Yes, obviously they wouldn't be traveling today. And now he was apparently planning to wait out the storm with her.
"How long will it be like this?" she asked dropping the flap in place and lashing it shut with several turns of the braided camel-hide cord.
"All day certainly, tomorrow too, perhaps. We've been lucky it hasn't happened before. But since we can't travel in a sandstorm, it gives us all a chance to rest."
Recrossing the tent, Juliette paused at the table to pour her own coffee, unwilling to look up since she felt his scrutiny still on her. Today and tomorrow too, she repeated to herself silently. And they were alone. Even Cassia would not be interrupting them.
She dared raise her eyes then to glance at him over the rim of her cup and found him still watching her reading her thoughts, or so it seemed, when he said, "Don't worry, Cherie. I have much more pressing matters than molesting you, that is, at least until tonight when it's too dark for anything else." Then, without waiting for a reply, his attention returned to his charts, his face becoming serious and immediately absorbed in his work.
Juliette blinked with surprise, her eyebrows arching. He made it sound so simple. And what was she supposed to do?-wait placidly until he desired her?
But, in the end, as the wind continued to whistle, there was nothing else but to help herself to more coffee and a portion of dried meat which she did before sitting down with her back to him.
Well, thank heaven, now at least they weren't starving, Juliette thought, gnawing at a slice. The wind gusted so the tent swayed and the ceiling flapped. It blew hard, then harder for a moment before dying again. When her meat was finished, Juliette turned from her place and studied what she could see of the charts.
Kufra-Sebha, and Tripoli were the only words she could understand. The rest was a mysterious squiggling of red lines. Carefully, Sharif measured one point to another with the use of a large gold compass, apparently unaware of her now.
Opening her eyes innocently wide she asked, "What are you doing?"
"Measuring," he gave his answer, not looking up as he drew another arc with the compass, rolling the junction of the instrument between thumb and fingers.
"Oh?" she said, shifting her weight to the other side of her buttocks. "Measuring what?"
Only his head lifted. "I'm judging the distances between ourselves and El Abadan, the Hussar, the nearest European force, and the next oasis."
"You need to know all that?"
"If you were in a cage of tigers wouldn't you want to know where everything was?"
"Oh, of course," she said, but his attention had already turned back to the charts.
Juliette walked to the opposite side of the tent. "Well, where are the Hussar? Are they ahead of us?"
"No, they are moving steadily east into their mountains. But their main force is still intact and can't be far. Still, I don't think they can get reinforcements and attack us again before we've reached El Abadan."
Taking up his pencil again he scribbled numbers on a small white paper while Juliette rose and traversed the distance between the table and the tent flap.
"Explain to me," she said and paused. "Explain about the Europeans? Why do you hate them? It isn't all because of my father, is it, but about other things, too?
Annoyance on his face Sharif raised his head again. "You are a strange woman, Juliette. I thought you hated all Arabs. Why would you care about my reasons for anything?”
Juliette lifted her shoulders evasively. "I don't know. After living with you for these weeks, don't you imagine I would be at least curious? I've heard people say in London that the presence of Europe in Africa has resulted in modernization. I'd like to hear your side of the story."
Sharif gave her a long considering look. Then, apparently sensing her sincerity, he said, "It is true the Europeans have brought positive inventions and improvements. But with these improvements they've also brought a form of slavery and exploitation. As their power has grown here they have confiscated all the most fertile and valuable land and resources and bribed our government officials, so that now the wealth of the Sahara exists for the profit of foreign governments. In addition, the very presence of Europeans in our marketplaces has driven the prices higher on everything, so fewer and fewer can afford to buy even necessities. In short, they are turning us into a country of beggars, and while we need European goods we must force Europeans to trade with us as equals."
Sharif leaned back against the hassock and continued, his eyes never leaving her face.
"But any negotiation at this point is futile. The Europeans control the government, which will put down by force those who challenge them. And the Europeans are not willing to talk away what they already have in their possession. It is much more profitable to increase their empire by adding our wealth to theirs, than to have to trade as equals."
"But the tribesmen must not let this continue," Juliette burst out. "The Europeans must realize you will not be treated as inferiors, but as an independent power. The tribesmen must unite, and then Europe will be forced to obey their will."
"Yes!" Sharif said. "In this case, it is the only solution. You understand as I thought you would. Sometimes I think it is a pity you weren't born a man-although I wouldn't have preferred it." He smiled ironically before rising to his feet and lighting a cheroot, and then exhaled very slowly.
"But there are two things which keep all the tribes from uniting. One is Abu Hussar, who constantly blocks the formation of a strong alliance by retaliating against any tribe that joins me. The other is the constant bickering between tribes, which weakens their numbers and power and keeps them from considering the larger problem. In this way the Europeans have, unknowingly, helped us. Their domination has given all the tribes of the desert a common enemy, when before they had only each other. One day the Arabs will .throw off their shackles and take the helm of their own destiny. One day we will send the Europeans home and we will be as equals instead of conqueror and slave."
