Desert Barbarian

by Charlotte Lamb

  Stonor swore under his breath and she looked back at him. 'Careful I At your age you have to watch your blood pressure.'

  'Vixen!' he muttered.

  'Goodnight, Stonor.'

  'Come back tomorrow,' he said quickly as she opened the door, but she did not answer.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  EACH time she visited Stonor, Marie afterwards took tea with Princess Aissa, either in her private apartments or in a small walled garden shut away from prying mascu­line eyes on the women's side of the palace. This part of the building, Marie soon realised, was far more elabor­ately decorated, far more beautifully furnished than the public rooms only visited by men. The Kings of Jedhpur, in past years, had created a scented, silk-draped paradise for their queens. Marie gazed around these marble-floored, gilded cages and wondered what it had felt like to be the bird of paradise imprisoned here. She remembered that Stonor had once threatened her with harem life—on that evening when he played kidnapper for his own amusement. He had said that she was already, in fact, the prisoner of luxury; indulged, petted and spoilt but shut away from ordinary life. In a sense she knew it was true. Her father had protected her from the problems and pains of life, but in protecting her had walled her up away from the free winds of the world. Now she knew just how much she had missed.

  She had looked at her hands with dismay, hating the softness and whiteness of her unscathed palms. Lispa's brown hands were rough from work, and they had a beauty of their own, a beauty and dignity Marie envied. She longed to have Lispa's deft agility, her quick graceful skill in household tasks. She longed to have Jess's artistic skills, too, or to use her brain in the challenge of industry, or learn even any basic industrial skills.

  Anything, in fact, but be useless.

  The job Jess had given her was really only a space in which to find her true métier. She spent hours thinking about the future. What could she learn to do? What could she train for? Nursing? That had an appeal. You did not need to be brilliant in order to take up nursing, and her education had been a sound one. Or should she go to a teacher training college? She rejected that idea after some thought as it did not appeal to her. She re­jected a business training, too. One by one she considered various jobs and always came back to the idea of nursing. It was an alarming prospect, but she wanted to do some­thing really useful, and it seemed the best way to do that.

  She discussed the problem with Princess Aissa and Aziz, during their tea parties. Somehow Aziz always contrived to be on hand for these occasions. He would knock on the door, look surprised and say cheerfully, 'Well, well, Miss Brinton… may I come in?'

  Aissa would turn her sleek black head on the long column of her swanlike neck and the almond eyes would smile at him, the corners of the pale pink mouth turn up.

  Now and then, as she passed him a cup or a small sweet cake, her fragile, pink-tipped fingers would brush his hand. Once, as Marie was gazing with enchanted eyes at the intense blue of the afternoon sky, she turned back suddenly and caught Aziz kissing Aissa's fingertips, his adoring eyes on the Princess's shy, averted face. Marie felt her own heart quiver at the look on their faces. There was something intensely exciting about the small gesture.

  In their formal world Aziz's delicate kiss took on the quality of an explosion of passion.

  When she met Lord Hathni, as she sometimes did, leaving the palace with Aziz beside her, talking lightly as they walked, she felt herself tense with alarm at the quick, shrewd glance she received from the Prime Mini­ster's eyes. Aziz would bow his head, his palms together, in that graceful gesture of submissive greeting, and Lord Hathni would give him the same shrewd glance.

  Once it occurred to her that Lord Hathni suspected Aziz of having an interest in her. She gently suggested this idea to Aziz, who grinned shamelessly.

  'But of course he does! He is a man. He knows that no young man of passion could see your enchanting beauty and be unmoved.'

  Marie saw the twinkle in his eye as he made this teasing remark. 'Unless, of course, he happened to be far more interested in another girl?' she suggested.

  Aziz looked at her sideways, his slanting eyes amused. 'That would, of course, make a difference.'

  She hesitated. 'But your father doesn't seem worried by the interest he appears to think you have in me,' she said with some embarrassment.

  Aziz looked down at the marble floor, and for a second she thought that he, too, was embarrassed. Then he looked up and shrugged. 'Miss Brinton, my father does not believe I would so jeopardise my position as to marry an English girl,' he said gently.

