The Sultan's Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

  The loot collected from the corpses on the battlefield was enormous. The scimitars and daggers of the Mamelukes were beautifully chased and inlaid with gold, while many were set with precious stones. Their casques, girdles and the harness of their horses were also embellished with gems, and their pistols had silver barrels. As a protection against sabre cuts, each man was wrapped in layer after layer of rich silk shawls and, as they always carried their wealth with them, there were, in their saddle-bags, purses containing anything up to three hundred gold pieces. The French despoiled such dead as were to be seen and then for days afterwards fished in the river with stout hooks to draw up other bodies, for it was reckoned that on average the equipment of a Mameluke was worth ten thousand francs.

  Bonaparte was naturally pleased that after the demands he had made on his men they should reap this rich reward, but he was even more pleased at the capture of many hundred magnificent horses on which to mount his cavalry, and about the same number of camels which would be useful for a baggage train. His casualties, too, had been amazingly light. Owing to the squares having held, only thirty men had been killed and some three hundred wounded.

  The gallant Murad Bey had been wounded in the face but had succeeded in getting away a part of his Army, although their numbers were insufficient to menace the French further for the time being. Ibrahim Bey’s force was still intact on the other side of the river and at present Bonaparte had not the means to cross it; so he decided to encamp at Ghizeh. There he occupied Murad’s country house, a delightful airy mansion in which his Staff were surprised to find divans and scores of cushions covered in the finest damasks and silk from Lyons. In the cool of the evening they celebrated their victory in the beautiful garden which was planted with many ornamental trees and with vine-covered arbours on which hung grapes as fine as any they had ever seen.

  Meanwhile in Cairo anarchy had broken out. Ibrahim Bey, having no mind that his force should suffer the fate of Murad’s, decided to retire towards Syria, and the Turkish Viceroy fled with him. Upon this the long-oppressed Copts streamed out of the slums and set about attacking the palaces and houses of the rich. Unlike Alexandria and the towns the French had so far seen, Cairo was a city with a population of three hundred thousand. Living there were hundreds of wealthy merchants of many nationalities, who owned fine mansions, big harems and scores of slaves. Finding themselves in peril of their lives, many of them mounted on camels and, with their households and most valuable possessions, endeavoured to escape the mobs by leaving the city. Others barricaded themselves in their houses and, with their retainers, strove to defend them. There ensued a night of terror, looting, rape and murder.

  The following day the subordinate Pasha—left behind without instructions by the Turkish Viceroy—the leading European merchants and the Sheiks of the Mosque of Jamil-Ayer met together and agreed to save themselves by entering into negotiations with the French. Bonaparte, delighted to acquire the city without having to fight for it, received most graciously the deputation they sent to him, and terms of surrender were quickly agreed.

  A number of boats were procured and on the 23rd General Dupuy was sent across the river with half a Brigade, to accept the formal surrender of the city. Roger accompanied him. He found the palaces of both Ibrahim and Murad had been partially looted and, considering the latter the finer of the two, he took possession of it for the General-in-Chief. With him he had brought the soldier who had acted as his servant since leaving Toulon, a cheerful young Provençal named Jean Marbois. Together they then looked round for accommodation that would suit Roger, should Bonaparte decide to make Cairo his headquarters for sometime.

  In a nearby street they found a pleasant but unpretentious three-storey house. The owner, an Arab merchant, had fled and his four servants were making merry there. Roger informed them sharply that he intended to occupy it and would employ them at the wage they had been receiving, but if they left the place he would have them hunted down and thrown into prison. Then he left Marbois in charge and returned across the river to make his report.

  On the 25th Bonaparte entered Cairo and took up his residence in Murad’s palace with Bourrienne, Duroc, Eugène de Beauharnais and several other members of his Staff. Meanwhile, Lannes had arranged suitable accommodation for the other senior officers and for billeting the troops in the now-empty barracks of the Janissaries and other large buildings.

