The girl stood by, limp now, but her face expressed intense relief. When the counting was done she said to Roger in her husky voice, with the strange French accent, ‘May Allah bless you, my Lord, for all your days, and give you many splendid sons as a reward for what you have done this night. But will you not also please buy my maid? For her, I feel sure, they would accept a far lower price.’
Knowing that even if he were willing to part with another considerable sum the men would never agree to give up altogether the night of licentiousness to which they were looking forward, he replied shortly, ‘No, I regret; but that cannot be done. Come now.’
As he took her by the arm and led her away down the cul-de-sac, the maid cried in Arabic, ‘Lady, I beg you not to forsake me.’ But her plea was half drowned by the Sergeant and his men shouting after them, with much laughter, bawdy jests and obscene instructions on how they should spend the night.
When the shouts had died down Roger said, ‘I’m sorry about your maid; but our soldiers have been starved of women for many weeks, and they would never have let her go.’
The girl beside him shrugged. ‘No matter. She is country bred, strong and no longer a virgin; so she will come to little harm and may, perhaps, even enjoy herself. Had not my … my father bought her, she might well have been sold into a brothel.’
Her attitude struck Roger as, to say the least, unfeeling; but her looks had already so bewitched him that he was eager to make allowances for her view of life being very different from his own. Although she was light-skinned and spoke French fluently she had a marked accent, and the words with which she had thanked him for saving her had disclosed that she was a Muslim. Every Mohammedan of standing owned slaves, and he knew that many regarded them as little better than valuable cattle.
He had no time to ponder the matter further, for they had reached the entrance to the street and she made a move to turn left.
Tightening his grasp on her arm, he drew her back and said, ‘That’s not the way. We turn right here.’
‘It is the way to my home,’ she replied. ‘Please escort me to it.’
Smiling down at her, Roger shook his head. ‘No, no; we are going to my lodging, and it lies in the opposite direction.’
For a moment she stared at him, then she said, ‘Just now you behaved like a true Effendi, with … what is the French word … yes, with chivalry. I beg you, do not now disappoint me. Take me to my home and … and if you wish you shall be well rewarded.’
‘The only reward for which I wish is your company,’ he returned smoothly, ‘and that I can best enjoy in my own lodging.’
Her mouth hardened and her eyes darkened angrily. Suddenly, she attempted to pull away from him.
Jerking her back, he said sharply, ‘Stop that! No nonsense now! You will come with me quietly. If not I’ll return you to the Sergeant and his men. I’ve not a doubt but that they’d be willing to give me back half the money I paid for you.’
The threat had its effect. She wilted and obediently accompanied him. But she ignored several questions he asked her as they walked along, and maintained a sullen silence until they reached the house he had taken over.
Inside the entrance there was a small, open patio in the sunken centre of which a little fountain tinkled into a stone basin. Outside the July night was sweltering, but here it was reasonably cool. In the four corners of the patio there were low stools, piled with cushions. Motioning the girl to one of them, Roger took off his coat, mopped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief, sat down on another stool and had a good look at her.
In the full light of the hanging lamps that had been left burning by the servants he saw that, although her hair was dark, her skin was even fairer than he had expected. Unlike so many women in the East it had not a single pock-mark, and her complexion was flawless. Her eyes were not black but tawny. There were traces of kohl under them but she must have rubbed most of it off in an absurd attempt to make herself less attractive, since the little that was left had been insufficient for her tears to cause it to run enough to disfigure her cheeks. As he studied the marvellous head that rose so incongruously from the black draperies, he thought, ‘Stap me, but that Sergeant was right. She looks every inch a Sultan’s daughter. Although she isn’t, no Commander of the Faithful could ever have had a lovelier one.’ Then he said:
‘Mademoiselle—or perhaps I should address you as madame—to maintain this silence is stupid. I make no promise to return you to your father either now or later. But I’ll not even consider doing so unless you tell me about yourself. What is your name?’
For a minute she regarded him speculatively with her enormous tawny eyes, then she answered. ‘Since you insist on knowing. Monsieur le Colonel, it is Zanthé. And I am unmarried.’
‘Well,’ he smiled, ‘that is a start. Now, how did it come about that you were caught by those soldiers?’
‘As you must know,’ she told him, ‘after the great battle on the other side of the Nile the mobs of Cairo swarmed out of their dens. The Janissaries who would have put them down had died fighting or had fled. There was no one to defend the mansions of the wealthy except the men of the households. Many were broken into and their inmates murdered. We succeeded in defending ours; but my … my father feared that the riots would grow worse the following night, so it was decided that we should leave the city. By day things were fairly quiet; but unfortunately there were delays, owing to our wishing to take with us many valuable belongings. It was evening before we left, and the sun was setting behind the Pyramids. Near a village a few miles outside the city our caravan was attacked by marauding Arabs. There was a fight, my father was killed. …’
‘Mademoiselle, I am truly sorry,’ murmured Roger.
She gave a little shrug. ‘It was the will of Allah. I feel no great grief for him. He was no longer young and was at times a very cruel man.’
