Then they moved on, slowly, Jeremy still staring at the walls with deep interest. He looked up at Marie, wide-eyed. 'Funny drawings,' he said to her. 'Some of those snakes are all tangled up. Are they fighting?'
'I expect so,' she said, nervously wondering about the approaching footsteps.
The man coming down the corridor was short, rather slightly built and grey-haired, his richly decorated tunic ablaze with colour, his austere face at variance with what he wore. Behind him marched two men in white turbans and red tunics, their faces wearing the same blank impassivity as Rahaib.
He paused as he came face to face with Marie, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing. Then he smiled politely, without warmth.
Rahaib spoke in the soft local dialect, and the newcomer listened without looking at him.
Then he looked back at Marie and made the usual courteous greeting, hands together, head bowed. 'Miss Brinton! I am Hathni Kundor, the King's chief minister. Welcome to Jedhpur. I hope you had a pleasant journey here.'
'Yes, thank you,' said Marie, slightly nervous in his presence. He had an intimidating eye, cold and clearsighted, and a soft precision of speech which made every syllable he uttered very formal.
He nodded in response to her reply, glanced briefly at Jeremy and then said politely, 'I hope we shall meet again, Miss Brinton.'
She stood aside, realising he meant to walk on, and with another courteous gesture he and his escort proceeded along the corridor. She let out a long sigh of relief.
'Whew!'
Glancing at Rahaib, she fancied she caught a flicker of something that might have been amusement passing across his face, but the next second he had assumed his usual calm mask.
They made their way out of the palace without further incident, got back into the black limousine and drove out of the palace gates into the teeming city. Soon they were driving between tiny, white-washed flat-roofed houses threaded with alleys which wound away out of sight. Thin, stark-ribbed dogs scratched in the dust. Women in bright silks and soft slippers, their heads draped against the intruding sun, moved from shop to shop with graceful steps. Around an ancient, stone-walled well sat older women, their faces wrinkled and dried up by the sun, gossiping with the ease of old friends, while children in cotton shirts scampered barefoot around them, chasing each other in some ritualistic game.
The streets grew more and more crowded, and the car had trouble inching its way through them. Street-sellers carrying trays of food shouted their wares. A water carrier waddled along, slopping precious drops on either side of his yoked shoulders, followed by a crowd of thirsty dogs who licked at the wet dust.
From street cafes came the high wail of traditional music. A dancing girl in gold-trimmed skirts and bare feet, her ankles and wrists jangling with golden bangles, came out of a café to stare at them as they drove past.
Marie was delighted by one shop, the flat stall in front of it swathed in rainbow-coloured silks, red, yellow, green, blue, flung across the stall in voluminous folds to catch the eye, the gold and silver threads woven into the material glittering in the sunlight. The shopkeeper, seeing her eager eyes, bowed invitingly, but the car drove on slowly.
Jeremy only really grew interested when the car temporarily halted, to let a flock of goats pass, outside a sweet stall. Wooden bowls full of sticky pink and white sweets drew the attentions of a horde of black flies, at which the perspiring stallholder slapped with a paper fan. Across the street stood a cookshop from which the odour of spicy curry floated. Outside stood a boy not much older than Jeremy, hawking a woven basket of palm leaves; stuffed with cardamom-scented rice and minced mutton, Rahaib informed them. A smile briefly lit his countenance as he added, 'Most delicious, my lady.'
'Can I buy some?' Jeremy asked eagerly.
Marie smiled at him. 'Another day, perhaps.' She was not altogether certain of the safety of eating food from the market. The flies which pervaded the place worried her. None of the food seemed to be covered from the sun; even the meat lay uncovered, descended upon by black tides of flies.
They moved on jerkily, the driver apparently unflurried or annoyed by the constant stops necessitated by the throngs of people who poured past his bonnet. Soon Jeremy saw something else he liked: a stall selling toys; little wooden birds which pecked at painted corn on a bright green board when you pulled the string below, elephants of bright blue which had nodding heads, peacocks with vivid bejewelled tails that opened and closed like fans, little wooden men who swung over and over a string stretched between two poles, windmills of painted paper which whirled round and round when you blew them.
