The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  “I’ve told you that I love you and I do. How many times must I say it before you’ll believe me?”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m sorry! It’s just I love you so much. I can’t bear the thought that you might be getting tired of me.”

  “I’ll never be tired of you, my love, and I don’t wish to leave you,” he said, “but we do have to think a bit about the future. Don’t you ever wonder what’s going to happen?”

  “Sometimes. I know what I’d like. But maybe you wouldn’t want the same.”

  “Silly girl.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her. “I’m sure I would. What is it?”

  “I thought we’d stay here until they come for me – because I like it here and I used to think you did too. Then when I see Khaliq I’ll explain to him that we love each other. And then he’ll give me back my dowry and we can go and live in a pretty little palace all of our own. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds perfect, sweetheart,” Raoul said, stroking her hair and holding her pressed against him. How innocent she was.

  “But one thing, Raoul.”

  “What, my love?”

  “I don’t think I want you to have lots of concubines. I’d be too jealous when you made love to them instead of me.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll only have you. And maybe Mimi the cat.”

  “Oh yes, Raoul. I’m very fond of her and I’m sure Khaliq wouldn’t mind if we took her.”

  Raoul kissed the top of her head, too choked with emotion to speak.

  One evening, a few days later, the weather changed. Great dark clouds rolled in from the west and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Raoul sat outside the pavilion watching the lightning flickering across the sky. What had been happening in the world outside while he’d been dallying here? Had Louis managed to take Aleppo? What was Eleanor thinking when no word came from the Emir? Would Sami have reported that his mission had failed? He suddenly remembered what he’d told Aysha about Marcus Antonius and how he’d forgotten about Rome and about his duties while he’d sported with Cleopatra. Raoul could try to find excuses for himself about why he’d stayed here so long, but he knew he’d been negligent. He should have used Aysha to get him out of the garden straight away. Delaying had only made it more difficult in the end. He cursed his own weakness, his tender-heartedness. How could he have been so stupid as to let himself care about her?

  “Raoul, Raoul, where are you?” Aysha called plaintively from inside the pavilion. “I’m waiting for you.”

  “I’ll be with you very soon, love.”

  Should he end it now? Send the token and escape from the garden when the eunuchs came in the morning? Could he do it without telling her?

  A fork of dazzling lightning darted across the sky, lighting up the whole garden for an instant. A few moments later the thunder growled, much closer now.

  If he told her he was leaving she would weep and cling to him; she would beg him to stay. If he was going, he must just go, saying nothing. A terrible picture sprang into his mind: Aysha lying helpless while Khaliq, ugly, old and fat, forced her to submit to him. He groaned and sank his head into his hands.

  “Raoul, what are you doing?” Aysha emerged from the pavilion, the bed-sheet draped round her. “How long are you going to keep me waiting?”

  “Sorry, love. I was watching the storm.”

  “But I was alone and I wanted you!” Her tone was sharp. “Would you rather watch a storm than make love to me?”

  “There’s more to life than love, Aysha, you know.”

  “What?” she snapped incredulously. “How can you say that? Nothing matters to me except my love for you! It’s all I live for!”

  “Well in that case your future is looking pretty bleak.”

  He stood up and walked away from her, into the garden. She ran after him and caught his arm.

  “What do you mean by that? What are you saying? That you don’t love me? That you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

  “In the pretty little palace with Mimi the cat?” Raoul’s tone was heavily sarcastic. “Grow up, Aysha. Even you must realise that that’s just a dream.”

  “No! Why should it be? Khaliq will – “

  Raoul grabbed her shoulders.

  “I’ll tell you what Khaliq will do. If he finds out that I’ve been your lover he’ll have me killed, instantly. And depending on what he thinks about you, you’ll either be put to death or cast off in disgrace!”

  “Not if I’m having a child!”

  “Especially if you are. He’s not going to rear a child which isn’t his. Your only chance is to go back to the harem like a good little wife and say nothing.”