Juliette felt frightened. "And that's what you are planning," she said. "That's why you stole the rifles and ammunition from the French, to lead the tribes against the Hussar, and later, the French and English!"
"Exactly," Sharif answered. "But first there must be total unity among all the tribes, not just twelve."
"But why fight with Hussar. Why not just make an agreement with him?"
Sharif shook his head. "What is between us is generations old. I would never trust him to keep any agreement. He and his tribe care nothing for unity and have made their living by robbing for as long as anyone can remember. They must be destroyed before any forward step can be taken. Only then, when we speak with one voice, can we hope to overcome the Europeans. But it will be done, and the world will understand that we are a free people, and not a conquest."
The cold determination in his face sent another chill through her. So this was what those secret meetings and low conversations were about. And he could learn all the English and French plans by mingling with them while they had no idea who he really was. He had fooled them as easily as he had fooled her into thinking him no more or less than a spoiled playboy. But if he were ever found out, his intentions exposed. . . .
And suddenly she blurted out, "But you're not ever going back to France, are you? What if they find out, and Rodney knew-he told me. And there must be others!"
Sharif emitted a deep disgusted note from his nostrils. His black eyes were both amused and very hard. "Rodney did know, and there was one other. Both have been silenced," he finished flatly.
Juliette swallowed hard, her throat cramping so she couldn't ask any more before Rashid's voice was at the tent entrance speaking quick Arabic words that Juliette could roughly translate as, "Master, please-there is trouble."
"I will come," Sharif answered, pulling on his burnoose and deftly wrapping a long scarf several times round his head, before pulling the last eighteen inches across his face so only his eyes remained visible through a narrow slit.
&nbs
p; Then lifting the tent flap, he was gone, the gale sweeping in with a short blast of sand before the flap fell closed again. He didn't return that day or nearly until the dawn of the next. But then he was beside their bed, silently checking his revolver before lying at her side, his arms crossed behind his head as he stared at the tent ceiling.
Staying still and observing him through mostly shut eyes, Juliette recalled how she had once thought him completely mad, a kind of monster, while now he seemed familiar and somehow necessary.
The warmth of his body touched her beneath the sheet that was pulled over them, and feeling strangely content, she sighed. Today he had been different, a leader, even an idealist, she thought. Yes, he could be human sometimes. And wondering if she would ever understand him, she turned over and listened to the wind blow the sand until the sound blended with her dreams.
PART XI
EL ABADAN
Chapter 65
Yes, Sharif could be almost human sometimes, Juliette had thought. And yes .., it almost seemed he saw her as more than a thing with which to satisfy his lusts. At least that was what she had thought. As she looked back on it later, she knew she should have known what would happen. But those days during which the sand continued to blow in rivers around them, forcing them together, had thrown her off guard.
The second day of the storm was even worse than the first, and tucked snugly in their tent, Sharif had treated her almost as his wife, a friend at least, talking with her of the past and his plans for the future, disclosing little anecdotes about his childhood, about his first cheetah hunt, and a beloved old mare that had died.
Many times he made love to her, gently though, not like the fierce way he usually possessed her. She should have been warned of course-at least later when he left camp for two days without even letting her know. But it wasn't until they reached El Abadan that she was reminded again that, in spite of everything, he still hated her.
El Abadan-when Juliette first caught sight of the city it seemed a queen enthroned on the rocky heights above impenetrable, mysterious, as it overlooked the wide desert plain that stretched beneath its feet to infinity.
Its surrounding high wall was dotted with parapets and turrets, and huge gates were visible while, inside, appeared a maze of the Oriental; darker mud walls, endless arched windows and towers and even taller minarets reflecting the sunlight from their tiled domes. Aloof, even sinister, an ancient entity standing alone, it seemed the last outpost at this forgotten end of the earth.
It took another day just to climb to the top of the cliff, a ride that illustrated the invulnerability of the fortress. Certainly no enemy could take this city by force. No army could surround it without being at the mercy of the armaments on the walls above them.
No wonder El Abadan had controlled this narrow pass that led the caravans south to the African interior, Juliette thought the next morning, as she rode through the wide flung iron gates.
And as they entered, the populace thronged in the streets, cheering, chanting, and all straining forward at once to catch a glimpse of their sheik, or better, to touch his horse or burnoose.
Pouring out of the houses along narrow streets, heavily veiled women came, picking up the hems of their robes as they trotted toward the column, craning in an attempt to spot someone. Then, shouting in high-pitched voices, they lifted sons to display, and several warriors dismounted, taking their infants and tossing them in the air. Then someone was shaking a tambourine and the voices rose to be heard above the barking dogs and stamping horses.
