He laughed softly to himself. ‘Nothing excites me more than a reluctant filly,’ he muttered under his breath.
Following the prince’s example, everyone helped themselves with their fingers to a first course of timbales of stuffed olives and crayfish. It was the accepted manner of eating for a man of the East, and he was obviously keen to make them go through the real experience of a meal in true Bedouin style.
‘I have lived more in the desert than elsewhere,’ Shams Sakr El Din told them, as they tossed the timbales awkwardly into their mouths. ‘I share most of the ways of the tribesmen.’
‘It amazes me that you don’t spill rice and nuts all over you,’ Aida replied edgily, taking a sip of her glass of hibiscus water.
‘It is a knack to eat this way,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Shall I show you?’
‘No, thank you.’ She shook her head, avoiding his glance. ‘I’ll soon get the hang of it.’
Then came a whole roast lamb, which was placed before the prince, who tore off juicy slivers and passed them to his guests. When the best bits were eaten, a servant removed the carcass and another plate took its place. Aida was used to the extravagance of entertainment in this part of the world, and even though she knew nothing was wasted – the remains fed a multitude of servants and their families – she looked upon it as a squandering of money. After having felt the deprivations of England, she found herself deploring it.
A mound of rice, binding a concoction of all kinds of fish and fried eggs, olives, fruit, vegetables and nuts, with a small pastry lid on top was brought to the table next. Every family had their own recipe for magluba, and the prince explained that his was an enhanced version of the original Sakr El Din recipe, created in honour of his guests. Steaming hot, it was decorated like a birthday cake with dates, mushrooms and hard-boiled eggs. After that came fat pigeons and roasted chickens, stuffed with olives and mushrooms, and then more lamb in the form of mansaf, the traditional Bedouin dish served at weddings and feasts. The lamb had been stewed over an open fire, then served in a dried yoghurt sauce, called jameed, on a bed of flatbread and rice, and sprinkled with pine nuts and almonds. Aida knew she couldn’t decline any of it as it would have been regarded as a great insult.
After so many courses of protein dishes, the guests finally moved on to something sweeter. Biscuits dipped in molasses and a cake made of pressed, preserved fruits was brought next, followed by the last, but not least, of the dishes: the famous nut and raisin pastries difr el hanem, ladies’ fingers, which Aida liked but could only nibble at because she had eaten too much already.
The meal finally done, vassals came round with scented water, pouring it over the guests’ hands into big faience earthenware basins, before bringing in the coffee.
‘That was a delicious lunch, Your Highness. Suffra daiman, may your table always be plenty,’ Alastair declared, and the others clamoured their agreement.
The prince flashed a gracious smile. ‘It is my pleasure, dear friends.’
‘I couldn’t eat like this every day,’ laughed Simone. ‘I’d be twice the size within a month.’
‘Arab men like their woman to be curvy, isn’t that so?’ asked Sonia, her twinkling eyes devouring the Bedouin prince.
‘Yes,’ Simone chipped in. ‘I read somewhere that Moors used to feed their harem favourites with stuffed dates and cream horns in order to make them so languid that all they wanted to do was laze about on silk cushions.’
Glints of sardonic amusement danced in Shams Sakr El Din’s eyes. ‘That may be the case for most men of my country, but passive submission in a woman holds no appeal for me.’ His pale gaze fixed on Aida and she shuddered internally at the predatory smile that crossed his lips as he added, ‘Ah, the joys of taming a shrew! Your great playwright Shakespeare understood that concept well enough …’
The other women seemed to revel in the prince’s bold, risqué manner and a few mock-scandalised expressions passed between them. Alastair, meanwhile, kept a veiled eye on Aida. She couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be maintaining a guarded watch over her.
A silence hung over the table and then the prince stood up, everybody else following suit. ‘You might like to have a stroll in the garden or a lie-down. Our show starts at six after the greatest heat of the day is over. Knowing you English love your riding, I’ve chosen a display of horsemanship to entertain you. Nomad horsemen will perform in competition with the equestrian guards of my palace.’ He smiled smugly. ‘I think you’ll find that the feats performed by horses and riders alike take the gymkhana to new heights.’
As they were leaving the table, he leaned a little closer to Aida, his nostrils flaring slightly. ‘You wear an intriguing perfume, fragrant yet sensual. Is it carnation?’
‘Yes,’ Aida felt anger boiling under her skin at his excessive attentions. ‘Phares had it specially made for me. I wear it to please him.’ She spoke pointedly, hoping that if he thought she belonged to another man, he would stop his slimy courting.
A fleeting flame flared for a second in Sakr El Din’s eyes. ‘You do many things to please the doctor, eh? So, how is it that you are here today on this escapade, which I’m sure would only displease him highly?’