  Lighting flickered above them.

  “You want me to go back...without you?”

  “Aysha, it’s the only way.”

  “But I couldn’t bear to be parted from you. You’re all I care about. You’re my whole life!”

  There was a searing flash of lightning closely followed by an immense roll of thunder.

  “There’s no way we can stay together. You must realise that.” His fingers dug into her shoulders. “It’s utterly impossible. What matters is to survive, however we can.”

  Large drops of rain had started to fall.

  “I was right!” She glared accusingly at him, her chest heaving. “You don’t love me any more – perhaps you never did! How could you ever think that I could be Khaliq’s wife again?”

  “Oh, Aysha, Aysha, I don’t want you to be! But there’s no other way!”

  He pulled her into his arms but she struggled, trying desperately to free herself. Lightning fizzled down and almost simultaneously there was another deafening crash of thunder. As if released by the blast, torrential rain lashed down, soaking them in seconds.

  “You don’t love me! Leave me alone! Let go of me!” Aysha panted.

  “No! Never! Aysha, I love you. I won’t let you go!” His lips found hers and he crushed her slender body against him.

  “Do you promise me?” she sobbed, clinging to him.

  He lifted her into his arms and ran towards the shelter of the pavilion. Inside, he unwound the wet sheet from her body and carried her to the bed.

  “Aysha, you are my sweet and only love. I’ll never leave you. I promise!” Even as he uttered the words, he knew that he was lying.

  The next day was cloudy and wet. They spent the day in bed together making occasional sorties to the gate to collect food. In the days that followed, Raoul tried to do nothing to annoy or upset her, exerting himself, however he could, to please and delight her. The thought of their parting was still at the back of his mind but he pushed it away whenever it tried to surface.

  He told her stories and sang to her. He described what it was like to live in France and Brittany and tried to teach her a few words of French. Her attention was easily distracted, however, and she would rarely listen for long. She would spot a pretty butterfly, see one of the peacocks with its proud tail unfurled or run off to greet Mimi when the little cat appeared. Aysha’s favourite occupation, when they were not making love, was to sit in the garden with Raoul’s head pillowed in her lap while she made garlands of flowers for them both to wear.

  Raoul asked Aysha to tell him about her life before she came to Damascus. He was appalled by its triviality. French ladies were allowed little enough to do, but Muslim girls seemed to be regarded as nothing but ornaments, decorative playthings to be used for entirely for pleasure. It seemed strange to Raoul that Eastern civilisations, in every other way so cultured and intelligent, should have such a narrow-minded view. He couldn’t imagine Félice, Queen Eleanor of France – or even his grandmother putting up with an existence such as Aysha had led. On the other hand, he couldn’t possibly imagine Aysha as the resourceful chatelaine of a Breton castle.

  Frequently Raoul found himself trying to work out how long they had been there. His worst fear was of being taken by surprise, for the eunuchs to come and f
ind them in bed together. Then, he knew, they would both be killed, and probably at once.

  Very early one morning he woke with a feeling of restlessness. Aysha was still sleeping peacefully by his side. He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, his eyes feasting on her delicate beauty. It had been very late when they had slept the night before. He wouldn’t wake her, he decided, although the thought of making love to her again was tempting. He ran his hand down her body in a light caress, kissed her shoulder and left the bed, moving carefully so as not to disturb her.

  He pulled on his drawers and went outside. There was a chorus of melodious birdsong but the sun had not yet risen above the high walls, and the grass still felt damp to his bare feet. He prowled round the garden like a beast in a cage, feeling more restless than ever. He tried a few handstands then a back-spring then did a few of each in succession. It didn’t help. Should he go back and waken Aysha after all? She wouldn’t mind. She only complained when she thought he wasn’t making love to her often enough. He grinned. He would go and see if the food had been brought then they could refresh themselves afterwards without having to get out of bed.

