She moved with incredible swiftness, a rippling river of strength and fury. Kemal tried to rise, tried to free his scimitar, a high, feminine shriek coming from his throat. The young boy behind him threw down the fly whisk he held in his hand and took to his heels. The dey, after a frozen moment, reached for the rifle he had placed at rest across his knees. But, even if he might be able to stop the beast with the one shot in his ancient musket, Julia saw that he would never be able to raise the piece to his shoulder in time. Before it was halfway there, the lioness would be at Kemal’s throat. Even in the horror of the moment, she knew a brief flare of gladness. With one leap, the golden lioness would do what she and Basim had not been able to accomplish. She would assure the safety of the dey and make their rest easier.
Then came the crashing roar of a rifle. The lioness somersaulted, shuddered, and was still. In disbelief, Julia swung toward the direction from which the shot had come. Rud stood wreathed in the blue-black smoke of burning gunpowder with his rifle still nestled to his cheek. For an instant, he met her gaze with a look of bitter irony, and then, he brought his gun down, moving toward the fallen beast.
“There is no deity, but Allah,” the dey intoned in accents of wonder.
“Imbecile! You might have killed me with your shot,” Kemal screamed at Rud, the paleness of fright giving way to a flush of embarrassed rage that it had been necessary for a slave to preserve his life.
“Is it meet that you accept the return of your life to you with so little gratitude?” the dey demanded, swinging on his grandson. “Would you have preferred to be torn by the fangs and claws of the lioness at your feet? You have felt the hot breath of death. Give thanks that your time was not yet come!”
While Mehemet Dey spoke, Kemal had regained control of himself. Making an extreme effort, he reached out with the toe of one exquisitely embroidered boot to spurn the carcass of the lioness. As the body twitched, he drew back with a curse and a black frown. At that moment, Ali Pasha came into view. The small eyes of Kemal narrowed in a look of sudden cunning as he followed the progress of the other man down the slope of the ravine. “You have much wisdom, my grandfather,” he said in a hushed voice, “and I admit my fault. Give to me of your knowledge of animals, however, and tell me why this beast, who should have slunk away at our approach, chose to charge me with death in her eyes. Could it be she was driven from yonder gully with murderous intent?”
A great stillness came upon the dey. The old man did not speak, however, until Ali Pasha had reached them and, surveying the scene with quick comprehension, brought his camel to a halt. “What say you, Ali Pasha?” the dey of Algiers inquired then. “Did you by accident or design turn the lioness upon Kemal as he has suggested?”
“He does me too much honor, O mighty Ruler of the Age,” Ali Pasha answered easily. “I fear it is not in my power to direct the creatures of the desert to attack one man and not another. And, even if I could, I must surely have had the foresight to tell my friend Rudyard to be slower with his gun so as not to spoil my evil plans.”
“I am not the only target here,” Kemal said with a sidelong glance at his grandfather. “Explain, if you can, why else the lioness attacked if you did not drive her toward us.”
“That is easily done. She had with her in the ravine a pair of cubs three-quarters grown. She thought with her great heart to protect them, and at the same time, show them the true face of courage. It is the female of the species who bares her fangs and rushes forward only when there is something worthwhile to be gained by the effort.”
“I suppose you can produce these cubs as evidence?” Kemal demanded.
“Certainly, if you will mount your camel and come into the ravine with me.”
Kemal blanched. “That — will not be necessary,” he muttered at last.
“It is done then,” the dey said, his lips tight and his eyes stern as they rested on his grandson. “We must give thanks to Ali Pasha for reminding us of a great truth. That done, it will be time to turn our thoughts to how best we may reward the man who stopped the terrible advance of the mother of lions.”
Scowling, Kemal did not reply. Ali Pasha waited politely for his uncle’s pleasure. Rud, his rifle lowered at his side, stood back. For a few moments, his stance had been taut and watchful as Ali Pasha was accused; now, he deliberately effaced himself.
