Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

  In keeping with this resolution and her formal role, Constance made a low bow as Kadar approached. ‘Highness, I bid you good morning.’

  ‘Court Astronomer,’ he replied, his mouth softening into a fleeting smile. ‘I commend you upon your appearance.’

  She blushed, and then blushed deeper for having blushed. ‘I am aware— That is I thought that since we were— That because your people...’

  ‘Constance, you have judged the occasion perfectly.’

  ‘Oh. Thank you. I thought— Thank you. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind about this?’

  ‘Very sure. Shall we?’

  The groom appeared in response to his summons, but the animals which the man led out from the stables were not horses. ‘Camels.’ Constance turned to Kadar in dismay. ‘Those are camels.’

  ‘Here? In the desert? Who would have thought it possible?’

  She could tell from his tone that he was teasing her, but she did not turn to see the quirk of his mouth which accompanied his remark, her eyes being fixed on the beast which now stood in front of her. It was huge, its legs with their prominent knock knees and horned toes level with the height of her shoulders. Its head, on the end of a very long neck, looked like the product of a mule and a sheep, with a revoltingly bristled muzzle, and lips which quivered over very large yellow teeth. The camel was eyeing her now with what she was certain was contempt, as if defying her to mount the ornate leather saddle with all its tasselled trappings which clung precariously to its humped back.

  ‘It doesn’t like me,’ Constance said. On cue, her camel let out a sneering bray, making her jump and cough, as a gust of pungent camel breath assailed her. ‘It’s never going to let me on its back.’

  Kadar took the reins from the groom, forcing the camel to its knees. ‘It is a ship of the desert, Constance, not the ocean,’ he said, smiling at her encouragingly. ‘The only waves we traverse will be made of sand, not water. There is nothing to be afraid of. He is actually much more placid than that mare you’ve been riding, and much simpler to control, once you know the knack. Come, let me help you up and I’ll show you the ropes, if you’ll excuse the use of yet another naval analogy.’

  She approached the animal cautiously. Though it was emitting a strange groaning noise, it seemed just as Kadar said, to be placid enough. She put a foot in the stirrup and scrambled without grace but competently enough into the saddle. Kadar handed her the long reins, instructing her on the basic techniques, and Constance settled herself.

  ‘Ready?’

  She nodded, thinking that she was, and then the camel stood up, leaving the ground very, very far beneath her. Her head swam. She gripped the reins. The camel executed several prancing backward steps. She was aware of Kadar signalling urgently to her, aware that she was slipping sideways, and just in time she remembered his instructions, righted herself, and took control. To her astonishment, the camel came to a halt and stopped braying. A few turns around the courtyard, and she was not quite at ease, but confident enough to control him. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, smiling smugly down at Kadar. ‘Is this ship ready to set sail?’

  She was rewarded with one of his smiles and his bone-melting look as he mounted his own camel, his red cloak flying out behind him. ‘Into the desert, into the sunset and beyond,’ he said.

  ‘That is a most delightful idea,’ Constance said wistfully.

  Kadar’s smile faded. ‘A stupid saying. A traditional send-off, it means nothing more than safe journey. Let us go.’

  * * *

  They made their way directly uphill from the palace where the rough terrain of crumbling rock and narrow, zig-zagging paths clearly precluded the use of horses. With Kadar in the lead, her camel following nonchalantly behind, Constance very quickly became accustomed to the undulating sway of the saddle which was indeed rather like the swaying deck of a ship, and began to enjoy the scenery.

  It was still very early, the sun only just appearing, a pale gold in the celestial blue of the sky, turning the scattering of wispy clouds assembled on the horizon a luminous pink. Ahead, Kadar informed her, were the Murimon Mountains. Looming crags of glittering grey streaked with darker-brown rocks shimmered in a bluish haze, a forbidding and seemingly impossible barrier until they rounded a sharp bend and the entrance to the mountain pass was revealed.