  She flushed, then laughed. 'I see. He trusts your com­mon sense.'

  Aziz spread his brown hands. 'Yes.'

  'Then what does he…' She broke off, flushing, even more hotly. 'Oh!'

  Aziz looked at her uneasily, seeing her eyes grow stormy. 'My father may put what construction he wishes upon the evidence, but we know, do we not, that he is wrong? That is all that matters.'

  'Not to me,' she said indignantly. 'Your father can't be allowed to go on imagining that I'm permitting you to make love to me… I'm sorry if it interferes with your little conspiracy, but in future I can't allow my reputa­tion to be used as a shield for you and the Princess…'

  Aziz stiffened and gazed at her angrily. 'The Princess and I have never seen each other alone, Miss Brinton. Either you or one of her women have been present on all occasions. Do not suspect anything else. I give you my word that nothing I have ever done could harm the Princess.'

  She looked at him directly, her blue eyes wide. 'Except that what you're doing is going to come out, sooner or later, and then there'll be terrible trouble for her.'

  Aziz frowned, biting his lip. 'What else can we do? Our lives are made intolerable by the present situation. We are snatching what tiny crumbs of happiness we can. The future is grim for both of us.' He looked at her, his eyes miserable. 'Did you know that I am betrothed to a girl of thirteen, Miss Brinton? My father arranged the match ten years ago. I have never seen her. I will not see her for two years. Then it will only be on my wedding day, when the veil is removed from her head after we have taken our seven steps around the fire.'

  'Seven steps around the fire?' she asked in bewilder­ment.

  He nodded. 'The fire is the centre of our wedding ceremony, you see. We take seven steps around the fire, and on the last step the ceremony is complete. We are man and wife. Only then does the bride throw back her veil and reveal her face.'

  Marie felt sorry for him. It was a terrifying thought… to be tied for life to an unknown person, committed to them whatever their character—a form of Russian roul­ette which could have lifelong consequences.

  'It has been our custom for so long,' Aziz sighed. 'My father honestly cannot understand why I resist it. He only met my mother on their wedding day, and it is true that theirs was a very happy marriage until the day she died.'

  'Perhaps your marriage will be happy too,' Marie said gently. 'Surely if you've known about it for so long, you must have adjusted to the idea?'

  'Aissa is my beloved,' Aziz said quietly. 'She always has been. In Europe we saw each other frequently, and we learnt to love. Now that we are back here life has grown bitter for us.'

  Rahaib was waiting for her outside the palace. He had been shopping in the market for a gift for Lispa, who had just told him that she was again expecting a child. Rahaib was unusually gay, singing softly under his breath as he drove back to the bungalow. A package lay on the seat beside him. It was, he had informed Marie proudly, some fine silk from which Lispa could make herself a new sari.

  'Red as the pomegranate, red for passion,' he said de­lightedly. 'Gold as the sun, gold for joy.'

  'That's very poetic, Rahaib,' Marie said teasingly.

  He smiled at her over his shoulder. 'Lispa is a good wife. She has borne me three sons. Perhaps she will bear me a fourth.'

  'Wouldn't you like a girl this time?'

  'If the gods desire it I will have a girl,' Rahaib said care
lessly, and added. 'But I wish for a son.'

  Marie laughed. 'You're a chauvinist,' she said.

  He was puzzled. 'What does that mean?'

  'It means you think boys are more important than girls,' she told him.

  'They are,' he said in bewilderment. 'Look around you. It is obvious.'

  'Yes,' she said drily, 'I'm afraid you are right.'

  Rahaib flicked a glance at her apologetically. 'In your world I know it is different, but here we do things as we have always done.'

  As he turned back to the road he gave a soft exclama­tion of surprise. 'There is a car across the road…'

  'Someone has broken down,' said Marie, leaning for­ward to stare ahead.

  A dark car was slewed across in their path, and beside it a young man in a thin shirt and trousers was waving at them. Rahaib slowed down and stopped just in front of the car.

