“But I don’t intend to do it so there’s no point in talking about it. And I don’t understand why you’re asking all these stupid questions.”
“Idle curiosity, dear Aysha, that’s all. My questions are not important at all.” He sat down again with a sigh. Escape really seemed to be impossible – except by Raoul himself summoning Khaliq and sacrificing Aysha. He put the thought hastily out of his mind. “So,” he said in a warm bright womanly voice, “what do you wish to do for the rest of the day? Have they provided us with any games? Some chess men or chequers, perhaps? Or I could tell you a story, if you like. I know many.”
“No thank you, Forida,” she said, coldly but politely, “I shall sleep now, I think. I’m still feeling a little tired after the terrible ordeals I have been through.”
“That leaves us to entertain each other,” Raoul said to the cat as Aysha walked away. It rolled onto its back. “I’d rather stroke her tummy than yours, to tell you the truth! Ouch! On second thoughts, I shan’t touch you either if you’re going to scratch like that. I know I threw you out this morning...there, that’s more fun, isn’t it?” He picked a long-stemmed flower from the border nearby and held it above the cat’s head. It batted at it nimbly. “Now tell me, Mimi, how am I going to escape?” The cat crouched then sprang onto to the flower, patting the frilly petals with its paws. “You can get out easily, can’t you? But there’s no way out for me, not without hurting Aysha and I don’t want to do that. The fat eunuch called this the Paradise Garden but I think it’s a lot more like Hell!”
Raoul stayed out of the pavilion during the afternoon. He returned the tray to the gate then sat under a shady tree and dozed for a while. When the shadows started to lengthen and the sky in the west had turned a delicious shade of salmon pink, he went to the screen in front of the gates and waited to see who would come with the food. He had no great hopes of it but he wanted to know.
This time he didn’t have long to wait. Two young boys, chattering together softly, suddenly appeared to the left of the gates. One carried a tray, the other a pile of clothing. The bottom section of the single gate was quickly unlocked, the tray of empty dishes pulled through and the things they had brought put in its place. The grille was then locked again and they were ready to go. It had all taken a few seconds and offered Raoul nothing useful at all.
As the boys turned away, two figures appeared in the distance. Raoul thought one looked like Imraz, the chief eunuch, the other was a woman. Was this the real Forida?
“Wait, please,” she called. Her imperious tone suggested that she was accustomed to command: not Forida, therefore – with luck.
The boys set down the tray and prostrated themselves, their foreheads touching the ground. Imraz opened the far gate and stood aside to allow her to precede him through it. It had not been locked, Raoul noticed. If they had come to speak to Aysha, believing her to be alone, maybe, just maybe, he could slip out and get away. He clenched his fists and held his breath.
“You may get up,” she graciously told the crouching figures as she drew close to the gate. She was beautiful in a florid, exotic sort of way, Raoul observed. Her skin was much darker than Aysha’s; her lips were reddened with a glossy salve and her jet-black eyes heavily ringed with kohl. Her shimmering, ruby-red clothes seemed to have been sprinkled with gems and she wore a great deal of heavy gold jewellery, set with coloured stones. This, Raoul guessed, was Musarrat, Khaliq’s senior wife.
“Now, Imraz, let us see.”
At her gesture, one of the boys presented the tray and Imraz lifted the lids of the covered dishes.
“She is eating well, Highness.”
Musarrat smiled.
“I knew she would. She’s just a silly child – she doesn’t mean the foolish things she says.”
“She has not made the sign of humility,” Imraz pointed out.
“I don’t expect her to: she’s much too stubborn. But by the end of her confinement she will be so lonely and bored that she will be glad to see anyone – even His Excellency!”
She gave a little trill of laughter and the eunuch smiled appreciatively.
They had no intention of opening the gate, Raoul realised, letting out his breath with a sigh.
“I am sure you are right, Highness,” Imraz was saying. “Perhaps it is well that His Excellency decided that it would be unwise for the courtesan to be found to instruct her.”