  On they travelled at a steady pace, leaving the familiar coastline behind, until the trail began to widen, and the oasis was revealed. Coming to a halt at the head of the valley, Constance gasped in astonishment, gazing around her at the scene, which looked as if a stage backdrop had been rolled down before her eyes, so astounding was the transformation. The valley floor was perfectly flat, a huge oval space bordered by palms. At the centre, the oasis itself, and radiating out from it, neatly partitioned fields and orchards, like a huge web made entirely of shades of green. She could hear the gentle gurgle of the water as it flowed through the irrigation pipes. The air was heady with the scent of lush green and ripening fruit.

  ‘It’s like a—a mirage,’ Constance said, turning to Kadar. ‘I would never have believed that all this could exist, tucked away behind those mountains.’

  ‘This is our largest oasis—it is rather unimaginatively known as the Great Oasis. And this is our biggest settlement apart from the port. It is here I plan to build the first of our schools.’

  She had been so enthralled by the oasis, Constance had barely noticed the town which clung to the very edge of the seaward side of the valley, the houses rising in terraces up the foothills of the mountain, most constructed in red stone, but some more substantial ones built of the grey granite-like rock, and some painted sparkling white. ‘There doesn’t seem to be much spare land on which to build, unless you intend to use some of the fields,’ she said.

  ‘No, our fertile land is too precious for that. I plan to cut into the rock on the other side of the valley over there,’ Kadar said, ‘to build on terraces, in the same way as the town itself is constructed. Come, let us ride over, I’ll show you.’

  She followed him on her camel to the far side, round the perimeter of the fields, where the workers stopped to stare at them as they passed, though Kadar seemed not to notice this. ‘That sounds like a very large project,’ Constance said dubiously, when Kadar had finished explaining further. ‘Surely there can’t be sufficient children here to justify such a grand building?’

  ‘I’m not talking about a simple village school,’ he replied. ‘Though I plan to build such schools in every village for children and their parents to attend. I want every one of our people to have the opportunity to learn to read and to write. But this school will be much more than that. It will be a—a gateway of learning, at the gateway to our port. Here, we will educate the scholars of the future. Here, we will plant the seeds that will make Murimon flourish.’

  ‘The seat of learning you talked about,’ Constance said, recalling their conversation on the beach a few days ago.

  He beamed. ‘Precisely. A destination for scholars from around the world to rival the universities of Constantinople, Cairo and even Bologna.’

  She listened as Kadar warmed to his theme, talking with an enthusiasm which was at the same time infectious and concerning, for Constance couldn’t help thinking that he had not considered the practicalities. ‘And this is how you plan to bring the world to Murimon, this is what you meant when you said you wished to bring Murimon into the nineteenth century?’ she asked, trying to keep her scepticism from her voice.

  And apparently failing. ‘It is a start,’ Kadar said, his smile fading at her tone. ‘I am perfectly aware that it will take time, and that there are many other issues to be addressed. There is the small matter of the port, for example. We must enlarge it significantly if we are to encourage trade, and we must also review our trade laws, our import and export regulations, if we are to promote Murimon over other
ports in the region.’

  ‘On that subject, at least, you are certainly extremely well placed to advise. Not,’ Constance added hastily when Kadar’s eyebrows snapped together in a frown, ‘that you are not— That is, I did not mean— It is a great deal to take in,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘I know that my ideas are radical. I know that many will consider it a waste of time to teach girls to read and to write as well as boys.’

  ‘Goodness, Kadar, I would be the last to think so!’ Constance exclaimed. ‘I find the philanthropic aspect of your plans admirable, although not without its challenges, particularly if your aspiration is to teach parents as well as children.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, aside from the fact parents need to both work and look after their families, adults learn much more slowly than children, who take to education like a duck to water.’

  ‘What would you suggest?’ Kadar said, after a moment’s silence.

