The Sultan's Daughter

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘This at least I insist that you accept as an immediate token of my gratitude. In France a man like yourself must know some lady whom it would not be unfitting to adorn.’

  When arranging for Sarodopulous to become financial agent to the French Army in Alexandria, Roger’s only thought had been to make a return for the banker’s past kindness. However he was well aware that not only in France, where there was now no limit to corruption, but also in England it was still general practice to receive a suitable present for such a service. In consequence, having expressed his delight at this beautiful jewel, he willingly accepted it, thinking meanwhile how well it would look between the breasts of his beautiful Zanthé.

  Roger enjoyed an excellent meal with the banker, his sister-in-law and Achilles, then went early to bed, for he had ordered his escort of Guides to report at the villa at four o’clock the following morning; so that by an early start he might cover the thirty miles back to Damanhûr before the great heat of the day.

  It was on August 4th that he set out for Cairo. Having resigned himself to accept Nelson’s arguments, he did so without reluctance. However uncertain and dubious the future to which he was again committed, for the moment he was more than consoled by the thought of the immediate joys that lay ahead of him. Fate had decreed that he would not, after all, have to sacrifice the delight of having the beautiful Zanthé for his mistress.

  He felt no regrets for the way in which he had taken her. Any young woman in a country that had been invaded, who fell into the hands of its conquerors, would have been amazed had she been treated in any other way. The best she could hope for was that an officer would find her attractive and become her protector. To his mind, Zanthé had been exceptionally fortunate. Not only had she been saved from most brutal usage, by being bought by a man who was in a position to keep her in safety and comfort, but this man was one whom Roger—never having been given to false modesty—considered with some justification to be as fine a fellow as any she could have found in Cairo.

  Her resistance, as it had transpired, had not been on account of any personal repugnance to him, or because he was one of the invaders of her country, or because she was in love with someone else; for, clearly, there had been no love between her and her husband, and Eastern women of good standing were given no opportunity to carry on love-affairs outside their homes. It had been due simply to the normal fears of any girl lacking all experience and about to be taken by a man whom she had known for little more than an hour. Had he realised that, he would have refrained from pressing her and given several days to wooing her into willing submission.

  Yet, on consideration, he felt that it was just as well that things had happened as they had. After all she was not a young girl in the accepted sense, nor frigid from some inhibition, but a fully grown woman, capable of intense passion, as he had soon discovered. Moreover in addition to her devastating physical attractions, she was obviously a cultured woman and spoke French fluently. That promised many hours of delightful conversation in which he would not have the labour of translating his thoughts into Arabic. Knowing the fatalism that was such a strong feature of all Eastern minds, he was in good hopes that when he got back to her she would receive him without rancour, having decided to accept her new situation. If she did still harbour resentment, when he presented her with the beautiful jewel that Sarodopulous had given him she could hardly fail to be pleased with such a splendid peace offering. But the more he thought about it the more confident he became that, having had close on a fortnight to ponder on what would have been her fate had he not rescued her, she would have realised how fortunate she was and now be anxious to show her gratitude.

  Eager as he was to behold her again, his bruised arm still pained him and he did not make any better speed than he had on his outward journey; but during the five days that it took him to get back to Cairo visions of Zanthé filled his mind to the exclusion of all else. He had to tell himself repeatedly that he must not let her make a slave of him, yet he knew that he was more passionately in love than he had been for a very long time.

  Late in the afternoon of the 8th he entered Cairo and, in duty bound, rode straight to Bonaparte’s headquarters to report his arrival. News of the annihilation of the French Fleet had reached the capital from Kléber by fast courier three days earlier, so the first shock and sense of despair felt by Bonaparte’s Staff on learning that there could be no return to France had worn off. But when Roger entered the General-in-Chief’s ante-room he was surprised to find that his own escape had been reported by another courier the previous day.

  His fellow aides-de-camp and his old friend Junot, now a General, who happened to be there, all hailed him with delight, crowding round to embrace and congratulate him. He was even more surprised when he heard the account they had received of his escape. It was believed that when being taken from one ship to another in a boat he had fallen upon the officer-in-charge, snatched both his pistols, shot him with one and the coxswain with the other, then dived overboard and swum through a hail of musket balls to the shore.

  It was not uncommon for acts of bravery to be magnified in this way by inaccurate information and, as no one could prove to the contrary, Roger decided not to disillusion his admiring companions. It tickled his sense of humour that he should be acclaimed a hero for an exploit he had planned himself and carried out at little risk, and it was also pleasing to know that it would add considerably to the already high regard that Bonaparte had for him.

  A few minutes later the General-in-Chief received him with great cordiality, patted him on his bruised arm, tweaked the lobe of his ear painfully—a favourite, if peculiar, way he had of showing his approval of those who had performed brave deeds—then made Roger sit down and give him a description of the battle, as he had so far had reports of it only from people who had not been present.

  Bonaparte was still furious with Brueys for having failed to obey his instructions to seek safety under the guns of either Malta or Corfu, and thus losing his Fleet; but he did not seem at all dismayed at his Army now being cut off in Egypt, and he was intensely interested in the tactics used by the British Fleet. Anxious as Roger was to get to Zanthé, it was over an hour before his master, giving Roger’s ear another sharp tweak, allowed him to depart.