‘What happened then ?’
‘When they saw my father fall dead the men of our escort panicked and fled. All the other women of the seraglio were riding on camels, so I suppose they and the baggage were carried off by the Arabs. I was on horseback. Beside me Ali, my father’s falconer, was riding with my maid mounted behind him. Ali seized my bridle and turned my horse. We galloped off and got away in the darkness. A few minutes later we found ourselves back in the village. Fearing to return to Cairo I decided to seek refuge there, and we were hidden by a farmer in his barn.
‘This morning I found that the French had entered Cairo and had restored order, so I thought it would be safe to go home. But shortly before we were about to set out a further misfortune befell us. A party of French soldiers arrived in the village. I hid again; but it was horses they were seeking and they took every animal they could find, including ours. Our only course was to walk. That is why we did not reach the city until after dark. When we got to my home we found it had been broken into and partly looted. I was very tired, so rested there for some time while Ali got us a meal. But with all the locks broken I feared to stay the night there, in case marauders returned to carry away more loot, and I decided to seek shelter with relatives. It was while on our way to … to my uncle’s house that we were attacked by the Sergeant and his men. They threw poor Ali down, beat and kicked him and left him, perhaps, dead. Then they dragged my maid and me down into that cul-de-sac where you found us.’
In the main her story had the ring of truth. During the French occupation of Venice no woman had been safe in the streets at night, even when accompanied by a man. Bonaparte’s fierce troops had pitched many such Italian escorts into the canals; so Roger knew that the Sergeant would not have hesitated to set his men on the unfortunate Ali. Her account of her flight from Cairo also sounded highly plausible. Yet there were certain discrepancies in her story that he meant to plumb. For the moment, he said only:
‘You have certainly been through a terrible time these past few days, and particularly tonight. Although you rested and fed a few hours ago, no doubt you would like some refreshme
nt.’
‘I am not hungry, monsieur,’ she replied, ‘but I would like something to drink, provided it is not wine.’
Leaving her, he went out to the back of the premises. The previous day he had led a party to find and purchase by order, at any price he chose to fix, various delicacies for the Headquarters Mess. In a few houses owned by rich Copts he had found cellars of wine and had had the bulk of them transported to Murad’s palace. But he had reserved several dozen for himself, and he now opened a bottle of rich Kamiros wine from Rhodes. Then he hunted round until he found some sherbet for his guest.
As he handed her the sherbet he said, ‘Mademoiselle, from several things you have said, and your refusal of wine, it is clear to me that you are a Muslim. Yet you told me that you were the daughter of a French merchant. I find that strange.’
After hesitating a moment she replied, ‘I said that because I thought it would carry more weight with you and those men. But it is my mother who is French and taught me that language.’
‘What happened to her? Was she captured by the Arabs with the other women?’
‘No, monsieur. Fortunately she was not in Cairo. She … she was divorced by my father and married again. She lives in … in Syria.’
‘But as a Frenchwoman, your mother was surely a Catholic. And, even if repudiated by her husband, her faith would not permit her to remarry.’
Zanthé looked away quickly. ‘Things are different in Mohammedan countries. Everything was … well, arranged for her.’
Roger felt sure that his beautiful captive was lying, and not very cleverly, for she could quite well have said that her mother had become a Muslim. As he was wondering how best to get the truth out of her, she drank up her sherbet and said, ‘I am tired now, and would like you to take me to a room where I can sleep’.
Nothing loath, Roger finished his glass of wine and stood up. ‘We will go upstairs then. This house is not large, but it is comfortably furnished, and I will leave nothing undone to assure you a sound sleep.’
Taking with him his glass and the bottle, which was still two-thirds full, he led her up to the best bedroom of the house. The two oil-lamps in it had been left burning by his servant, and shed a gentle glow round the room. Its main feature was a huge divan bed. Setting down his bottle and glass on a small Moorish table inlaid with ivory, he locked the door.
‘What are you about?’ Zanthé exclaimed, her eyes widening. ‘You cannot remain here, monsieur!’
‘Indeed I can,’ he smiled. ‘This is my bedroom.’
‘Then you must take me to another.’
His smile deepened. ‘That would not be hospitable. Since you have lived in a harem, you are not used to sleeping alone; so you might wake up in the night and be frightened, and this divan is more than big enough for both of us.’
‘I refuse!’ she cried. ‘I refuse to sleep in the same room with you.’
‘My beautiful Zanthé, I fear you have no choice. I am loath to remind you of it, but you are now a slave, bought and paid for by me, and you will henceforth do as I tel you, without argument.’
‘Then … then, monsieur, I demand that you respect me.’
Roger made no direct reply, but asked her, ‘How old are you?’
‘I am seventeen.’
‘Excellent. I guessed you were somewhere about that. And now I will tell you something. In Mohammedan countries no girl as beautiful as you remains unmarried after she is fifteen. She is a valuable chattel and her father sees to it that by giving her to one of his friends he forms a useful alliance for his family.’