'When can we come here again?' Jeremy asked her eagerly.
'We'll ask your mother,' she promised.
'Soon? Tomorrow?'
'Perhaps,' she said, not liking to commit herself yet. She must see what Mrs Cunningham thought about the market before she agreed to take Jeremy there.
Rahaib said quietly, 'I will escort you and the child to the market whenever you wish, Miss Brinton.'
She looked at him gratefully. 'Thank you, Rahaib. That's very kind of you.'
He shook his head. 'The King's highness has told me to see that you and the child come to no harm, While you are in Jedhpur I am your servant, miss.'
'Oh. I see.' She was taken aback, wondering how she was going to cope with his constant presence day after day.
He smiled then, his face gravely amused. 'When you need me I shall be in the servants' quarters of the bungalow, my lady.'
She flushed, seeing that he had read her mind. 'Thank you, Rahaib,' she said in faint apology.
He inclined his head. 'It is my pleasure,' he said formally. 'There are certain persons in Jedhpur who do not approve of the King's royal desire to modernise the kingdom. They resent foreigners, and they might make trouble for you if you went out alone. That is why the King's highness has asked me to guard you.'
She looked at him anxiously. 'You mean it's dangerous for us to go out without you?'
'It would be wiser not to do so,' he agreed. 'Most of our people are gentle and hospitable, but there are some who hate the new ways and wish only for things to go on as they have always done… these people are troublemakers.'
She remembered what Aziz had said. 'And the Prime Minister himself does not approve, I gather?' she asked.
Rahaib's face stiffened. 'My Lord Hathni prefers the old ways,' he agreed politely. He looked at her directly. 'But you need not fear him, my lady. Lord Hathni is a very good man.'
'Aziz seemed afraid of him,' she said, half to herself.
Rahaib hesitated, then said gently, 'My lord Aziz respects his father too much to fear him, my lady.'
She stared at him in astonishment. 'His father?'
Rahaib inclined his head. 'Lord Hathni is the King's highness's uncle.'
'And Aziz is his son,' she said. 'Then why did he hide?'
'Because he did not wish his father to see him speaking with you,' Rahaib explained. 'Lord Hathni might then have suspected when you saw much of the Princess Aissa that it was his son's doing…'
'I see,' she said, not really seeing very much at all. Clearly, the politics of Jedhpur were involved and dangerous. She wished Aziz had not dragged her into them, and decided that if at all possible she would steer completely clear of anything which even remotely smelt of politics. She did not want to cause trouble here for Jess or for the King.
'Thank you for telling me, Rahaib,' she said, looking at the grizzled old man with gratitude.
'I thought you should know, Miss Brinton,' he said simply. 'Prince Aziz is not always very thoughtful or considerate of other people. He sees only his own desires and seeks a way to achieve them.'
'I suppose it was kind of him to wish to help Princess Aissa, anyway,' she said.
Rahaib's eyes met hers briefly. The old man seemed to hesitate, then shrugged, saying nothing. She wondered what it was he had decided not to tell her.
They had left the market quarter b
ehind them now, and were driving along a wide, dusty road fringed with square-built white houses with the usual flat roofs. Wire fences strung from wooden posts surrounded their gardens. Thickly set rhododendron bushes, deodars, fruit trees and dancing flies inhabited these gardens. Their shade was alluring, and Marie stared at each one, hoping it would be theirs.
At last they halted outside one and Rahaib stood to watch them dismount from the car, then unlocked the high gate and escorted them up the dusty path.
There were two doors; one outer with a mesh-wire covering to keep out flies, one inner made all of glass to let light into the house. A long verandah ran the length of the back of the house. Wicker chairs were arranged around a low cane table.
A small, slender woman in a yellow sari came hurrying from somewhere to greet them politely. Over her palms her dark eyes looked curiously at Marie. A red caste mark in the middle of her forehead enhanced the glowing colour of her olive skin.
'Lispa speaks no English,' Rahaib told them. 'I shall interpret for you if you tell me your wishes.'