  As Cairo had surrendered it had, by the laws of war, escaped the horror of being given over to the troops to sack. Moreover, Bonaparte was most anxious to conciliate the Mohammedan citizens so he had ordained that their mosques, religious customs and their own laws were to be respected. All the same, to instil fear into any of the inhabitants who might be tempted to question the status of the French as their masters, in the principal square he had the heads lopped off of a score of those who had shown themselves to be unwilling hosts, and declared that, after all his soldiers had been through, it would be unreasonable to put too severe a restraint upon their enjoying a fair degree of licence during their first few nights in Cairo.

  It was on the second evening of the occupation, the 26th, after Roger had supped at the General-in-Chief’s headquarters and was strolling back to the house he had taken over for himself, that he heard screams coming from a cul-de-sac, the entrance of which he was about to pass. There was nothing particularly arresting in that; for, although the troops were not allowed to break into houses, no restraint was put upon them with regard to any women they might come upon in the streets. Ordinarily he would have taken no notice and walked on, but it suddenly impinged on his mind that the woman who was being assaulted was shouting for help in French.

  Quickening his pace, he turned into the cul-de-sac and strode swiftly down it. Fixed in the wall at its far end there was a lantern; beneath it was a struggling group of six men and two women. Hurrying towards them, he cried loudly:

  ‘Hi! What goes on here?’

  Momentarily the struggle ceased. The men turned and scowled at him. One of the women, taking advantage of their attention being temporarily diverted, tore herself from the grasp of the man who was holding her. Before she could run two steps the man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. In her attempt to escape she had swung round face to face with Roger, and he found himself staring at one of the most beautiful young women he had ever seen in his life.

  10

  Love at First Sight

  The girl—for Roger judged her to be not more than seventeen—was swathed from chin to feet in voluminous black garments that gave her the appearance of a bundle, so it was impossible to get any idea of her figure; but her hood had been ripped from her head and her yashmak from her face, so that the light from the lantern showed her features clearly.

  They were, at the moment, distorted by pain from her having been brought up short by the soldier’s violent tug on her hair. It had come uncoiled and now showed as a dark mass at the back of her neck, framing her tight-stretched throat and upturned face. Her forehead was low but broad, the hair growing down in a widow’s peak. Her eyebrows resembled the wings of a sea-gull curving gently upwards at the ends. Her eyes, now wide from fear and pain, were enormous and fringed by dark, curling lashes. Her mouth, too, was open from the gasp she had given, revealing two rows of even, shining teeth Her cheek-bones were high and her chin rounded, with a cleft in the middle. Below it her throat was a firm, slender column, disappearing into the folds of her shapeless garments.

  Roger drew in his breath, then said sharply to the man who was holding her, ‘Let go this woman’s hair. You’re hurting her.’

  With a sullen look, the soldier obeyed. The girl instantly made to dart off up the alley, but a Sergeant who was standing near her grabbed her arm, pulled her back and growled, ‘Not so fast, my pretty.’ Then he turned to Roger and said in a belligerent voice:

  ‘We’re not on duty now, Colonel. You’d best mind your own business and leave us be.’

  Roger knew then that if he meant to rescue the girl
he was going to have his work cut out. The Sergeant and at least three of the other five men he judged to be veterans of the Italian campaign. There the troops had been allowed full licence on scores of occasions, to loot and rape at will when they had captured cities, towns and villages. Husbands who had endeavoured to protect their wives, or fathers their daughters, had often been beaten insensible or even killed, but no disciplinary action had been taken. Many of the men were ex-sans-culottes who clung tenaciously to the doctrines of the Revolution. They would obey their officers in all matters to do with war, but treated them as equals on other occasions. None the less, he replied firmly:

  ‘It is my business. The General-in-Chief has given strict instructions that the inhabitants of the city are to be treated with respect.’

  The Sergeant sniffed. ‘Yes. No breaking into houses; that’s the order. And a bloody shame it is, seeing what we’ve been through this past month. But you can’t tell me the “Little Corporal” means to deprive us of any woman we can get our hands on.’