  ‘Your vision for universal education is laudable,’ Constance said gently, ‘but perhaps what your people really need are skills, rather than academic qualifications.’

  Under the intensity of his gaze, Constance shifted in the saddle and bit her tongue. She had said more than enough and really, what did she know of such things? She was no prince.

  Kadar sighed heavily. ‘You are right. My ideas are sound in theory, but in practice...’ He sighed again, pushing his headdress back from his face.

  ‘I think you judge yourself very harshly,’ Constance said, unable to bear his dejection. ‘You told me that your people thought your brother a true prince, that he was a popular prince, but what did he do for his people in the years of his reign? You told me that he was having an expensive schooner built as a plaything, but I wonder if he ever built a single school.’

  ‘Perhaps because there is no demand,’ he replied with a very faint smile. ‘Perhaps people are content with the status quo.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask them?’ Constance said, indicating the fields, where the townsfolk were now openly watching them, abandoning any pretence of work.

  Kadar had been facing away from the oasis. Now he turned his camel around to discover what seemed to Constance the entire town facing him, all of whom dropped immediately to their knees when their Prince faced them. ‘It is not the custom here to consult with the populace, only the council,’ he said, studying the rows of obeisant figures with seeming bemusement.

  ‘You need your council’s approval?’

  ‘No, but it would make things much easier if they were on my side—’ Kadar broke off, staring into the distance. ‘I could pre-empt resistance by demonstrating that my proposals have popular support,’ he said slowly. ‘Though there is always a chance, of course, that I will discover they do not,’ he added, frowning.

  ‘Do you think in your heart that will turn out to be the case?’

  He shook his head decidedly. ‘No. I know in my heart that this is the right thing to do, and my people will recognise that.’

  Constance smiled. ‘Then prove it.’

  Kadar laughed. ‘I will. Thank you. You are wiser than any member of my council, Court Astronomer.’

  Heat suffused her cheeks. Seeing him transformed, knowing that she had played a small part in the transformation, made her want to kiss him. No, she must not think of kissing him, even if only as a form of encouragement. ‘I am glad to be of service,’ Constance said, dragging her eyes away from his mesmerizing smile. ‘Now, go and demonstrate that you really are a different kind of prince from your brother.’

  * * *

  Kadar surveyed the serried rows of people, men, women and children, all still bowed, none daring to look him in the eye. Show that you really are a different kind of prince, Constance had said. Butrus would have ridden through them, gazing down from the height of his camel, taking this obeisance for respect, when really it was simply—what? Tradition? Fear?

  Wrong, is what it was, Kadar thought. He did not want this kind of meaningless adulation. He wanted to be different. Truly different. He wanted to be the kind of prince these people deserved. Dismounting from his camel, he helped Constance to do the same. ‘I want you to accompany me,’ he said.

  ‘But I can’t speak the language, and you are the prince, Kadar. I—’

  ‘I want you to accompany me,’ he repeated. ‘To set an example, Constance. Let them see, the women and the girls, that I practise what I preach.’

  He could read her now as easily as a book. He could see her doubts flitting across her face, hear her protesting that she was no worthy example, almost as if she had spoken aloud. And he could spot the exact moment when she decided to do as he bid her, not because he demanded it but because she understood, at which point Kadar led his camel towards the throng, and ordered all of his people to rise.

  Though he was accustomed to addressing groups of the most eminent men in Europe and Arabia, Kadar had never spoken to such a mixed gathering without the benefit of his usual meticulous preparation. Though his advice to diplomats and traders and politicians had affected countless lives over the years, it had been at arm’s length, remote from the individuals themselves. But these people, these very people standing before him, watching him with trepidation and wide-eyed curiosity, they were a very different case. He was responsible for them. His decisions directly affected their lives. It was a humbling experience, and it was one which filled him with awe, and a fierce determination not to let them down.