The eunuch dismissed the two slaves then he and Musarrat began to walk slowly away from the gate.
“Next time she is to lie with him I think we’ll send the little Nubian to him first,” Musarrat said thoughtfully. “She can take the edge off his desire and he’ll find it easier to be patient. What do you think, Imraz? We have to find some way of keeping my husband happy and I would hate to see that poor child disgraced.”
“I am sure you’re right, Highness.”
As they moved further away, Raoul could no longer hear what they were saying. He was sure now that Khaliq was not the monster which Aysha believed him to be. Even Musarrat seemed to wish her well. What was her family thinking of, to send her into a marriage without knowing what to expect? He went and collected the tray and took it to the pavilion, wishing that he could, in some way, teach her a little.
The evening passed quietly. Aysha’s mood when she woke up was subdued and Raoul had the impression that she was feeling lonely. They ate together out in the garden and afterwards, lying out under the stars, Raoul told the story of Tristan and Iseult. Aysha wept over the fate of the doomed lovers, clearly identifying with Iseult when she was forced to marry King Mark. It occurred to Raoul that maybe by telling carefully adapted stories, he could start to make her understand a little more about the desires of men – and women too.
“Now please will you sing to me,” she said later.
“I’m sorry, Aysha. Your friend Forida has a voice like an old crow. I cannot sing. Perhaps you would instead.”
While he seemed able to speak continuously in a believably female voice, he hadn’t the same confidence about singing.
“I thought you were supposed to have a lovely voice.” She sounded piqued.
“When I was younger, yes. I had the ague last winter and since then I’ve been unable to sing a note.”
“Poor Forida. That must have been sad for you. If you will help me to undress I will sing you a little lullaby.”
“Thank you.”
Raoul gritted his teeth and followed her into the pavilion.
“Don’t light the lamps,” he called to her. “The moonlight’s bright enough.”
Once she was lying naked under her sheets, he went through into the closet and lay down on his mattress in the velvet darkness. Her sweet, high voice, the notes silvery and pure, could easily be heard through the thin curtain. Raoul closed his eyes. To get out of this garden he must betray her trust and send her, unwilling, back into Khaliq’s bed. And then? Raoul would either have to throw himself onto her husband’s mercy and beg to be taken to the Emir (still as a female) or he would have to elude the eunuchs when they came for her, escape from the palace and find his own way to Unur.
“Goodnight, Forida. It’s finished now!” she called.
He couldn’t do it yet. He’d wait a day or two.
“Goodnight, Aysha,” he replied. “Thank you for the song.”
The next morning Raoul was awake, had shaved and had a rudimentary wash before Aysha stirred. To his relief, after breakfast, she did not ask him to assist with her bath, though she did come and find him afterwards, asking sweetly whether dear Forida would brush and braid her friend Aysha’s hair. After that, Mimi the cat appeared in the garden again, affording Aysha a pleasant little diversion. In the afternoon, she went into the pavilion and slept and in the evening they sat out under the stars where, after they had eaten, Raoul told another story.
This was to become the pattern of their days. Raoul, trying to select stories where a girl found happiness through the love and devotion of her husband, was a
mazed to realise just how few of them there were. Most of the Greek stories he knew involved rape or adultery – Zeus’s exploits with Leda and Europa would be most unsuitable and as for Helen who had deserted Menelaus, the message was all wrong. He tried instead to choose stories which showed just how much a woman could adore a man.
It was Raoul’s fourth evening in the garden. Over the last two days he had become increasingly impatient and frustrated, both with himself and his circumstances. He felt filthy, confined to sweaty, uncomfortable clothes and the suffocating wig. He knew he must get away soon and make a last attempt to see the Emir but meanwhile, he was excruciatingly bored. There was nothing he could do. There were no books or games. Aysha had no knowledge of the world or interest in it. She liked songs and stories but she didn’t even know how to sew. A man of action for many years, even if he couldn’t practise with a weapon, Raoul longed to run and jump – to discover if he’d forgotten all his tumbling techniques – but he didn’t dare in case she saw him. And finally, of course, there was Aysha herself. He was constantly aware of her lovely, desirable body, enhanced rather than concealed by the flimsy clothes she wore. At night, knowing she was naked merely yards away from him, he suffered agonies. All too often, once he fell asleep, he would dream that she was lying in his arms.