  The young man came round to speak to Rahaib. 'Please, sir, would you look at my engine? It is not work­ing.' He spoke in heavily accented English, but he looked Indian.

  Rahaib gave him a scornful glance. 'Certainly I will look,' he replied. 'You should learn to mend your car before you begin to drive it, though.' He climbed out and walked to the other car. The bonnet was raised already, and he bent over to look at it. Immediately the young man raised a heavy wooden club and struck him down with one carefully placed blow on the head.

  Marie gave a scream of dismay, as Rahaib slumped forward silently. The young man dragged his body away, flung him on to the side of the road. Marie fumbled for the keys in the dashboard, but before she could move over and start the engine there were several young men climbing into the vehicle beside her. One of them held a small gun.

  She looked at them, shivering. This was no romantic game, like the one Stonor had played. This was real.

  'We must blindfold and gag you, miss,' one of them said. 'Please make no trouble. We do not want to hurt you.'

  Their eyes were implacable. She looked round at their faces and felt icy cold.

  One of them bound a piece of cloth over her eyes, then stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth. Then she was led away, stumbling awkwardly, and placed in the other car. The engine started and the car swung round, churning dust and small stones, and drove away at breakneck speed.

  The drive lasted for what seemed to her a very long time. When the car stopped at last, she was asked to get out. Guided by the hand of one of the young men, she was led into a house, then she heard the door close behind her.

  The gag and blindfold were removed, and she put up a hand to her trembling lips. Pieces of lint were adhering to her inner mouth. The young men gestured for her to walk into a small room, and Marie obeyed silently, star­ing around her. Shutters had been placed over the win­dow. The room was lit by an oil lamp. The only furni­ture was a small camp bed covered by some blankets and a pillow; two wooden chairs of great age, a low round table and a heavily carved chest with a domed top.

  'Why have you brought me here?' she asked shakily, looking at the men.

  The one with the gun said politely, 'You are a hostage, Miss Brinton.'

  'A hostage?' She felt incredulous disbelief. 'For what?'

  'We have grievances which we wish to have heard,' he said. 'Until they are heard, you will remain here.'

  'But I'm nothing to do with your country,' she pro­tested.

  'You are the woman of the chairman of Unex,' he said clumsily. 'All of Jedhpur know you visit him at the palace. He will wish you to be released. He will persuade the King to hear us.'

  'What if it doesn't work out like that?' she asked. 'What if the King refuses to come to terms?'

  They looked at each other, then the man with the gun shrugged. 'Too bad for you.'

  Marie sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. Her legs had turned to water.

  The men withdrew towards the door, staring at her. They had a quick, whispered conference, then the one with a gun came back to her and said roughly, 'You will wish to have a woman to help you. One is coming, but is not here yet. Is there anything you want?'

  She glanced at him. Not quite inhuman, she thought wryly. 'I would like some water,' she said quietly.

  He gestured to one of the others, who went out and came back with a large earthenware jug of water and a tin mug.

  Marie drank thirstily, then began to wonder if she had been wise to drink unboiled water. One of the first things she had learnt since arriving was that it was dangerous to drink unboiled water since so many of the rivers were heavily polluted.

  'When the woman gets here, there will be food,' the man with the gun said.

  One of the others said something in his own tongue, and the man with the gun looked at her.

  'It will be curry. We have no English food.'

  Marie smiled at him slightly. 'I eat your food every day,' she said. 'I'm quite used to it, thank you.'

  He seemed taken aback, as if her courtesy disturbed him. After a moment he and the others moved out of the room and closed the door. She got up and went to the windows. There were small holes in the shatters. She peered through them and saw only blue sky.

  Hearing sounds outside, she quickly returned to the bed and sat down on the edge again, her back very up­right.

  The door opened and the man with the gun came in, his thin dark face alert. Behind him came a young woman in a gay blue sari, her forehead decorated with the red mark Marie recognised as the sign of a married woman. She was carrying a large earthenware bowl covered with a white cloth. A savoury smell floated from it. She carefully laid it on the low table, then turned and made a polite bow.