  His doubts fled. His nerves were vanquished. He needed no speech, no preparation. He knew, with absolute certainty, that what he must do was speak from the heart. ‘People of Murimon,’ Kadar said, ‘I stand before you for the first time, proud to be your prince, and deeply aware of the privilege which has been conferred on me. Though I have ascended to the throne under tragic circumstances, it is time to consign the shadow of Prince Butrus’s death to the past, and to allow the dawn to rise on a new age for Murimon.’

  He spoke not of what Constance had called his laudable plans. He kept to himself his more ambitious aspirations, and spoke only of what would immediately affect these people. A new school. Lessons for all who wished them. A port where the bountiful excess from this oasis could be sent out for the rest of the world to sample. ‘I make no promises of wealth and fame and fortune, to you. I do not have the power to see into the future, any more than our court astronomer does,’ Kadar said, nodding to Constance, who had been standing discreetly behind him. ‘She can map the stars. She is proof that it is possible for anyone to reach for the stars, proof that we are grounded only by our own fears. But even a court astronomer has limitations. I do not know what the future holds, but I can promise you it will be different.’

  Kadar drew breath. All eyes were upon him, but that proved nothing save that they were giving him his place as a prince. He had for the first time ever opened his heart to the scrutiny of public view. He wanted more than to be merely given his due. He wanted them to be on his side. ‘I am sharing my dreams—some of my dreams—with you,’ he concluded. ‘But I will not impose them on you. I want you to share them. I also want to hear your dreams and aspirations. I will not be a prince who sits remotely on the throne. I will be your prince. Here. Now. Always. Listening.’

  At first this was met with complete silence. Heart pounding, he waited. It started slowly. Whispers. Then murmurs. Then nods. And then applause. He resisted the urge to turn to Constance, resisted the urge to utter his relieved thanks aloud, and waited. When the applause died down, a man who was clearly the elder, came forward and invited him and the court astronomer to honour them by sharing a humble repast.

  Graciously accepting, Kadar watched as the townsfolk dispersed to prepare the food, exhilaration giving way to disappointment as not a single person came forward to speak, save one, a tall, muscular man of his own age with a stern expression.

  ‘H
ighness,’ he said. ‘I am Maarku. May I speak frankly?’

  ‘It is what I desire above all else,’ Kadar said.

  Maarku smiled wryly. ‘Highness, when a prince asks a subject’s opinion, it is the custom for that opinion to concur with the prince’s, is it not? It is not considered wise to contradict a prince.’

  ‘I don’t want these people to pay mere lip service to my ideas,’ he said. ‘I want them to support them, and if they cannot, to help me improve them. Will you speak to them, encourage them to come forward?’

  Maarku pursed his lips. ‘Do you swear that there will be no repercussions if they tell you what you do not wish to hear?’

  ‘I wish to hear the unvarnished truth, nothing more.’

  ‘Then I will speak to the townspeople, Highness. Now please, bring your court astronomer and take some nourishment with us.’

  * * *

  Though she had not understood a single word of Kadar’s speech, Constance had been struck by his very obvious conviction. There were none of his usual carefully considered sentences, no evidence of his measured tone or his cool, almost detached demeanour. The Prince Kadar who had spoken to his townsfolk that morning had been passionate, moving, emotional. It had been a revelation. He might only have been a prince for a few months, but Kadar patently loved his kingdom and his people. His desire to improve matters came from the heart and from his gut too.

  Observing him now, as he sat with his usual careless grace, cross-legged on a blanket, surrounded by a group of young men so enthused that they were competing to have their voices heard, Constance felt a glow of satisfaction and admiration, and beneath it, something a little more concerning. She longed to remain here in Murimon to watch Kadar transform his kingdom. She wanted to witness his success, to see him become the radical Prince that he aspired to be. He would do it, there was no doubt about that. But she could not be part of it. And it was that, a yearning to be part of something she could never aspire to, and to mean something to a man she could never have too—yes, that was more than a little concerning.