Disguised by her male garb, no one noticed Juliette as she found herself an unobtrusive place to observe from behind a cluster of palm trees on the edge of the crowd. Peering between palm fronds, she watched as the jubilation continued, and the men were welcomed and the crowd chanted, "Sharif, Sharif, Sharif," before switching to "Allahu akbar," and then coming back to "Sharif, Sharif, Sharif."
It was only when another sort of chant came from the minarets and floated down over the crowd that the jubilation paused and the crowd divided between men and
women and all faced the east, kneeling and reverently taking up the singsong phrases, "La llaha llla Allah, La Ilaha Illa Allah," which by now Juliette could translate as, "There is only one God, he is Allah," which was the beginning of prayers.
Having heard this familiar litany a hundred times without the slightest variation, it seemed to play itself in Juliette's mind the way all things do that become familiar.
She knew each rhythm, each word by memory, and though she always remained aloof, she found, strangely, that the chanting gave her comfort of a sort, the same deep quiet that came after listening to the chanting of monks.
Prayers lasted for several minutes as they all bowed prostrate in the dust, chanting, bowing, rising, and bowing low again. And when it was finished, they all rose a last time together before getting to their feet and continuing as if there had been no pause at all until the cries of celebration dominated all else again.
She noticed then that Sharif had disappeared, and she was searching for him among the crowd when Rashid came and motioned her to follow. He guided her along a stone-paved street worn smooth by hundreds of years that wound up a continuous incline to the north side of the city. It was bordered by mud-brick walls that sometimes were draped by vines or an occasional coral-flowered oleander.
Ahead, at the end of the incline were even higher-walled gardens and wide swinging gates that were unmistakably the palaces. They rode through these to a porch with a staked awning before the large carved doors.
A thickly veiled woman of sizable bulk ushered her inside. Then, wordlessly, the woman's kohl-lined eyes swept her from head to toe, seeming to miss nothing before she nodded with a slow, graceful inclining of her head. But Juliette was given no chance to speak, since the woman turned and waved her to follow before taking the lead with a serene glide.
The hallways were set in intricate patterns of blue mosaic tiles and, as they went, Juliette had peeks of several elegant sitting rooms decorated in muted shades of red and blue with low, shiny brass tables scattered between hassocks and floor lamps.
They traversed a garden, cool and lovingly manicured in the speckled shade of palms. They entered a long hall again on the opposite side of the garden. A guard stood at the end of the hall, protecting two gilded doors. He never looked directly at them, but stepped aside as they approached and opened the doors.
Until now, instinctively, Juliette had tried to keep in mind the numbers of turns and changes of direction. But now, as she stepped inside and the doors were closed behind her, even these thoughts were jolted out of her head. She hardly even noticed the deep blue tiled floors or the embroidered diaphanous luxury of the place, her eyes locking instead on a group of young, very beautiful girls who were all looking at her.
She drew herself up stiffly. Of course! A harem-his harem, with silken rooms of shimmering draperies, soft cushions and divans, and even softer women-his women. Hadn't he admitted to having them? Hadn't he even threatened to put her here one day-at least she thought it had been only a threat. She never had actually considered what it might mean to stand here, staring at his jeweled, vaporously veiled women who seemed quite curious, though obviously less surprised to see her than she was to see them.
It was the realization of her worst fears. She wanted to scream, to cry, to run, but refused to yield to those impulses, even as her stomach contracted into a knot. Masking her surprise and humiliation as best she could, Juliette continued past the other women, noticing as she did the poisonous scrutiny of the loveliest among them, a fiery beauty whose certain animal like aura reminded her of Sharif. And later, in her private room at the end of a narrow carpeted hallway, Juliette kept all her fury and humiliation to herself as she asked Cassia, "Who was that woman? The one who seems to hate me?"
"Oh, you must, mean Zenobia," Cassia answered as she folded silken gowns into cedar-scented drawers.
"I don't know her name, but she has extremely long
black hair, almost to her knees, and very large gold hoops in her ears."
"Yes, that is Zenobia. She was the favorite," Cassia answered with special emphasis on the "was." "That is before madame came. . :'
Cassia frowned, her eyes taking on a worried expression, "Zenobia is a foolish and spoiled daughter of the chief of the Assar and his first wife, who is a witch, a woman who keeps her husband's love by the use of devilish magic. The name Zenobia means dark one-and so she is, dark as a devil. When she was given to the master a young Berber princess was favorite. But it was not long before this girl was attacked in the night, her face permanently disfigured by a potion tossed in her face." Cassia cast down her face, anxiously fingering her robes before continuing. "Three days later, the girl hanged herself."
Involuntarily, Juliette shivered. "And you think Zenobia was the one responsible for the attack?"
Cassia shook her head with grave eyes. "I don't know, madame. But many swear it was she, even though a dagger bearing the mark of the Hussar was later found in the hall outside the girl's room and the Hussar were blamed. Still, I think it was Zenobia that planned it. Certainly she became favorite quickly after-ward and has remained so. Now the other women fear being favored by the master because of Zenobia's jealousy."
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