  He approached the gates then ducked back behind the screen of trees with a gasp of horror. Three burly eunuchs were approaching the gate. The first one was undoubtedly Imraz; having seen him twice Raoul was sure of that. The others could have been the two that had been with him when they had brought Aysha here in the first place. Had forty days really passed? Could it be possible?

  Imraz unlocked the main gates and swung them wide, making no attempt to lock them again once he and his companions had come through. As the eunuchs walked purposefully into the garden, Raoul slipped round the far end of the screen and out through the gates, ruthlessly forcing all thought of Aysha from his mind.

  Which way should he go? He suspected that as Imraz and Musarrat had previously approached the garden through the far gates, the seraglio lay in that direction. It would be as impossible to get out into the city from there as it was from here, and he had no wish at all to see any more of Khaliq’s women without their veils. The boys bringing the food had come from the left; he would go that way. Yes, there was a door in the wall ahead of him and, when he reached it, he found that it was unlocked. He ran through, shutting it behind him, and found himself in a narrow walk-way. To his left was a line of low, white-washed buildings. The noise, clatter and smells told him they were bake-houses and kitchens. If he climbed on top of the roof, perhaps he could manage to scale the outer wall above them. But its surface still looked as smooth and it was topped with the same sharp spikes. To the right was another wall, perhaps ten feet high, covered in flowering creepers and the gnarled branches of aged fruit trees. Hearing voices from within the kitchens, Raoul knew he daren’t hesitate any longer. Within moments he had climbed the lower wall and dropped down into the garden on the other side.

  Once inside he paused, assessing the possibilities. There was the usual fountain, profusion of colourful flowers and shaded marble seats. There was no sound other than bird-song, however. Surely, if this was part of the seraglio, he would be able to hear women’s voices.

  Wishing he had his dagger, Raoul approached the building at the far side. It was much larger than the pavilion in the Paradise Garden, he realised. Its front was an open area shaded by a vine-draped colonnade and there seemed to be other buildings in the distance beyond it. Opposite the entrance, in the wall over which Raoul had climbed, was a door, barred on the inside. Perhaps these were Khaliq Ur-Ehman’s own quarters.

  Very cautiously, Raoul entered the building. The room inside was not very large but as elaborate as anything he had seen in Antioch or Byzantium: it was all polished marble with gilded ceilings and deep-piled rugs. There was a low table, some plump satin cushions and several intricately carved lamps. Leading out of it were two further doors.

  The one opposite the garden-door was locked. The other opened into a bed-chamber. No-one was there, but these were Khaliq’s rooms, he was sure. At the far side, beside the bed, was another door which Raoul now headed for, gazing around him in wonder as he did so. The floor was of this room was made of black marble, so highly polished that you could almost see your reflection in it and the walls were entirely covered in embroidered hangings. When he looked more closely, he saw that these displayed a vast array of naked or scantily clad females in a huge variety of tempting poses. The bed itself, draped with glossy black satin covers and piled with immense gold cushions, was almost like a miniature temple, he thought. Black marble pillars supported a gilded canopy above it and he was not at all surprised, when he couldn’t resist the impulse to look up at it from underneath, to see that riotous sex scenes were painted all across it. He thought of the book which he had seen at Radenoc and shuddered. This man took his lusts seriously, it seemed. It was hardly surprising that he had been angry when Aysha...but he mustn’t think about her.

  The door when he reached it was firmly locked. Now what should he do now? He thought rapidly. It would be logical to suppose that this door went through into the harem – allowing the women easy access to their master’s bed. The first room had three doors: one into the garden, to which food from the kitchens could easily be brought, and one door into this room. Surely that meant the other one led out to the rest of the house.

  But there was no point in trying to force a locked door. Wasting no further time, he ran back out into the garden and swung himself easily up onto the cross beams which supported the vines over the colonnade. From there he leaped across onto the flat roof. To his right was a high wall – round the seraglio, perhaps. He ran along beside it until he reached the far edge of the roof. Here there was another colonnade, just the same as before. He sat down and peered through it. As no-one was in sight he allowed himself to drop to the ground.