Raoul’s story that night was about Cleopatra. He described her sensuous beauty, realising suddenly as he was doing so that he was making her sound rather like Musarrat. He hastily moved on to the great Marcus Antonius, ruler of one third of the world and how, when he first saw the Queen of the Nile, he had been overwhelmed by her loveliness. He tried to show how each was equally enamoured of the other and how their passion, together, consumed them both in its fire.
“Antonius forgot about the war, about his soldiers and about Rome. All he wanted was to lie at the feet of the Queen of Egypt and worship her. But in time, urgent messages were sent and he forced himself to leave.”
Raoul didn’t bother with the reason – that his Roman wife was dead – instead he tried to describe Cleopatra’s loneliness and despair.
“She should have prayed to have a child,” Aysha commented. “That would have consoled her.”
“But Antonius was gone. It was too late.”
“What do you mean? It’s never too late to pray.”
“But...Aysha, you do know how women get babies, don’t you?”
“Well, of course I do! Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Sorry. No, of course not. Anyway, once Antonius had returned to Rome, Augustus Caesar...”
“You get married and then you pray. And if you pray enough, Allah listens. I have been praying for many weeks but my prayers have not been granted yet. No baby has come.” She looked at Raoul sadly.
“Aysha, there’s more to it than that. You surely must have seen a pregnant woman.”
“Oh yes, her belly swells up and then eventually the baby comes out. Lili, one of the concubines, will soon have a fine big boy. She told me so and I was very jealous. You see, my belly has stayed quite flat.”
“But it’s only a few days since...Aysha, would you like to have a child?”
“More than anything!”
“Well, you won’t get one by prayer alone,” Raoul said abruptly. “The man has to do something too.”
“I know that,” she said indignantly. “He also has to pray.”
Raoul got up and came across the lawn to sit beside her, taking her hands in his.
“Listen, sweetheart. There seems to be something you don’t quite understand. Please don’t be frightened or upset. I just want to tell you. Will you listen to me?”
“Yes.” She looked at him with a puzzled frown.
Where should he begin?
“When a lady wants to have a child, as well as praying, she has to lie in the same bed as a man.”
“Her husband?”
“Yes, ideally. Though he doesn’t have to be. Lili isn’t married, is she?” Aysha shook her head silently and waited for him to continue. “When she lies with him, he has to implant his seed into her body and then it grows into a child. Sometimes it doesn’t work the first time so he has to do it again.”
“But how does he? Where does he have to put it?”
“You have a bleeding every month, don’t you?”
“Yes...”
“He has to put his male part into that place – the place which the blood flows out of.” She clutched his hands tightly. “And if he does it properly, it’s very pleasant for both of them. But if he’s too eager to have a child, sometimes he’s a little rough and it’s sore for the woman.”
“Are you telling me the truth?”
Her eyes searched his face.
“I am: I swear it.”
She pulled her hands free and flung herself down with a choking cry.
“Aysha, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She gave a strangled sob. “But don’t you see?” She sat up again, her palms pressed against her cheeks. “Khaliq was trying to give me a child! And if I want to have one, I have to let him do that vileness to me. I can’t bear it!”
“Perhaps another time, now that you know what it’s for, it might not be so bad.”
“But it hurts and it’s disgusting!”
“Someone should have explained this to you before. Then at least you would have known what to expect.”
“But now you have. Oh, Forida, thank you.”
She put her arms round Raoul’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Is it really the only way to have a baby?” she whispered, her head pressed against his shoulder.
“It’s the only way.”
Her arms tightened round him but she didn’t speak.