  'Will you eat?' Her English was careful and precise but not fluent.

  'Thank you,' said Marie, forcing a smile.

  She felt instinctively that she must try to make friends with them. It was useless to protest or make a fuss. They had a grimly determined look which made such protests merely pointless.

  The young woman went out and returned with a plate. She laid it on the table, gestured to one of the chairs. 'Please sit.'

  Marie obediently sat down, and the young woman took away the white cloth. Marie looked hungrily at the meal revealed—spicy, thick and fragrant, the curried lamb lay in one half of the bowl, white rice lay in the other. The young woman took up a ladle, enquiringly looked at Marie.

  'What?' she asked thickly.

  Marie pointed to both curry and rice. The young woman ladled some of each on to a plate. Then she paused, biting her lip, and asked quietly, 'Tarkeean?'

  Marie looked at her, recognising the word, trying to remember what it meant. The young man with the gun behind her said, 'Do you wish to have vegetable curry also?'

  Marie shook her head. 'Thank you, no.'

  The young woman handed her a spoon and stepped back from the table. Marie looked round at the two of them.

  'Aren't you going to eat with me?'

  The young woman stared at her, then looked at the young man. He spoke quickly in his own tongue. She made a frightened motion of her hands. 'Kubbee— kubbee nahin!'

  Never, no, never, thought Marie, translating mentally. She knew enough of the language to recognise that phrase. Why would the woman not eat with her? she wondered.

  The young man looked at her and shrugged. 'She will not eat.'

  'Why won't she eat with me?' Marie asked him quietly.

  His eyes shifted. 'It is forbidden to eat at the table with one whom one may kill,' he said uneasily.

  Marie shivered. 'I see.' There was something chillingly direct about the way they said that.

  Her appetite had vanished suddenly, but she forced herself to eat. The food was good and as she ate she recovered some of her spirits.

  Afterwards she lay down on the bed and slept. The others withdrew, leaving her alone in the lamplit room. She heard the chirping of crickets outside, a lively, cheer­ful sound at most times, but tonight it had a melancholy which depressed her.

  If only she could see the outside world, she thought. The silen
ce surrounding the building made her suspect that they were in an isolated place. Why would they not let her see outside?

  The next morning she lay on the bed with her eyes open listening to the sounds of cows mooing somewhere in the distance. They were in the country somewhere, then, she thought, not in Lhalli.

  The door opened and the young woman came in with a bowl of warm water. She gestured to it. 'Wash…' She hung a rough cotton towel over the chair, placed a cake of scented soap on a small bowl. Marie had already discovered that the only sanitation was primitive, and she was relieved to find that she was going to be allowed to wash and brush her hair.

  The day wore on slowly. She attempted to talk to her female guard, but found that the young woman's Eng­lish was extremely limited. To amuse herself, Marie began to ask her the names of objects in her own tongue, pointing to something and asking, 'What is that?'

  The young woman, presumably as bored as Marie was by now, was not unwilling to play this game. She seemed to like to be Marie's teacher. Carefully she would pro­nounce the word, then smile slightly behind her hand at Marie's attempt to repeat it.

  'I… learn English… at… madrissah…' she stam­mered once during their game.

  'Madrissah?' Marie frowned.

  The young woman nodded. 'Madrissah in Lhalli… King's madrissah…'

  'School?' Marie guessed.

  The young woman smiled. 'School,' she repeated, nod­ding. 'Me go to the school one year…'

  Marie gestured to the woman's round red forehead mark. 'You are married woman?'

  The other woman hesitated, frowning.

  Marie pointed to the ring she wore on her foot, a broad gold band which shone when she moved her toes. 'Mar­ried?'

  The other woman's face cleared. 'Yes… married.'

  Marie pointed to herself. 'My name… Marie.' She pointed to the other woman. 'Your name?'

  There was a slight pause, then the answer came reluctantly, 'Me… Sarwana…'

  'You have children, Sarwana?' Marie asked her, smil­ing.

  Sarwana's dark eyes lit up. 'One baba.'

  'Boy or girl?'