Smiling faintly, the dey turned to Julia, seated in her palanquin behind parted curtains. “Jullanar, O moon of my constant delight, as one above these petty quarrels and the excessive pride of manhood, what think you would be a suitable recompense for the slave who has saved the life of my grandson?”
Julia gazed down at the dead lioness. The tawny pelt glinted in the sun, though already stinging blue flies were beginning to gather. It was as though an accomplice in a dangerous, but necessary mission had been struck down. The female lion was dead. Napoleon, Jeremy Free, her father, all were brought to naught, while base men like Marcel and Kemal flourished, always escaping death by a hair’s breadth. What had Rudyard Thorpe done that he should receive a reward? He had infiltrated the Bonapartist movement with lies and trickery. He had deceived her, used her to further his base schemes, and made of her a convenient receptacle for his lust. Because of him, she had lost her father, her child, her patrimony. She had been enslaved, forced to live with daily fear of humiliation and the knowledge that her body was not her own, but could be disposed of at the will of the man she was forced to call master. What irony that she was asked to choose a reward for the man who was the cause of all this.
The camels stirred and groaned in ill-humored impatience at being kept standing. Out on the desert, a dust devil rose, whirled madly, then died away.
The range of what she might heap upon Rud’s head was limitless. Jewels, riches, fine horses and riding camels, a body slave to do his menial tasks, weapons, advancement in the service of the dey, or even the greatest gift of all, his freedom; anything was possible. She had only to let fall the words and it was his.
“Jullanar, you have permission to speak,” the dey said gently.
“Forgive me, O Glorious Ruler,” she said. “It is a matter which requires great thought.”
Did Rud stir, awaiting her decision? Did his eyes search her face, pleading with her to be generous? No, he stood back, his face impassive, set in the look of blank acceptance worn as a protection by all slaves. Did he realize that she had the power to set him free? He must. He had taken on too much of the protective coloring of the Moorish society around him, its clothing and its language, to be ignorant of its customs and privileges.
She drew a deep breath. “That the Christian slave was able to kill the lioness was certainly the will of Allah. It was He who guided his hand and eye. Also, the deed was done with little prospect of personal danger. A reward, then, must be based on the ability of the man with firearms, rather than on extraordinary valor. This being so, I think that a jewel from your body, Mehemet Effendi, will suffice.”
“You are as wise as you are beautiful, Jullanar. It shall be done as you say.”
Kemal made a slight sound in his throat, as though he had started to speak and thought better of it. Glancing at him, Julia saw the purple of fury engorging his round face. Not until that moment did she realize that by valuing the service Rud had performed so low, she had also placed the worth of Kemal’s life on the same level. He would not readily forgive her for such an insult.
But, even as she watched, a smile spread across his oily face. “And, I will add to this jewel, in token of my appreciation to the Christian slave, a jewel of my own, a blond Circassian female whom I recently purchased. She was one of a set of male and female twins which the slave trader would not sell separately. The girl is not particularly intelligent, but she is young, only fifteen, and her physical attributes are perfect. These, after all, are what is important.”
Julia had no trouble recognizing the trend of his remarks. They were a deliberate slur, first upon her age, and second upon her attractiveness, with
a hint that she substituted mental allure for physical appeal. This was certainly his meaning, Julia told herself. Still, she could not forget that Marcel de Gruys, who knew only too well the relationship between herself and Ali Pasha’s companion, had been seen in the company of Kemal.
If the dey noticed this byplay between Julia and his grandson, he gave no sign. Calling Rud to him, he presented him with a magnificent emerald ring and many courtly phrases of gratitude. Equally polite, Rud accepted the jewel with polished gratitude. He did not permit his infidel gaze to touch even the garments of the favorite of the dey.