Marie smiled at Lispa and indicated Jeremy. 'Tell her the little boy is tired and hungry.'
Lispa's dark eyes travelled to Jeremy as Rahaib spoke to her. A little smile touched her mouth. She held out one thin-fingered hand to the boy, who trustingly took her hand and let her lead him away.
Rahaib ushered Marie along a corridor to a shuttered room full of cool shadows. 'This is your chamber, my lady. Your boxes are here already.'
Heaving a sigh of delight at the coolness, she looked around the room, gazing at the net-enshrouded bed, the carved chests and the wicker, cushioned chair. 'It's delightful,' she told Rahaib.
'Will you rest or eat, my lady?'
'I think we'd better eat first,' she said.
He bowed. 'I will go and find out if the food is ready. Please, wash and refresh yourself.'
She looked at him doubtfully, and he smiled at her. 'There is a bathroom beyond that door,' he told her gently.
Marie was astonished. 'A bathroom?' She had not expected such a thing here.
'This house belonged once to an American who came to study our old temples,' Rahaib explained. 'He had a bathroom built into the bungalow. Of course, we have no modern sanitation in most of our houses. The American dug a pit for the waste out at the back of the house and laid pipes to carry the wastage out there. It took many months and by the time he had finished he was just leaving to go home.' A faint look of amusement came into the dark eyes. 'He was not pleased.'
'Your English is very good, Rahaib,' she told him admiringly. 'Have you been to Europe?'
He looked surprised. 'Of course I accompanied the King when he went to school and university in England. I spent fourteen years in your country.'
'Fourteen years?' She was astonished. 'No wonder your English is so good!'
'The King's highness was seven when his royal father sent him to school at first. We stayed there until he had finished his whole education. Every year we came home for the summer, of course. I could have married then, but I waited. Until my lord the King was home for good I would not wed.'
'And are you married now?' she asked curiously.
He looked surprised. 'But Lispa is my wife,' he said.
'Oh, I see,' she said, taken aback, remembering the formal way in which he had addressed Lispa, the commanding note in his voice. He had spoken to her as if to a servant.
'Have you any children, Rahaib?' she asked. '
He smiled. 'Three sons.' His pride was evident. 'Lispa is a good wife.'
She was amused. 'Is the King married too?'
Rahaib's eyes glowed suddenly. 'The King is married,' he nodded. 'The Queen expects her first child in two months. We all pray it will be a son.' He hesitated and again she was sure he doubted whether it would be discreet to speak, then he said softly, 'The Queen is most beautiful and sweet. Her voice is like melted honey, her skin like silk.'
Marie looked at him curiously. Ha sounded as if he worshipped the Queen, she thought. He had not had that gentle, adoring ring in his voice when he spoke of Lispa. Perhaps his love for the King carried over to the King's wife.
'How old is the Queen?' she asked curiously.
'Fifteen,' Rahaib said.
'Fifteen!' Marie was astonished. It seemed very young to be a Queen and expecting a first child, but then she knew that things were very different here. She thought of herself at fifteen, a hockey-playing schoolgirl with white socks and a short gym tunic, and suppressed a smile. Indeed, things were very different.
When Rahaib had left her she went into the bathroom. It was a stark, whitewashed room. The bath was sunk into the floor, which had been concreted, perhaps to discourage insects. When she turned on the taps the water issued in a discouraging brown stream, but after running for a while the water cleared, although occasionally a dead fly fell out with it.
She locked the door and had a brief bath, then dried herself and dressed again. When she returned to her bedroom she found Jeremy there, sitting on her bed, staring around.
'I'm sleepy,' he said fretfully.
'Bed, then,' she said, lifting him down. He was limp and heavy, his eyes glazed with weariness. She carried him through to the tiny room which Rahaib had said was for him, undressed him and popped him into bed. She had barely left the room before his even breathing announced that he was asleep. It had been a long journey, she thought. It was not surprising that he was so tired.
Jess had returned from the palace some hours later, having eaten with the King, her eyes excited as she told Marie about the plans she and the King had laid for the work ahead.