‘That … that is true in most cases. But I … I am an exception. My father allowed me to remain unmarried because … because I am half French. I am still a virgin. You cannot———’
‘Were that so, I might have scruples. But even in France all pretty girls are married at your age. As to your virginity, there is an easy way by which I can find out.’
‘You would not dare!’ she gasped.
‘I certainly would,’ he retorted quickly. ‘And I will tell you another matter on which I believe you lied to me. All you told me about your father really applied to your husband. Come now. Am I not right? And, remember, you are my prisoner. Tomorrow I can set enquiries going about you, and in a few days a description of anyone so beautiful as yourself is certain to reveal the truth.’
Her angry eyes fell before his. ‘Well … yes. It seems I must admit it.’
He smiled again. ‘You also said that he was no longer young, and was at times cruel; so it is clear that you can have had little love for him. That is a relief to me, for I should be reluctant to force a widow of a few days who was grieving deeply for a much-loved husband.’
‘So you mean to force me!’ she flared.
‘I trust not. Must I remind you that barely an hour ago I saved you from a most terrible ordeal at the hands of six ruffians, who would later have hired you out to scores of their comrades. Since you are a fully experienced woman, I should have thought you would be happy to reward me.’
‘You did only what any decent man would have done. It was Allah, blessed be the name of His Prophet, who saved me. The fate of every one of us is bound about his brow, and I was not born to be taken like an animal by any man who wants me.’
‘Listen, madame,’ Roger said earnestly. ‘It was no doubt the will of Allah that brought me, and no one else, to your rescue. Had you been some other woman all the odds are that I would have left you with those men. But if one can fall in love at first sight then I did so with you. I am an officer on the Staff of the General-in-Chief, so I can protect you. And now that your husband is dead you need a protector. I am also rich enough to give you everything in reason that you want. While I remain in Cairo this pleasant little house will make a charming home for us. When I have to leave I will arrange with the Garrison Commander for a continuance of your protection. Other women have accounted me a good lover and a kind one. I do not threaten now, but beseech you. Will you not accept my homage, allow me to become your slave instead of your being mine, and grant me this night that which is now my dearest wish?’
Coming from as fine a man as Roger, it was a declaration that would have flattered any woman. Few, had they been under such an obligation to him as Zanthé was, would have hardened their hearts against such an appeal. But she violently shook her head and cried:
‘No! No! No! Even if I believed all you said I would not be willing. To give myself to you would be to disgrace my blood. You are an enemy. Nobody believes the lies told by your General—that he has come here as the friend of Turkey and only to chastise the Mamelukes. We are not ignorant of what he did in Italy: of how he snared the people into believing that he was bringing them liberty, then trampled on them and robbed them of all they possessed. That is what he means to do here. He comes as a conqueror, to despoil our country and make us into slaves. And you, Monsieur le Colonel, have admitted to being on his Staff; so you must lend yourself willingly to the evil that he does. No! If it be my fate to be taken against my will I would rather it should be by an honest Arab bandit.’
Roger listened with amazement to her outburst. It had not occurred to him that she would regard him in such a light, and he was half inclined to think that she was making a show of patriotism only as another excuse for repulsing him. After a moment he said with a frown:
‘Madame, I fail to understand you. This is neither the time nor place for us to enter on a discussion of General Bonaparte’s principles. At least no one can deny that he is a great soldier and that his victories have brought glory to France. Since you are half French one would expect you to be no less than neutral and have some admiration for him. But all this is irrelevant to our situation. I give not a damn how you feel on such matters. The night grows old and I have no mind to parley with you further. Under the age-old usage of war you are now mine, to do with as I will, and I have made clear my intentions. Oblige me by getting yourself undressed.’
Her tawny eyes flashed. ‘I refuse! I refu
se to display myself naked before you.’
‘About that we shall see,’ he said grimly. Then he began to take off his clothes.
As he did so, he was thinking with distress of how the delightful visions he had had of what would happen when he got her up to the bedroom had been rudely shattered. An Eastern beauty of seventeen was the equivalent of a woman of twenty-five in Europe; so he had felt certain that she must have been married for some years. That being so, in view of what she owed him he had not expected to have any trouble with her. A becoming display of reluctance, no doubt, soon overcome by a little playful teasing. Then an acceptance of the will of Allah, followed by a sweet rhapsody of passion.
Instead he would now have to take her by force; and he had never had the least inclination for that sort of love-making for, to him, it robbed the act of the major part of its pleasure. He had taken a woman that way only once—the cynically promiscuous but beautiful Natalia Androvna—and then only to teach her a lesson for having given him a rendezvous and, instead of keeping it, having had him set upon and whipped for her amusement.
Yet he meant to take the lovely Zanthé. It was getting on for six months since he had parted from Georgina. He had lived with her only for six weeks and before that had endured a period of continence often months since the tragic death of Clarissa. As a very virile man his need for a woman was, therefore, great, and all the greater now that he had found one who satisfied his exceptionally high standards. He felt not the faintest scruple about the morality of the matter. He was doing no more and no less than hundreds of soldiers were doing that night in Cairo, and had done all over the world in conquered countries from time immemorial.
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