briefly, enjoying the honeyed taste of her mouth upon his own. But then, as her arms closed around him, he nudged her back, releasing her hold.
Diona pouted. “What’s the matter?” she said. “Don’t you like me?”
Sinbad laughed. “I like you fine, my lady. You’re a beautiful young woman. But how is it that last night you wanted to kill me and tonight you want me to make love to you?”
Diona’s eyes betrayed her sense of growing anger. “Am I not good enough for you?” she seethed. “Or has my sweet cousin got you bewitched?”
Sinbad laughed again, this time with more gusto, while Diona sat and fumed, rattled at being taken so lightly by the famed mariner. “It is a mistake to mock me, Sinbad,” she hissed. “It could prove your undoing,”
Sinbad looked at her questioningly. “And what do you mean by that, my lady? More of your tricks?”
“I doubt I shall need them,” she rejoined as a sly smile
crossed her full lips and she complacently met his gaze. “Ah, Captain,” she added with a hint of amusement, “can you not see? Has Avilia blinded you so? Don’t you know that she plays us both for fools?”
“Oh?” said Sinbad, slanting his brows.
Diona chuckled to herself, shaking her head at the secret joke. “Tell me, Captain, why do you think this marriage is of such great import to my cousin? Why has she paid you so grandly merely to escort an errant girl she despises on a common sojourn to Jerusalem?”
“Avilia says that the sheik will have no other; that when he saw you in Damascus he fell immediately in love — ”
Diona laughed bitterly. “And you believe it?”
The sailor shrugged. “It’s none of my affair why he desires you so … ”
“Nor his motives?”
“As you said, your cousin has paid me handsomely to deliver you. But why you are such a valuable prize I cannot say. His business is his own.”
“Then indeed you are a fool,” snapped the girl. “Kahlil needs me not — his tents are filled with wives. Yet,” — here she sighed — “he does have his reasons … ” She leaned closer to Sinbad and her voice lowered to little more than a whisper. “He will make of me his hostage.”
Sinbad winced. “Hostage? What in the name of the Prophet are you talking about, child?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Avilia wants me far and away from Damascus. You see, I know too much of her little games. Avilia must have me out of the way; she would even kill me if she had to.”
Sinbad focused his eyes intently upon the girl; he felt a sudden chill. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What harm can you do Lady Avilia? She is every bit her own woman, renowned throughout Damascus. A beloved face at the sultan’s court, a woman of charm and fortune, a patroness of the arts … ”
Diona clenched her hands and glared at the mariner. “How little you know! It is a sham, Sinbad, a sham! My cousin has squandered her wealth for years, and now, despite her show of riches, owns not a fig. She is in debt to virtually every money lender in Damascus — ”
The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar Page 56