"Well, then why did you bother to come after me? I didn't ask for help, and anyway, the Hussar weren't doing any more to me than . . . than you have done!"
He came closer, a burning light in his eyes and Juliette wondered if he would slap, her.
His voice was controlled when he spoke. "Haven't I told you that a man protects what belongs to him, or have you forgotten that, as you seem to have so many other things. By Allah, you are an ungrateful wench. But I don't have time for this now. I only came to tell you you're coming hunting with me tomorrow. Be ready to leave at dawn."
Cassia moaned suddenly and Juliette, unwilling to react to Sharifs insulting orders, turned to her, pouring another amount from the water sack to wipe the girl's perspiring face and dab at her temples and eyes.
"Cassia, Cassia," Juliette whispered softly.
But the girl had fallen unconscious again and, taking her small brown hand, Juliette leaned closer, forgetting Sharif for the moment as she said, "Poor Cassia, poor, poor girl."
Behind Juliette's back, Sharif watched, a brooding light of puzzlement coming into his eyes that disappeared as soon as Juliette turned again to face him. "Please," she said with a note of desperation. "Do whatever you want to me. But go away now and leave us in peace. There has been enough violence today."
Unexpectedly, he nodded and surprisingly turned to go.
But then he paused as an afterthought. "By the way, Cherie," he said evenly. "You shouldn't be jealous of that Gypsy girl. Perhaps it would have saved me a lot of trouble if I'd told you before that those Gypsies were all Hussar spies. Affeda, if that was her real name, tried putting a knife between my ribs at her first opportunity." He laughed short and hard so that a tingle ran up Juliette's spine. "Probably even before you rode out of camp, she was already dead."
The sun was a red ball frozen on the horizon of the chilled desert morning when Sharif, five other men, and Juliette trotted away from camp. Still it warmed up quickly and, by the time an hour passed, the sand was burning beneath the horses' feet as they swept toward mountain peaks just visible to the east.
Numb, yet strangely wide awake, Juliette sat her horse, determined not to fall behind even though this hard pace made the speed of the caravan seem sedate by comparison.
They stopped only once, briefly at midday, but now, instead of a shaded pavilion and a leisurely lunch, Juliette squatted apart from the others, holding her own horse and accepting a portion of dried dates out of the gnarled hand of one of the warriors.
A common water skin bag was passed around to wash down the tasteless fare, and then once again, they were in the saddle riding even harder. That night it was an hour after dark when they finally stopped and dismounted. Juliette was still standing beside her horse when Sharif tossed her a heavy blanket with such force that catching it made her sit abruptly down in the sand. "This should keep you warm," he said. "Get used to it. There's no time for you to be pampered."
Juliette wanted to answer indignantly, but her arms and legs felt rubbery and it didn't seem worth the effort. So she said nothing, but took the blanket and forced herself to walk a dignified distance away from the others before rolling herself in its rough folds and lying down facing away from camp.
She didn't hear Sharif coming toward her, his footfalls as silent as a cat's, but then he was beside her, casually rolling himself into his own blanket before curling around her back, his arm wrapping possessively across her breasts.
She thought of struggling, but she had not the strength and only gazed down at his bronzed hand thinking of the pain and pleasure it could give. Then she must have fallen asleep. It seemed only moments had passed when she was startled awake again and Sharif was unceremoniously depositing her on a horse.
The sky had hardly grayed in the east as they started out. They traveled even harder that day, but Juliette, hot and clinging to her mount, refused to complain or let him see her weakness. So with all her determination she kept her back erect as she rode, though he only glanced at her once without expression and didn't seem to notice her again.
How she continued that day she never understood. She was faint with hunger, her legs and arms and buttocks all felt bruised and numb-as if the blood had stopped pumping through them, and her head ached with a blinding pain that only worsened the hotter it became. Still, somehow, she kept the pace and that night found them camping unbelievably at the base of those once distant mountain peaks.
A small seep trickled through the red rocks making a stream so slow it took several hours to fill a single guerba. But finally it was full and was passed around, and Juliette thought even its brackishness seemed sweet as, carefully, she restricted herself to only a few swallows before passing it on.
There was no more sleep that night than the one before. Only a few hours and they were up again. And this time Juliette rode in a stupor so that she didn't even notice the narrowness of the rocky ledge that switched back and forth across the face of the jagged peak. She never looked over the edge of the cliff at the dizzy drop to the desert floor, or noticed the vultures that circled them curiously. She was not even aware of the heavy breathing of the horse or the occasional sound of a rock being kicked off the ledge and tumbling down the bare rock face.
That night they ate the last of their dates and Juliette, who fell immediately asleep, was surprised when it was the bright sunlight that awakened her instead of Sharif's rough hands.
Opening her eyes, she knew at once something was different, and rising on an elbow, she saw they had gone. A start jarred her stomach. He had left her!
