The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  “But will you stay here all the time?”

  “Yes. I shall sleep under the stars and you can bring me my meals. The only time I’ll need to come down is when I visit the bath-house – which I fear I urgently need to do.”

  “What will you wish me to do then?” She still sounded uncertain.

  “You’ll keep watch at the door to make sure that I’m not interrupted!” Raoul said with a laugh. “There’s no need for you to be afraid, whatever your husband has said.”

  Nazlee drew an audible breath then squared her shoulders.

  “That is good...Highness,” she said. “I can go down now?”

  “Yes. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What, Highness?”

  “Before you come onto this roof you must always call to me so that I know it is you. I shall keep my dagger by me and I wouldn’t like you to surprise me.”

  “I will do so,” she agreed solemnly. “I have a dagger too, Highness.” Her dark eyes met his in something close to a warning.

  “Wise girl. Keep it by you and scream if anyone other than Sami enters my quarters. Off you go now.”

  “Thank you, Highness.”

  “Here, take the lamp. The stairs will be dark.”

  He held it out to her. She took it, met his eyes and almost smiled before scurrying away.

  As soon as she had gone, Raoul pulled off the wig and scratched his scalp ecstatically. The wretched thing was even hotter than his helmet. That done, he unfastened the heavy necklaces, slipped the many jewelled bangles off his wrists and pulled off the knee-length tunic of peach coloured silk and the short padded top he had worn beneath it. Dressed only in loose silk pantaloons, he felt much more comfortable, especially as his razor-sharp dagger was now within easy reach. It, and a small pouch containing the letter to the Emir, were strapped round his waist. Only the diamond studs in his ears seemed incongruous. These had been painfully inserted in Jerusalem and it would be unwise to try to remove them. Earlier, he had fetched up various useful items from the rooms below. He now relieved himself into a tall porcelain vase, undoubtedly intended for a much more decorative purpose. He then drank a cup of water and flung himself down onto a pile of satin cushions. Within seconds he was asleep.

  “It is Nazlee bringing food!”

  The young woman emerged onto the roof bearing a loaded tray. Still wearing only the silk pantaloons, Raoul was standing over by the far parapet looking down through the leafy screen onto the awakening city below. When he heard her voice he turned and moved towards her with a smile.

  “Good morning, Nazlee. I trust you spent a peaceful night. It’s all right,” he said as she froze, staring at him in amazement, “it is me.”

  He came forward and relieved her of the tray which she seemed likely to drop.

  “You...you look very different, Highness,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth to conceal an irrepressible smile. “Not like a woman at all!”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “What are your orders for today, Highness?”

  She had backed away from him towards the stairs.

  “When I have eaten, I must bath and shave.” He rubbed his chin ruefully. “I doubt if many princesses have beards.”

  Nazlee gave a little giggle, her hand covering her mouth.

  “Go and examine the bath house and make sure no-one can get in. Does the door to the ante-room lock?”

  “I doubt it, Highness, but I will see. Women are not permitted to deny their master access to their rooms.”

  “Ask your husband to help you plan the best way to protect me when I’m bathing. As soon as everything is ready, call me. I am at my most vulnerable in there so I am relying on your help.”

  “I shall call you soon, Highness.”

  “Good. Off you go now.”

  By the evening of that day, Nazlee seemed to have lost most of her fear of Raoul. He concluded that she had thought of him as a freak, a hermaphrodite monster. Oddly, her first sight of him as a normal young male seemed to reassure her, especially once she realised that he did not intend to lay a finger on her.

  He spent a long time in the bath-house that day, enjoying the luxury of soaking away the sweat of the journey. It was a pity that he could not have the massages and scrubs he had become used to again in Antioch. He knew he dare not ask Sami’s wife to assist him: it would destroy again the little trust she had in him.