  Roger had no doubt at all that the Sergeant was right about that. As happened with seaborne expeditions sent out by every country, the sailors had managed to smuggle a few molls on to each ship; but Bonaparte had cut down ruthlessly on camp-followers, and only a small part of the Army had, for a few days, actually occupied Alexandria, so it was getting on for three months since the great majority of the men had had any commerce with women. As it was every General’s business to keep his men as contented as possible, and as Bonaparte himself was far from being a puritan, Roger felt certain that the declaration about the troops being allowed a fair degree of licence would cover their taking, by force if necessary, such women as they could find in the brothels, streets and other public places. Even so, he proceeded to argue the point and said:

  ‘That’s all very well. Ordinarily I would not think of interfering with you; but this girl is no woman of the streets. I heard———’

  ‘Who cares what she is, or this one either?’ cried a be-whiskered giant who was holding the other bundle of black garments against his chest by an arm crooked round the front of her neck. ‘They’re women and ours by right of capture. That’s all that matters.’

  Ignoring the man’s insolence, Roger replied quickly, ‘I was about to say that I heard one of them call for help in French.’

  ‘Us, too; and all the better,’ interrupted the Sergeant. ‘It was this one here. When she’s danced a jig on her back for us we’ll make her sing us a song.’

  Suddenly the girl he was holding burst out in a husky voice to Roger, ‘I am French! My father is a French merchant! Monsieur, I implore you to save us from these men and take me and my maid to his house.’

  ‘There!’ Roger declared triumphantly. ‘You heard what she said. She is a Frenchwoman. I refuse to stand by and let you treat her as though she were an Arab street-walker.’

  ‘Then do the other thing,’ retorted the Sergeant roughly. ‘Stop acting like a creeping Jesus instead of one of our Colonels, and get out.’

  For a moment Roger was silent. He was one of the finest swordsmen in that Army of fine swordsmen. Had there been only two, or even three, of them, he would have whipped out his blade and scared them into submission by swiftly pinking them in the arm or leg, while threatening worse if they dare attack him. But six men could not lightly be wounded by one in a matter of a few seconds. If all six of them set on him simultaneously it was certain that he would be overcome and, perhaps, seriously wounded.

  An alternative was to endeavour to attract the attention of one of the squads that had been ordered to patrol the streets as a protection against looting. But the nearest might be half a mile away and, even if his shouts were heard and a patrol arrived on the scene, there was no legitimate charge upon which he could have the Sergeant and his cullies arrested. Only at a direct order from one of their own officers, if he could be persuaded to give it, were they likely to release the two women.

  As Roger gazed at the beautiful, anxious face within a yard of his own he decided that anything was worth trying. Expecting that the men meant to take their captives back to their barracks, he asked, ‘Where are you quartered?’

  The Sergeant jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a small, dark house behind him. ‘Why, here. It’s empty. There’s not a stick of furniture in it. But they say the Army will be in Cairo for a while, and when we come on it this afternoon I thought it would make a better home from home for me and my mates than the lousy stable we’d been given; so I got my officer’s permission for us to occupy it.’

  ‘Come on!’ growled the bewhiskered giant. ‘Let’s get moving. With all this argument we’re wasting half the night.’ Then he began to push the woman he was holding towards the rickety door of the house.

  ‘One moment!’ cried Roger. ‘One moment!’ Yet he could not think of anything more to say. He was now wondering desperately if he could possibly overcome them by a sudden attack without becoming liable for the death of one of them or being struck down himself.

  His reluctance either to fight or quit showed in his expression. Noticing it a young, snub-nosed soldier said with a laugh. ‘ ’E can’t bear to take ’is eyes off ’er, Sarge. Tell yer what ’is trouble is. ’E wants a go wiv ’er ’imself.’

  The Sergeant shrugged and gave a grunt. ‘If that’s the case, I’ve nothing against his taking his turn with us. We’re all made the same, aren’t we? Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. That’s what we fought for in the Revolution and share and share alike has always been my motto. Although,’ he added, somewhat illogically, ‘he’ll have to pay us for letting him see the colour of her heels. How about it, Colonel?’