Scrambling to her feet, the blanket fell circling her ankles. She kicked it free and quickly climbed to the highest point of rock, shading her eyes as she scanned the area.
They had camped in a narrow valley between long rock formations that seemed like the skeletons of enormous stone dinosaurs and, looking back the way they had come, the plain of rock and sand seemed endless, terminating only in curtains of waves shimmering ever upward.
She had wanted to escape, but not like this, lost. She would never find her way back and panic was overcoming her just as she spotted Sharif in the maze of rocks leading the others toward her.
Quickly Juliette scrambled down from her observation point, not wanting him to see her fear and contrived to be folding her blanket when he came toward her. Casually, he tossed the headless body of a snake at her feet.
"Here," he said. "It's about time you made yourself useful. We need someone to cook."
He didn't stay to hear the sputter of protests rising in her throat. Automatically she had jumped away from the thing. A snake! He couldn't mean he wanted her to prepare it to…to eat.
Completely at a loss she stared after him but was quickly rescued by the youngest member of the party, a boy about fourteen who immediately took up the prize with an exclamation of awe and, withdrawing his knife, slit the belly of the thing to its tail, skillfully peeling off the skin in a single swift operation.
Juliette felt her empty stomach knot, a shudder moving through her. But the boy only smiled and began building a small fire of acacia thornbush and Aristida grass. And when the meat was finally sizzling upon heated rocks, Juliette could not help finding the aroma attractive.
And when it came time to divide it among the group, the painful cramps in her belly would not let her refuse. So, gingerly, she nibbled at her portion, surprised to find it tasted like mild fowl and, with no more hesitation, she ate until it was gone.
It was a small amount of food, but even this seemed to revive everyone. And when it was finished, the men took up their rifles again and, splitting into groups, set out in opposite directions.
It was hours before they returned, once again empty-handed. And that night, as they sat around the low smokeless fire, passing the guerba so each could drink, Juliette was aware of how casually these warriors had come to treat her, more like a boy than a girl, and she had grown used to them, too, no longer finding them strange or frightening. And lying on her blanket no
w, and staring up at the stars she thought again of the vultures flying overhead that day, a constant reminder that without food, they all would soon die.
So what did it matter, she asked herself, if she ate and slept and traveled with these Arabs? What did it matter if she ate the flesh of the snake or if she no longer struggled when Sharif, took her silently after all were asleep? No what did it matter now, when these were probably her last days on earth? And that night, Juliette fell faster than usual into a deep peaceful sleep.
Chapter 62
Juliette had lost track of time. A succession of blistering days all blended one into the other, leaving behind parched mouths and gurgling stomachs. The men hunted every day, but the moufton continued to elude them and the mounting sense of desperation grew more intense as the sun's burning heat turned the land into a furnace.
"How long will it be before we sight mouflon?" Juliette asked Rashid one night across the campfire.
After riding together these past days, she no longer feared this lean and dignified man and occasionally sought him out rather than Sharif when she wished to ask a question.
Rashid frowned, his bushy gray brows drawing down over his crinkled eyes. "There are no mouflon here," he told her firmly.
Juliette, who had been mending her burnoose with an acacia thorn and grass fiber, looked startled. Certainly she must not have heard correctly. "What do you mean? Isn't mouflon what we've been hunting all these days?"
Rashid's frown deepened as he leaned closer, talking low between his teeth. "There are no mouflon near here," he stated. "And if there were, we would not be hunting them."
His words were definite; yet insanely incongruous. And both hungry and indignant, Juliette felt in no mood for jesting and would have raised her voice to this firm-jawed Arab had she not suddenly remembered what Cassia had said.
"Mouflon can smell for miles and have the power of the genies and spirits of the desert to warn them of danger. One must never speak of killing one since a genie might overhear and warn them."
Yes, superstition, of course, Juliette thought. To these desert people, things did not just happen, but happened magically, and, thinking this now, she nodded to Rashid.
"Mouflon are very rare," she began, closely watching the old Arab's leathery face. "Even if they were nearby before, they must have all gone by now."
This time Rashid's dark eyes screwed to even smaller points before he said, "The wind of the desert carries thoughtful and unwary words alike. Who can tell who might hear?"
Then his eyes focused firmly into hers, as if seeing through her. "You are not so foolish perhaps as you seem," he stated flatly, but Juliette saw he was smiling, and, feeling herself color under the man's fleeting look of approval, she said nothing more that night.
The next day camp was moved and the hunters started out again searching up the narrow rocky ravines that bordered this seemingly endless plain. Again Juliette was left alone and, climbing to the top of a large, round-topped rock, she lay in a narrow niche of shade near its summit, facing the opposite direction from the way the hunters had taken into a labyrinth of rock columns.