  Once he was clean, he shaved carefully and put on some of the musky perfume provided by the vizier for his use. Although the princess’s pantaloons and tunics covered his legs and arms, he decided it would be wise to shave these as well – in case the hairs showed through the flimsy fabric. Inside the palace he would not wear the chadar over his clothes – just a veil – and the summons could come at any time. Perhaps it was fortunate that no hair grew on his chest otherwise he would have to shave that too. To save any further uncomfortable necessities he wore linen drawers under the pantaloons.

  Once he had finished his ablutions, he returned to the security of the roof. He wished that he had something to read but of course, as ladies were not expected to be literate even in the civilized east, nothing had been provided. How did women stand it, he wondered. Normally, of course, they had their maids to chat with while they worked on their embroidery. He wished he could ask Nazlee to come up to the roof garden and talk to him but that would leave the lower floor unguarded, defeating his whole purpose. He resigned himself to lying on the cushions and day-dreaming but was glad when, towards evening, he heard Nazlee’s voice calling to him.

  “My husband has received a message from the vizier,” she announced as she set down a tray of covered dishes.

  Raoul lifted the lid of one and his mouth watered at the fragrant spicy aroma which rose from the steaming pile of yellow grains. Another contained diced meat in a rich sauce and there was also a stack of round unleavened cakes of bread.

  “What does he say?” Raoul had loaded a bowl and started to eat enthusiastically, sitting cross-legged on a plump satin cushion.

  “You like this food, Highness?” She was regarding him wide-eyed.

  “Love it,” said Raoul with his mouth full.

  “It is a surprise to me. I thought Franks were...”

  “Barbarians? Who only ate babies roasted on a spit?”

  She blushed. Clearly it was exactly what she had thought. To cover her embarrassment, she spoke hastily.

  “The vizier wishes to speak to you tomorrow. There is more he needs to know before the Emir will consent to receive you, he says.”

  “Damn. I’d hoped not to let him see me again. I’m worried about my height and about my hands.”

  “You do not need to let him see you, Highness. There is a special window beside the door through to the ante-room. There is a shutter over it on the far side but there is a curtain on ours. If you keep it drawn you may be heard but you may not be seen. The vizier will be content with that.”

  “Splendid, Nazlee. Ask Sami to arrange it for the afternoon. That gives me the morning to bathe.”

  “Very well, Highness. I shall tell him.”

  Despite his intention not to show himself to the vizier, Raoul made quite sure that Princess Razia was properly dressed for Lord Gulam’s visit, this time in a suit of fine turquoise silk, heavily embroidered with silver thread.

  “See, Highness, you pull the veil down over your forehead, so. And then you can fasten this one, thus, across your nose. Now only your eyes can be seen. When you go to the Emir, you must wear it like that. Then, when he says to, you may unfasten the veil and show all your face.”

  Raoul regarded himself in the mirror.

  “Yes, that’s good. Worn like that you can’t see the scar on my cheek.”

  “Does it pain you, Highness?”

  “No. But it mars my beauty somewhat, doesn’t it?”

  Nazlee laughed rather breathlessly.

  “There’s the bell, Highness. The vizier is here.”

  Raoul seated
himself on a low stool beside the little window.

  “You may open the shutter, Lord Gulam,” he said.

  “Greetings, Highness,” the vizier said, doing as he was bid and seating himself. “You have fully recovered from your long and tiring journey, I hope.”

  “I feel more rested, sir, certainly.”

  “Do you feel that you can help me with a few little details so that His Highness the Emir can be fully informed about you?”

  “I shall try to.”

  “Good, good.”

  The vizier spent the first few minutes going through the princess’s family background. As this had been very carefully planned and was based on real people who lived hundreds of miles to the south, this was easily dealt with and would be virtually impossible to disprove.

  “But your steward, Master Belhaj, he is from Damascus, I believe.”

  Either Sami had been recognised or his accent had betrayed his origins. Raoul thought rapidly.

  “Of course,” he said. “When it was decided that I should be offered in marriage to Prince Unur, my uncle sent for a trustworthy Damascene to be my guide and steward. I could not travel so far from my home without such a person.”