'I'm going to enjoy this,' she said delightedly. 'What about you? Are you settling in?'
Marie had said she was already feeling quite at home here, and Jess had given her an approving look.
Their first day in Jedhpur had ended peacefully as the darkness fell with the swiftness of a hawk, cloaking everything with shadows.
And so their life began to take on a routine. Each day Jess got up at dawn, breakfasted on fruit and warm chapattis, then drove off in a Land-Rover the King had lent her to start sketching in the isolation of her stilt hut in the marshes. While she was gone, Marie amused Jeremy on the verandah of the house.
Drawing elephants and tigers was his favourite occupation. Like his mother, he had a natural talent for it, and a deep curiosity about everything around him.
When he was not with Jess, he liked to play in the kitchen with Lispa's sons, who were close to his age and possessed exciting toys similar to those he had seen in the market. He and Marie had already visited the market with Lispa to help her choose food and to see the fascinating shops at closer quarters. Jeremy had bought some pencils, a wooden elephant with a jewelled head-cloth and bright eyes, and a large plastic ball imported from Europe.
Today as they trailed back into the house for their midday meal Jeremy demanded another visit to the market. Marie promised one tomorrow, with which he was content.
He showed Lispa his drawing of the great blue elephant, and she admired it, clicking her brightly painted fingernails in delight.
Jeremy eyed the food laid out for them with faint depression—a plate of steaming white rice, a bowl of vegetable curry, a pile of warm chapattis and some fruit in a carved wooden bowl.
'Rice again!' he groaned, and Lispa looked at him anxiously.
Marie spoke to her in the local dialect. 'Good, very good.' She had been learning a few phrases from Rahaib in order to be able to speak to Lispa in her own tongue. The young woman's face cleared and she smiled, amicably making her little gesture of polite recognition.
'You mustn't hurt Lispa's feelings, Jeremy,' Marie said gently. 'She works very hard to make your meals. You must try to like them.'
'They're always the same,' he said crossly. 'Curry, curry, curry…'
'Last night we had chicken cooked in the oven,' she pointed out.
'It didn't taste like chicken,' said Jeremy. 'It was
all hot and spicy.'
Marie sighed. At his age it was difficult to adjust, she supposed. She helped him to a small portion of rice and curry and he poked at it with his fork, his face sulky.
Rahaib appeared behind her chair and bent to say quietly, 'An Englishman to see you, Miss Brinton.'
Suddenly her heart leapt on a wild, ludicrous hope. 'An Englishman? Did he give a name?'
'He is an archaeologist called Davidson,' Rahaib explained. 'He is living here while he studies our temples— many archaeologists come here to study them. They live in a bungalow near them and rarely come into Lhalli.'
'Davidson?' She did not know the name, but she said that Rahaib might show him in, and the old man departed to do so.
'Miss Brinton? I'm so sorry to disturb you during your meal!' The voice was young, cheerful, with the unmistakable burr of a West Country accent running beneath the English.
She smiled, holding out her hand. 'Mr Davidson? Do sit down and join us. There's more than enough for three.'
'Well, thanks,' he said at once, taking a chair. 'I must admit, I'm hungry. I've been trailing around Lhalli all morning trying to see the King, but they won't admit me to the palace. That's why I'm here, to tell you the truth.'
She was puzzled, staring at him across the table. He was in his late twenties, fair-faced, with wiry brown hair and clear, friendly hazel eyes. She liked him on sight. He had a direct and cheerful manner which was appealing. 'How can I help you?'
'You work for Mrs Cunningham,' he said, accepting a plate from Lispa with a smile. 'And she works for the King. She could get him to see me.'
Marie laughed. 'Oh, I don't know about that. She hasn't seen the King since we arrived. They talked for a while on the first day, but he's been busy ever since.'
'All the same, if she wrote to him I think he might take some notice of her.'
'Why do you want to see him so badly?' she asked.
He forked some curry into his mouth, chewed and swallowed, then looked round at Lispa, who was discreetly hovering within earshot. He spoke in quick dialect for a moment, and Lispa's face beamed at him.
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