Before her stretched an ocean without limit, the silvered sand of the desert spreading farther than sight could reach and glittering like steel struck with a bright light. A fiery vapor carried up in streaks made a perpetual veil over the quivering land. There was not a cloud, not a breath of air, and the horizon ended as the sea on a clear day, with one line of light as definite as a dagger cut.
It all seemed familiar now, although the immensity and silence still tugged at her soul. As she looked now, she felt again as she had once days before, totally alone. But now her awareness of this fact did not make her shiver or recoil. Death had seemed so close so often that facing it had made her realize she had always been alone, even before her father had died, even at the moment of her birth she had been alone. And when she died, she would die alone. And somehow, realizing this changed everything, although she couldn't have named exactly how. There was a new freedom, a new strength welling up inside her. She was alone, but she was no longer afraid.
Turning over onto her stomach, Juliette looked over the edge of the rock into its shadow where beetles stumped about, shaded from the sun. She closed her eyes then, feeling the warm breeze caressing her face like a velvet glove. An hour passed and then another and it was after that when, slowly, as if by some newly formed instinct, she realized something was wrong.
Rising on one elbow, she scanned the sand, the rocks, the sky, noticing only that the sun had passed its zenith and now had begun a burning descent. And though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, she reached for the rifle beside her.
As a child, she had always been afraid of guns, and Miss Fayton's had certainly not included, marksmanship in its curriculum. But the unpredictability of this land had changed her attitude, and now she was relieved to have a rifle at hand and thankful for the shooting lessons Rashid had given her two days before.
Now from somewhere to her back, from among the forest of rock pillars, a shot rang out, and then another. Juliette peered in that direction, but could see nothing as the sound echoed between the rocks before diminishing in a roar. The sun beat down on her head, and her skin was moist even as the dry air blew around her. Was it the men firing at mouflon, or Hussar? She strained her ears to hear, but there was nothing.
Quickly she scrambled down, dragging the rifle behind her and, running lightly to another rock formation, molded herself to its base.
To her left she caught a movement, and carefully drawing the rifle forward, she rested the barrel on a promontory of rock and waited. The tumble of boulders and pillars was such a tangle of shadows and shapes that she couldn't be sure she had seen anything at all until it moved again.
It was a shadow, or so it appeared, the head of someone who wore a helmet that was raised and curved backward. Another rifle shot fired and hung in the air before echoing against the rocks. In a flash the shadow bolted from cover and Juliette breathed in a quick rasp, realizing that it was not a man, but a mouflon.
Her response was swift and automatic, as if she had done it a hundred times and it seemed to Juliette that she watched herself from a great distance as she leaned down over the rifle's long barrel and lined up the sights as the mouflon came bounding forward. Carefully, without jerking, she held her breath and squeezed the trigger until an explosion made her ears ring and the rifle butt recoiled with a jerk against her shoulder. The mouflon dropped in a tumble of gray fur and legs before another mouflon followed it, dashing from cover. It was another ram, as large as the first.
Lining up the sights again, Juliette prepared to fire. But, before she could pull the trigger, another shot burst in the air and the second mouflon crumbled into the sand. Jerking her head up, Juliette saw it was Sharif, yards away, poised on top of a low rock and lowering his still smoking rifle as his men ran forward, first to inspect the two mouflon that indeed were dead, and then to look disbelievingly at her.
Juliette walked to the dead sheep, her knotted hair fallen down her back in a blond coil as she stared at the animals. A murmur was passing among the men. For the master to kill a mouflon was not surprising and to be expected. But a woman . . . Never, never before had they seen a woman hold a rifle so-or aim so precisely. It had never been done!
Each man looked to the others. It was a miracle someone suggested. A miracle sent by Allah who, in his wisdom, had spared them through a miracle performed by this female. Herself astonished, Juliette felt Sharif take the rifle from her hand. Rashid was suddenly beside her too, his eyes bright with pride as, spontaneously, a happy shout came from one of the men. Then the others followed all their relief and joy expressed in their cry as they stood round her and cheered.
The next morning they wasted no time in returning the meat to camp and to their hungry comrades. It took two days to reach them and, once there, Juliette found to her surprise that everyone considered her shooting the animal something quite amazing, though sh
e tried to tell them it had been hardly more than an accident . . . luck perhaps, she insisted.
And when, stumbling, she tried to tell them in Arabic, they only laughed good-naturedly and congratulated her further. So it was taken out of her hands. She was the center of attention and treated like a youth who had made his first kill, and was presented with the carefully skinned hide of the animal.
And that evening when she retired to what remained of the tent (it was re-erected to be only one room now, so the hassock and table and bed were all crowded together) several women came and salaamed deeply, offering her gifts and praise.
After the women left, Cassia helped her undress, and the moon was already halfway across the sky when she slipped into Sharif's big bed. Outside the Arabs chanted prayers, a pleasant, now familiar litany. Strange that people so capable of ferocity were at the same time so fastidiously religious, she thought.
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