  “But you have previously been to Antioch, I think.”

  “No, sir.” Again, it must be a question of accent. “But my nurse came from there. She too, alas, is dead.”

  Gulam paused, respectfully, and then continued.

  “You are tall for a woman, Your Highness, are you not?”

  “Yes, indeed.” There was no point in denying it as he had noticed. “Both my mother’s and my father’s families were great warriors. We all grow tall and strong. It makes child bearing so much easier.” Raoul hoped he was not being indelicate to mention such a thing.

  “One final matter, Highness, which I hope you will forgive me for raising.” Raoul could almost see the vizier’s ingratiating smile. “What dowry is being offered by your uncle? It was not made clear in his letter.”

  “Aside from my castles in the southern desert and all my clothes, jewels and slaves – these I will send for once the wedding has been arranged – there are one hundred thousand gold besants.”

  “Why besants, Highness?”

  “My father always said that the currency of the Byzantine Empire was the only one he would trust.”

  “Your father was a wise man, Your Highness.”

  “That is true. If will you wait for just a moment, Lord Gulam, I was entrusted with a little money to help with the initial expenses here in Damascus. Perhaps you would like me to give it to you now? For you to pass on to the Emir, of course.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. That would be most gracious, Your Highness.” He sounded almost as if he was licking his lips. Naturally, he would keep the money himself.

  Raoul hurried through to the bedchamber beckoning to Nazlee to follow him. Once there he quickly found the leather purse he had been given by Rawnak Kareem. He extracted some of the coins but left the majority – perhaps fifty – inside.

  “Quickly,” he said to Nazlee, “put on my bracelets and take this bag. I want you to hand it to the vizier through the curtain.”

  Frightened but obedient, she allowed herself to be led back to the window.

  “Your sleeve,” Raoul whispered urgently.

  Her tunic, although of fine cloth, was not made of silk nor sumptuously embroidered like Princess Razia’s. She hastily pulled it back and thrust her slender, well-manicured hand beneath the curtain. The bag was almost snatched from her and she immediately withdrew her hand. There was a clink of coins as the vizier began to count them. Raoul and Nazlee exchanged a smile and Raoul slipped the bracelets back onto his wrist.

  “Everything seems to be quite satisfactory,” Aulia Gulam said after a few moments. “It is just a pity that I can give the Emir no little hint about your beauty. If I could, I am sure he would be impatient to see you straight away.”

  “Perhaps I could give you a tiny glimpse,” Raoul murmured, “if it would help.”

  “No, Highness, no!” Nazlee whispered, shaking her head frantically.

  “Lift the curtain,” he ordered her.

  As she unwillingly obeyed, Aulia Gulam peered curiously forward. Raoul sat with his hands almost covered by the veil and his head modestly bowed. Then, very slowly he raised his eyes and looked into the vizier’s thin avid face. Raoul knew that his emerald green eyes, now fashionably ringed with kohl and his long dark curling lashes should have a dramatic effect. Gulam gasped audibly and Raoul lowered his head modestly once more.

  “Let the curtain fall now, Nazlee,” he said. “I think His Excellency has seen enough.”

  “Oh yes, Your Highness,” the vizier agreed. “I am sure that Prince Unur will see you tomorrow – or the day after that at the very latest.”

  “I am glad.”

  “I will bid you good day now, Your Highness.”

  “Good day to you, sir.”

  “He will be sending for you very soon!”

  Raoul smothered his amusement, imagining the breathless eagerness with which Gulam seemed to be dashing away. Once his footsteps could no longer be heard, Raoul allowed himself to laugh aloud.

  “Oh, Highness, I was afraid you were going to do something immodest,” Nazlee cried, sinking down onto a sofa and putting her head in her hands. “I was so scared.”

  “I didn’t, did I? I hoped I knew better than that.”

  “No, Highness, no. It was perfect. To look at him, just once, like that. He was stunned.”