  As he reached the door Bonaparte called after him, ‘You have returned just in time to accompany me on an expedition. That crafty old rogue, Ibrahim Bey, is still lurking, with several thousand Mamelukes, two or three days’ march east of Cairo. Reynier, whose Division I sent in pursuit, does not appear able to overcome him, so I must go myself to drive him out of Egypt. We leave at four o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  Roger’s breath caught in his throat. Turning, he stared at Bonaparte’s back, his face a picture of dismay. His first delight in Zanthé had been all too brief. Now he was to be torn from her arms in the middle of the night and might not see her again for weeks. To protest at an order of Bonaparte’s could bring on one of those furious rages and even lead to dismissal. Yet he felt he must risk it. After a moment he said:

  ‘Mon Général. You know well that I would willingly go with you anywhere at any time. But should I collapse, I would only be a burden to you. During the past fourteen days I have had little sleep and in getting clear of the burning L’Orient my arm and side were bruised black and blue. One more day in the saddle and I fear I’d fall from it from sheer exhaustion.’

  Bonaparte was already busy with some papers. He did not turn his head, but said, ‘I had temporarily forgotten what you have been through. Get to bed, then, and I’ll see you on my return.’

  Nearly overcome with relief, Roger thanked him and stumbled from the room. On leaving the headquarters he almost ran the short distance round to his little house. The door was standing open. Hurrying inside he noticed that, although the fountain was still playing in the small open court, the piles of cushions had been removed from the corners. Vaguely he wondered why. Running upstairs, he found the door of the principal bedroom al
so open. There was not a stick of furniture in it. Frantically, he yelled for Marbois. There came no reply. The house was empty, and Zanthé gone.

  13

  The Loves of the Exiled

  Scarcely able to believe his eyes, Roger stared about him. Empty of furniture, the room seemed larger than when he had last been in it. For an instant he thought that he might have entered the wrong house; but he had not. He recognised the intricate pattern of the lace-like woodwork of the enclosed balcony that protruded over the narrow street.

  Swinging on his heel, he again yelled for Marbois, then for the Arab servants. The echo of his voice came back to him, but no other sound broke the stillness. Pounding down the stairs three at a time he rushed through to the kitchen quarters. There was no one there, the fire was out, the cooking pots had gone and the cupboards stood open. Only some decaying vegetables and a little spilled fat on a stone slab, both now black with flies, showed that the place had ever been occupied.

  Still he could hardly credit that he was not suffering from an appalling nightmare. The mental pictures he had been conjuring up of his return to Zanthé were still so clear in his mind that it fought desperately against accepting the fact that he had lost her. After a few minutes he persuaded himself that she would not have fled from him deliberately, and that there must be some other explanation for her disappearance.

  Although already subconsciously aware of it, the thought that Marbois had also disappeared suddenly became uppermost in his mind; and Marbois must know what had happened. Next moment Roger was out in the street and running hard in the direction of a Hamam in which his servant’s Company had been quartered. On reaching it he controlled himself with an effort, broke into a swift walk and strode inside.

  There, amid a splendour of Moorish arches, tiled walls and bathing pools, some fifty soldiers were lounging, playing cards, polishing their equipment or simply dozing on straw-filled palliasses.

  Marbois was among them. On seeing Roger enter, he stood up then, suddenly white-faced and apprehensive, came hesitantly towards him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Roger demanded. ‘I ordered you to remain in the house until my return.’

  ‘I … I left it only because it was empty, Monsieur le Colonel,’ stammered the young Provencal.

  ‘Empty!’ cried Roger. ‘What the hell do you mean? Who emptied it? Explain yourself this instant!’

  ‘The people who owned the house,’ replied the trembling Marbois. ‘They came back two days after you left Cairo. A father and three younger men that I took to be his sons. They talked for some time with the Arab servants, then went away. That night they came back with carts and carried all the furniture out to them. …’

  ‘And you let them?’ Roger blazed: ‘You, a soldier of France, allowed these people to render my lodging uninhabitable and put you out into the gutter!’

  ‘Monsieur, I was one and they were many. They set on me and tied me up, then emptied the house and left me there. It was morning before I managed to free myself and report what had happened.’

  ‘To whom did you report?’

  ‘To the Commander of my Company, Captain Lestrange.’

  ‘Very well. Get back to the house. Beg, borrow or steal something for me to sleep on tonight and food for the morning.’ Abruptly, Roger turned on his heel and, followed by the amused glances of a score of soldiers who had listened in silence to his outburst, stalked from the baths.

  It took him an hour to run Lestrange to earth and when he did he received scant satisfaction. The Captain agreed that an assault on a French soldier was punishable by death, but pointed out that justice could not be done on the culprits when their identity was unknown.

  Roger angrily demanded why he had neglected to find out the name of the owner of the house and have him searched for. Lestrange excused himself by saying that it was not as though Marbois had been murdered; he had many other duties to attend to, and surely now that Roger had returned to Cairo he could easily find himself another comfortable lodging.