  Opposite, another shady veranda ran the length of a large two-storey building. To his right was an open space. He crept towards it, his heart beating with sudden hope: this might be the main courtyard. With infinite caution he looked round the edge of the building. There was a fountain in the centre with shrubs and creepers growing on trellises round it, but beyond that there looked to be stables. There were several men, sweepers and grooms probably, going about their duties. Raoul emerged unnoticed and ran across to one of the decorative archways. Ahead of him, in the outer wall, was a set of massive double gates. These must lead out into the city. If he could get through them he would be free – free to find Sami, if he could; free to find some way to get to Prince Unur. Let someone open the gates, he prayed; he couldn’t do it alone without being seen.

  As if in response to his plea, two of the servants now ran to unbar them as a horseman appeared from the direction of the stables. Raoul waited for the right moment. The rider went through and the gates began to shut again.

  Now! He dashed across the intervening space, reaching it just as the gap was closing. He shoved one of the servants aside and sprang forward.

  “Seize him!”

  A bellowing cry from behind roused the other servant into action. He threw himself onto Raoul, knocking him to the ground. Raoul rolled aside and leaped up, but the servant grabbed him by one ankle. With his free leg he aimed a vicious kick at him but bare-foot, the blow wasn’t enough to make the man release him. He brought his fists down, hard, onto the top of his head and tore himself free.

  The other servant now swung his fist at him and as he ducked, his first assailant seized him again, pinning his arms behind him. Raoul kicked out desperately at the massive figure of Imraz who now confronted him. A blow thudded into his stomach, and as he gasped with pain another, even greater, connected with his jaw and everything went black.

  When he came to, Raoul was lying on a stone bench in a small dark room. A barred window, high in the wall, let in the only light. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his jaw gingerly. He knew he must try to work out some plan, decide what to say when they came for him. So much would depend on what Aysha had said. Aysha. The image of her, beaut
iful and loving, swam into his mind. He daren’t allow himself to think about that.

  A moment later he heard footsteps which seemed to be descending a flight of steps just outside the door. There was a scraping noise as a bar was removed and the door swung open. Imraz and a man who looked like a superior soldier stooped under the lintel and came into the room. Behind them Raoul could see at least one other man. They were taking no chances, it seemed.

  Before they could say or do anything, Raoul stood up, facing them with as proud and haughty a look as he could manage, bruised and half naked as he was.

  “I am an emissary from Prince Raymond of Antioch and the Queen of France to his Highness Prince Unur,” he said in French, “I demand to be taken to the Emir at once.”

  As he had hoped, whatever his gaolers had been going to say to him was now abandoned. They stood a few feet away from him and exchanged a puzzled glance.

  “What did he say?” asked the soldier.

  “I do not know – except that it was in a foreign tongue,” Imraz replied. “But he seemed to mention the names of important people. You, fellow.” He took a step towards Raoul and pointed a threatening finger at him. “What is your name and why are you here?”

  Raoul looked at him in blank incomprehension and Imraz repeated the question, this time prodding him on the chest with his outstretched finger. Again Raoul said nothing. He assumed a look of deep offence and glared blankly back at the eunuch.

  “He does not seem to understand,” the soldier commented. They regarded Raoul thoughtfully.

  Speaking unnecessarily slowly and loudly, Raoul now spoke again. “I am an emissary,” he said, his face and voice angry and proud, “a messenger sent to Prince Unur, your Emir. I wish to see him at once. I have travelled from Jerusalem, on behalf of Raymond of Antioch and Queen Eleanor of France.”

  His gaolers exchanged helpless glances.

  “He looks like an assassin,” the soldier observed in an undertone. Imraz shook his head.

  “He has no weapon – nor did we take one from him. Why does he mention His Highness, I wonder? Does he think he’s in the Royal Palace? Perhaps he’s a spy.”