  “Was he?” Raoul smiled and got to his feet. He could take off the cursed wig and these stifling clothes again now.

  “Your eyes are so beautiful, Highness,” Nazlee was saying. “Anyone you looked at like that would be...” She glanced up at him, met his eyes and blushed hotly, “...stunned...” she whispered, her eyes still locked with his.

  “I’m going to go up to the roof,” Raoul said gently, deliberately not acknowledging the expression in her eyes. “Stay here and call to me if anyone comes.”

  “Might I not...accompany you, Highness?” Her voice was barely audible.

  “It would not be very wise, would it?”

  “No,” she said abruptly. “Of course not. You are right. I will bring your supper up to you later.

  “Thank you.”

  With a sigh, he crossed to the stairs and climbed them slowly. While he had no wish for her to be afraid of him, for Nazlee to desire him was a most unwelcome complication.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  By the time the summons came from Prince Unur three days later, Raoul was fretting with boredom and impatience.

  Deprived of useful activities, the days seemed endless and he only slept fitfully at night. None of this was helped by Nazlee. On two other occasions she made it clear that she wanted him to make love to her. Once she came up to the roof-garden in the middle of the night and one morning he caught her watching him in the steam room. When he told her to go back and guard the door, she wept and pleaded with him. He angrily rejected her, reminding her of his vulnerability and also of the fact that her husband was his friend. From the roof-garden, early on the morning of the summons, he saw her speaking to a boy in the courtyard down below. The sight filled Raoul with foreboding.

  The Emir sent his own splendid palanquin to carry Raoul to the palace. It could take as long as an hour to get there and he would actually be set down inside the royal apartments. Suspicious, Raoul ordered Sami to send away the bearers and escort sent by Unur. The palanquin was thoroughly searched and Raoul’s own guards would carry it and escort him through the streets. One man was retained as a guide. Much to his relief it seemed to be readily accepted that a princess should suffer from irrational fears and paranoia.

  To go to the palace he dressed in the most magnificent of the suits purchased in Jerusalem. It was of saffron coloured silk, trimmed with gold embroidery. Tiny chips of coloured glass, like gems, were set into the hem of the tunic, round the wrists and round t
he ankles. There were matching veils and even matching slippers with upturned toes. He had shaved extremely carefully and Nazlee helped him to shape his eyebrows and ring his eyes with kohl. He had intended that she should ride with him to the palace, but when the time came to depart, she seemed to have vanished.

  “I do not understand it, Highness,” Sami said. “Where can she have gone?”

  “There’s no time to look for her. Princess Razia has her little foibles, I know, but to be late for an audience with the Emir would be madness. This is what we have been working for, after all. Forget it, Sami. We must go now.”

  “You have the letters from the Prince of Antioch and your Queen?”

  “Of course I have. And one or two other little things that might come in handy.” Into the pouch he had put the rest of Kareem’s gold and the phial of strong medicine given to him by Nazrat Ali. “Now then, split the escort into two and tell them to walk in single file. Half will precede the litter and half will follow after it. At the first sign of danger they are to shout a warning.”

  “Do you think that there is danger, Highness? I thought all was now well.”

  “I hope so, Sami. But I just have a feeling...Come along, we’re wasting time.”

  As Raoul had intended, it was a narrow column more than a hundred yards long which wound through the streets of Damascus. Sami walked beside the palanquin, describing the sights of the city as they passed.

  “We are a quarter of the way there now, Highness,” he said after a while.

  After another monument, a fine mosque and the Moonlit Gardens, “We are half way there now, Highness, and approaching the old city. The streets are narrower here and winding, with the walls of great palaces on either side.”

  Raoul’s palms had started to sweat. By a supreme effort of will he forced himself to sit back on the satin cushions and not reach beneath his tunic for his dagger. His heart was beating uncomfortably fast.

  When, moments later, he heard the first shouts of alarm followed by the clash of weapons, he felt almost relieved.

  “The men at the rear are under attack, Highness! We must escape.”