“What will you do?” Raoul asked after a while, his face buried in her fragrant hair. “Will you send him a white flower?”
“No!” She pulled herself away and sprang up. “I can’t! He should have told me what he was trying to do. I hate him!” She paused and the rebelliousness seemed to drain out of her. She gave a little sigh. “I expect, one day, they’ll make me go to him again. But perhaps, if I lie still and am very quiet and good, he will give me a child and then he won’t have to touch me again in the future. Do you think that’s possible?”
“It’s possible.” Looking at her, Raoul’s heart ached.
“Shall we go to bed now, Forida?” she said after a moment.
“Don’t you want to hear the rest of the story?”
“Tell it tomorrow. I want to take off my clothes and be comfortable. And perhaps I’ll dream about having a dear pretty little baby all of my own. Come and help me, Forida.”
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, sweetheart. Take your things off as best you can. I’ll take these back to the gate.”
It doesn’t get any easier, Raoul thought grimly as he picked up the tray and walked away from the pavilion. It was hard to believe that anyone could be so innocent and so ignorant. If he was a ruthless devil like Armand he’d have enjoyed her days ago. She’d have got over the shock by now and would probably be begging for more. Still, he thought, setting the things down with a crash, he’d soon be out of here. She would force herself now to submit to her husband’s pleasure – at least once. And perhaps this time she might even enjoy it. He couldn’t wait any longer. He’d leave a flower tomorrow for Khaliq. Then, when the eunuchs came, he’d ask to be taken to their master; he’d explain his mission and he wouldn’t have to see her again. There was a clump of white daisies just over there. Should he do it now? He picked one and stood hesitantly, turning the stem in his fingers. No, it was too soon. He flung it away. He would leave one at sunset and then it would be evening when they came for her. She’d have less time to be frightened before going to her husband’s bed.
He lingered in the garden, reluctant to return to the pavilion. She was lying there naked, liable to call out innocent invitations which he would dearly love to obey. He sat down and forced his mind to wing away from the fragrant velvet
warmth of a Damascene summer night to the cold nights he’d spent on the road as a soldier or before that to the even colder ones with Guennec’s Men. If he lived to return to France, one day he must find them and make amends for how he’d treated Damona. She hadn’t deserved it. He’d been maddened by what Armand had told him. What was the truth of it all? It was hard to imagine his grandmother feeling passion for anyone. Surely his father couldn’t have been Armand’s bastard. But even if he was, did it mean that Raoul had to behave in the same way? Of course it didn’t. If he managed to carry out this mission for Raymond and Queen Eleanor, at least he’d have a title. There would be land, a castle perhaps; it would be a new beginning. In time he might even marry and have children of his own – and not simply by praying!
Feeling stronger, he stood up and returned to the pavilion. Inside, patches of grey moonlight lay on the floor and across the bed. Aysha was asleep, lying on her stomach. The silk sheet had slipped off and there she was, slender and lovely. Fighting an even greater temptation to touch her, he forced himself to look away and go through to the closet. As he lay in the hot still darkness, his desire for her was a relentless torture.
The next morning when he awoke he heard the sounds of running water coming from the bathing room. He had slept late; Aysha was up. He hadn’t shaved. Aghast, he felt his chin: it certainly wouldn’t bear close scrutiny. What could he do? Cautiously he looked round the curtain. The tray of breakfast foods was on the bed and, as he had assumed, Aysha was in her bath. He tiptoed out, grabbed a cake and some fruit and hurried outside.
As he had thought, the sun was high in the sky; the morning was quite far advanced. It was surprising that she hadn’t come through and woken him and it was just as well that she had not. He went as far away from the pavilion as possible and sat down on the sunlit grass. After a while, he unbraided the hair of his wig and combed it out roughly with his fingers. If he kept it round his face, it might help.
“Forida, Forida! Where are you?” Aysha called after a while.
“I’m over here,” Raoul said, kneeling in an attitude of humble devotion.
The Rightful Heir Page 41