  Seized with a sudden inspiration, Roger replied, ‘You’re right. I’ve taken a fancy to this girl. But I’ve no mind to have her on the bare boards in a hovel. I want her to myself in my own lodging, so I’ll buy her from you.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ growled a thick-set man who had not so far spoken. ‘I haven’t had a plum like her since I was a jailer at Nantes, way back in ’93, and made a little Countess jig with me in prison before Carrier sent her to be drowned. The floor is good enough for us and it’s good enough for you.’

  ‘You shut your trap,’ snapped the Sergeant, rounding on him. ‘This might be good business. What’ll you give for her, Colonel?’

  Roger decided that a gold piece per man with something extra for the Sergeant should do the trick, so he said, ‘Ten louis’.

  The Sergeant spat. ‘Then your luck’s out. She’s worth twenty times that. Just look at her, and think what she’ll be like when you’ve got her clothes off.’

  ‘All right. Twenty-five, then.’

  ‘You’re wasting my time, Colonel. When we’ve had our fill of her we’ll bring the other lads along. Plenty of them will cough up ten francs a go to put her on her back. She’ll earn us twice that in a week, and more.’

  It had not occurred to Roger that they would force the girl to prostitute herself to every man who wanted her, but he now recalled hearing that some of the troops had done that with good-looking girls they had got hold of in Italy. And the Sergeant was right. Many of the men had pockets full of money, taken from the bodies of the Mamelukes. When the news got round that such a ravishing beauty was to be had they would queue up for her and she would be lucky if she did not die from exhaustion.

  ‘There’s something in what you say,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But, remember, the General-in-Chief is not given to standing still. It’s quite on the cards that you’ll be ordered out of Cairo within a few days and you won’t be allowed to take her with you. The odds are that you won’t be here long enough for her to earn you more than twenty-five; but I want her, so I’ll make it fifty.’

  ‘Why should we sell her?’ growled the thick-set man, appealing to his companions. ‘We’ve money enough, Comrades, and what better could we buy with it than this wench? I’m for sending the Colonel about his business.’

  Again the Sergeant rounded on him. ‘Keep your big mouth
shut, Vachot, or I’ll shut it for you. We’ll still have the other filly and one pair of girls’ legs is as good as another in the dark.’ Turning back to Roger, and now obviously delighting in his role of Oriental slave-dealer, he went on.

  ‘Come now, Colonel. Fifty’s not enough by half, and you know it.’ Tears were now welling from the girl’s eyes, and her head hung down; so he thrust a hand beneath her chin and turned up her lovely face. ‘Just look at her! Why, she’s fit meat for the “Little Corporal” himself, God bless him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was a Sultan’s daughter. Yes, that’s what she is, a Sultan’s daughter. Must be from her looks and the rings we took off her fingers. Don’t take no notice of what she said about her father being a French merchant. That’s just eyewash because she’s afraid we might ask a fortune for her ransom. She’s an aristo’ to her fingertips. Anyone could see that. But I’ll let you have her for a hundred louis. Just think what a night you’ll have with her. And maybe you could get your money back a hundredfold by returning her to the Sultan afterwards.’

  Roger hesitated only a moment. Two of the others had muttered approval of Vachot’s protest against relinquishing the girl for money. The sum was far more than he had meant to pay, but if he did not clinch the deal now he might still lose her. And apart from his natural unwillingness to abandon her to weeks of suffering at the hands of the brutal soldiery, he did not disguise from himself that the reason his heart was beating so quickly was because of his eagerness to have her for his own mistress.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay your price. Wait here till I get out my money.’

  Turning his back he walked a few paces away, undid the clothes about his middle and began to fish coins out of the pockets of his money-belt. Counting them as he did so, he stuffed them into the side pocket of his uniform coat. By the time he had transferred a hundred the weight of the belt was reduced by half; but that did not worry him, for he could draw more pay from Andréossi. Moreover in one of the pockets of the belt reposed a packet of small diamonds, some of which he could always sell in an emergency. Returning to the Sergeant, he counted the gold out into his eager hands under the light from the lantern.