  Roger did not care a fig about having been left with an empty house. It was the loss of Zanthé that was driving him almost berserk. But nothing could be gained by telling the Captain about her, and what had occurred was already clear to him. Like hundreds of other well-to-do citizens of Cairo, the owner of the house had fled owing to the riots that had followed the Battle of the Pyramids. Some days later, learning that Bonaparte had restored order in the city, he had returned to resume possession. Finding that it had been taken over by a French officer, and realising that he had no hope of turning him out, he had decided to make sure that he was at least not robbed of his belongings. So he had removed everything and had taken Zanthé with him.

  Hurrying back to the house Roger questioned the people who lived on either side of it. At first they denied all knowledge of their neighbour, but eventually admitted that his name was Hassan ben-Jussif and that he was a dealer in precious stones. However, neither threats nor offers of money would induce them to give any information about his relatives, or suggest where he had gone.

  By then it was dusk, but Roger would not yet give up. He spent another hour and a half seeking out the Provost Marshal. Having described what had taken place, he asked that an intensive search be set on foot for both Hassan ben-Jussif and Zanthé. But he had been able to secure only a very vague description of the former, and when he attempted to give a word picture of Zanthé that would make her identifiable he found it far from easy.

  To his intense annoyance he now realised that he had not troubled to ask her full name or that of her dead husband. He could only say that she was about seventeen, of medium height, dark-haired but fair-skinned, had a well-developed figure and a beautiful face, with tawny eyes, eyebrows that turned up at the ends, a full mouth and gleaming white teeth.

  The Provost Marshal shook his head and said, ‘I’ll do what I can, my dear fellow, but I cannot hold out much hope of tracing these people. Cairo has a population of near half a million and there are a thousand streets and alleys in it. As ten days have elapsed since this occurrence, any trail they may have left has gone cold by now. There are hundreds of places in which this man ben-Jussif might remain concealed for months without my police obtaining word of him. As for the girl, she will have been put in some harem or other and is unlikely to emerge again. Besides, the fact that you bought her from some soldiers for a hundred louis gives you not a jot of title to her under Mohammedan law. And you must know the orders that the General-in-Chief has given. He is so anxious to woo these people that it has been made a crime to molest them in any way. He allowed the troops a limited licence for those first few nights in Cairo, but now my instructions are that even the street women must be treated with reasonable decency.’

  With this cold comfort, and now ready to drop with fatigue, Roger once more returned to the house. Marbois had, meanwhile, made him up a shake-down in the big bedroom. Gazing round its echoing emptiness with lack-lustre eyes, he thought bitterly of the scene that during the past few days he had so consistently envisaged as taking place there; then he threw off his clothes and, almost crying with distress, fell asleep.

  Next morning he gave Marbois money to buy new pots and pans and told him to engage a houseman and a cook. Then he went out himself and bought divans, cushions, hand-woven rugs and other items, sufficient to furnish about one-third of the house, which was all he intended to occupy. Having completed his purchases he went to headquarters and sought out Bourrienne, in order to learn from him what had been taking place recently in Cairo.

  Industrious as the Chef de Cabinet was by nature, his master’s departure from Cairo had eased the pressure of business; so he was pleased to see and talk with his one-time assistant. He said that during the fortnight that the General-in-Chief had spent in the Egyptian capital he had displayed more than ever his extraordinary ability to tackle scores of problems with sound judgment and despatch.

  General Bon, with his Division, had been permanently installed in the great
Citadel outside the city, to overawe such groups of malcontents as remained in it, and, as a warning to possible trouble-makers, Bonaparte still had the heads of half a dozen men who were guilty of small offences cut off publicly in the streets every evening. On the other hand, he had been greatly impressed with the bravery of the Mamelukes, so was now forming those taken prisoner into Companies, to be incorporated into the French Army, and as a mark of his confidence in them he had taken two, Roustan and Ibrahim, into his personal service.

  Without waiting a day he had appointed nine prominent Sheiks to form a Divan, invested with authority to keep order in the city. Two days later he established four similar Divans in the provinces of Alexandria, Rosetta, Ghizeh and Kelyoub. Thus he gave the inhabitants the illusion that they were to be governed by men of their own race, while in reality he kept local control himself and vested it in the provinces in Kléber, Menou, Belliard and Murat. He had also appointed Intendants, to collect for him all taxes formerly paid to the Mamelukes, had done much by a series of proclamations to get the wheels of commerce turning normally again and had given an order that wherever the victorious Tricolour of France was flown, the Crescent of Islam should be hoisted to fly beside it.

  He had, too, lost no time in informing the Directory of his immediate needs to convert Egypt into a pleasant and thriving French colony, and Bourrienne showed Roger a copy of the list he had sent. It read: a company of actors, a company of dancers, four marionette shows, a hundred Frenchwomen, the wives of all the married men in the Army, twenty surgeons, thirty apothecaries, ten physicians, some founders, some distillers and dealers in liquor, fifty gardeners and their families and seeds of every kind of vegetable, a hundred thousand litres of brandy, thirty thousand ells of blue and scarlet cloth and a supply of soap and oil.