The hunt went on for a week more. Julia did not leave her tent to follow the dey again. Pleading the heat and dust, she lay upon her divan. Depression, black and wearisome, gripped her. Sometimes she was happy that she had been able to even the score with Rud. She exulted that she had destroyed the prospect of freedom for him, just as he had destroyed it for her. At other times, she was haunted by his mask like acceptance of the destruction of his hopes. It troubled her that a man who had been so commanding must now bow to the will of others. Her thoughts dwelled on this image much more than she wished. It fostered memories of the times they had shared, and of the events they had witnessed together, memories she had kept pushed into the dark corners of her mind for the sake of her sanity. They pressed forward now, filled with sound and color and smells, as though they had happened only the day before instead of years ago.
Nerves on edge, she would rise from her divan to pace the floor and snap at the serving women. It was all she could do in the evening to pay the necessary respect to the dey, though at the same time she watched him anxiously, torn by a gnawing doubt of what would become of her when he died and the new dey ascended the throne.
On her return to the harem, Julia found that her sleeping chamber had been ransacked, her clothing had been slashed with a knife, and everything of value she had been given that she had not taken with her had been stolen. Abdullah was abject in his apologies. The chambers of the other women had been searched, but had turned up exactly nothing. The eunuch guards who had been on duty the night it happened had been beaten, to no avail. It was as if a jinni had sifted like smoke into the room, wreaked his havoc, and moved what he wished by magic from the harem.
The jinn were often blamed for the small accidents and playful tricks for which no one wanted to accept the responsibility. Practical jokes, many of them with a malicious tinge, were a favorite recreation among the women. Julia was not so foolish as to believe that the attack upon her had anything to do with either one. The obvious person to suspect of the devastation was Mariyah. No doubt she had smuggled the items of value out into the garden to the man she had met before. But, why? Was he a lover who demanded payment? That hardly seemed likely. Mariyah might be involved with Kemal as the Lady Fatima had suggested, but even so, the trinkets she had taken would not be enough to finance a rebellion, would not equal even a thousandth part of the wealth already at Kemal’s command. It could be, however, that Mariyah could see the frailty of Mehemet Dey as well as any and, knowing the uncertainty of the fate which might lie in store for her and the other women, had made a sizable investment in the future. With a small amount of wealth, and the aid of Kemal, she might persuade kismet to be kind.
Though Julia might suspect Mariyah, there was no way of proving her guilt. Julia was too proud to mention the incident to the dey; he might think that she expected him to replace the valuables that had been stolen. This she meant to avoid at all costs.
Such reticence did not serve.
“Jullanar, dove of my heart, my Kobah,” he addressed her when they had been back in the palace for the better part of a week. “You are far from a chatterer at the best of times, but still, you have been more than ordinarily silent since our return. Can it be that you mourn the loss of the riches I have bestowed upon you, and yearn for their return? I would not have you unhappy. Would copies of what you have lost make you content?”
Julia shook her head, trying to smile. “You are all goodness and mercy, effendi. Still, some things are irreplaceable.”
“I must agree, light of my life, my Kobah, for no one could take your place. You have brought me more joy than I deserve. I kiss your lips and I am young again, like a boy with his first maiden. My mind leaps where my body cannot follow. This saddens my soul, but it also gladdens my heart, for I am free to love you as I would a daughter in my own image, with pride and sympathy, and a great wish that I could arrange your happiness. If you had come to me as a child, I could have passed you through my wife’s shift in the rite of adoption practiced by the desert tribes, and then arranged for you a great marriage which would bring you many fine sons and a long life of honor and comfort. It was not to be. That being so, I have arranged as best I can for your safety. Hear me now, star to my waning moon. If death should overtake me, you must trust Basim. He has been instructed to have a care for you in the turmoil which must follow. With Allah’s will and his great baraka, he will keep you from harm.”
His voice grew lower, faltered. Julia put out her hand unbidden to touch his arm. It trembled beneath her fingers, and, though the day was fine, not at all warm, there was a sheen of perspiration on the parchment-colored face of the dey of Algiers. He had not been really well since their return from the hunt, another reason Julia had not wanted to distress him with her problems. She thought the heat, the dust, the exertion, and the excitement, had been too much for him.
“Are you all right, Mehemet Effendi? Shall I fetch you anything, water or the juice of pomegranates?”
“No, no,” he whispered. “Only stay beside me, and remember well what I said to you of Basim.”
“In this as in all things, I am your slave,” Julia replied, and felt only the truth of the words instead of their shame.
Once she had seen Rud, he seemed to be everywhere she looked. He appeared in the audience chamber beside Ali Pasha numerous times, more than once in the same press of courtiers as Marcel de Gruys. Despite her fears of a confrontation, the two men ignored each other. They might have been strangers from their outward demeanor. One morning she saw the man who was her husband from the window of the dey’s apartments, making his way toward the harbor. Later, in the same day, he crossed a courtyard ahead of her as she moved along a narrow passage, and it occurred to her to wonder if he had taken up residence within the palace itself. Perhaps, he was staying as a guest of Ali Pasha in one of the more remote sections, where the distant relatives and officers of the Janissaries were housed? If that were so, no doubt the Circassian slave girl with which Kemal had presented him shared his rooms. A fifteen-year-old girl. One so young could be molded, taught to defer to his judgment in all things, instructed in the best way to please him, indoctrinated with the idea that her one purpose in life was to anticipate his needs. Julia wished him joy of her! She hoped the girl was able to sing and dance and play the dulcimer or to — to stand on her head. If she could not, a young girl of small intelligence would bore him out of his mind within a month. And, serve him right!
In her absorption, Julia did not notice when Abdullah, serving as her escort, dropped behind her to speak to a eunuch on guard before a doorway. She was alone as she stepped out into the bright sunlight of the courtyard. She came to a halt, allowing her eyes to adjust after the gloom of the passage. A breeze wafted through the barren court, and automatically, she reached up to hold her face veil in place, touching the gold bee on her temple to see that it was secure.
The scrape of a booted foot on the stone flooring made her glance to the right. Rud stood under a colonnade not three steps from where she stood. There was an arrested look on his face, as if he doubted his own eyesight. Slowly, he began to move toward her.
Fear seized Julia. It was madness for him to approach her. If he were seen, it could mean nothing, but death, as instantaneous as a scimitar thrust, or as slow and torturous as being impaled on a steel hook and hung from the palace walls.
If Rud realized the consequences, he intended
to ignore them. His expression had hardened to one of determination. The look in his eyes made Julia suddenly aware of the transparency of her barracan and the inadequacy of her harem dress, which left her midsection bare.
“You are looking well for an old man’s darling.”
The shock of the English words rippled over her. Before she could recover, her ears caught a sound from the halfway behind her that made the flesh on the back of her neck creep. It was the rasp of a scimitar being drawn from its scabbard.
Abdullah appeared like a large, dark shadow at her side. “What did the infidel say to you?” he demanded.
Julia held her voice steady with an effort. “He saw me alone, unguarded, and thought I might be in distress. He asked if he could be of service to me in any way.”
Her choice of words placed a portion of the blame for the encounter upon the shoulders of her guard, Abdullah himself. The implication did not escape the eunuch. “You swear by the most holy name?” he asked, his high-pitched voice shaded with suspicion. And yet, the mere asking of the question was an indication that he was willing to accept her answer.
“I so swear,” Julia said.
For the briefest flicker of time, she raised her clear gaze to Rud’s eyes, and saw in their deep-blue depths the knowledge that if she desired she could end his life then and there in agony.
Abdullah grunted. “Pass then, Christian dog, and never again let your infidel’s gaze fall upon so much as the shadow of the most precious treasure of the dey of Algiers.”
“Jullanar! Jullanar! Awake, my dove, you must awake!”
Julia opened her eyes. The gray light of dawn was seeping into the room, though it was not yet strong enough to bring color to the objects around her. Jawharah leaned over her with her dull-brown hair streaming over her shoulders and her face rumpled from sleep.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 1 (Love and Adventure Boxed Sets) Page 34