The others had moved off towards the edge of the patio and were looking at the view.
Aida lifted her chin as confidently as she could. ‘Phares and I are almost engaged, but that doesn’t mean he owns me. And as I’ve never visited an oasis before it seemed a good idea to take advantage of your generous hospitality, as Mrs Saunders so astutely said. The opportunity might never present itself again.’
‘Well, habibti, as I have told you before, you have done me a great honour in accepting my invitation. As for your young doctor, don’t you think he will wonder how we passed the time in such close proximity?’ His voice was a smooth murmur. ‘Surely he saw us dance at Princess Nazek’s ball, and I know I’m not exactly someone he holds dear. A jealous man … Even though he clearly does not abide by the saying, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’
Aida fixed him levelly with her most impudent look, though her throat felt painfully dry. ‘Phares is not like that. Besides, we trust each other.’
‘Don’t be fooled, habibti. Whenever a man and a woman are alone there is a feeling in the air … of a silent dicing with danger. Only between a man and a woman can there exist this awareness of a thousand subtle differences, each capable of arousing a thousand subtle sensations. The belief has always been that men are polygamous and women monogamous, but I have often realised the idiocy of this assumption.’
In the tense silence that followed his words a thousand crazy thoughts rushed through Aida’s mind as her eyes skimmed the face and frame of the Bedouin. A dark ripple of awareness overtook her as she met his stare. Anxious to read his open desire in it, she looked around wildly to find that her friends had drifted away.
‘Where are the others?’ she asked, trying to hide her alarm.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry. They’ve probably wandered off into the garden or perhaps they’ve gone to their rooms for an afternoon siesta.’ Again, his voice dipped huskily. ‘Most of them don’t have your vitality. It was a tiring journey after all.’
Aida prayed silently and swiftly for the return of her friends.
‘How pale you are, my dear … but lovely … akin to pearls and milk and the finest silk.’ He was looking at her lazily as though he sensed, and was enjoying, the fury building up inside her.
‘Aida, there you are!’
Alastair Carlisle had suddenly appeared behind them, and she sighed audibly with relief. ‘Yes, here I am.’ She gave a tight little laugh. ‘I was wondering where you’d all got to.’
‘I’m sorry, we wandered off to look around the garden.’ Turning to the prince, he remarked, ‘You have the most beautiful collection of statues, Your Highness. Those four Italian fountain goddesses are quite magnificent … and the other Greek and Roman sculptures … all women, I note.’ At this, he briefl
y met Aida’s eye and once again she had the strange feeling that he was guarding her interests, her safety.
The prince laughed low in his throat. ‘Yes, I like to surround myself with beautiful women. In stone and in the flesh.’
Again, a sharp glance from Alastair, then Aida quickly took her opportunity to get away. ‘I think I might go and have a lie-down. I’ll see you both at the camel race.’ By now she was desperate to escape the cloying gaze of her host and the electric atmosphere she felt crackling around her.
‘I will ring for Eysha to take you to your room.’
‘No need, thank you.’
‘The palace is a maze of dark corridors, I wouldn’t want you to get lost.’
‘I think I can find my way.’
‘Suit yourself, habibti.’
Aida found her way back to her rooms without difficulty. Her head ached and her eyes burned. This really had been a mistake, she should never have come. When would she learn to curb her impulsive nature? She had often been told that one day it would lead her into trouble and she strongly suspected the day had come.
A cold sweat ran down her spine as she tried to recall the words of the fortune teller. Was this the ‘great danger ahead’ that Ghalya had predicted? Aida had never fancied herself superstitious – save in the matter of the new moon perhaps – and her mind had never been attracted to the subjects of clairvoyance, spiritualism and kindred doctrines. Still, she was forced to admit that since her arrival at Kasr El Nawafeer, and seeing Prince Shams Sakr El Din in his surroundings, she had an uncomfortable presentiment of evil. Something, it seemed, somewhere in the palace, threatened her; and yet through all her shrinking, she felt a potent lure as if the place and the man repelled and fascinated her equally.
Aida bathed her face and eyes in cold water and lay for ten minutes on her bed, but she was restless. She got up and looked out of the window at the splendour of the view. Far to the north, the great hills, bare on their tops, showed brown and gold against the vivid blue of the sky, more like masses of cloud than land. Nearer, on the lower slopes, their surface of yellowed grass was dotted with small herds of sheep or goats. Here and there among the herds, she could see odd splashes of white as the goatherds or shepherd girls moved among their flocks or rested on the slopes. A herd of gazelles leapt joyfully across the rocky track, littered with clumps of talha, Acacia tortilis, and disappeared behind some sand dunes. Further away, galloping across the landscape, was a silhouetted train of racing camels, directed by vassals in white gowns. Aida guessed they must belong to the prince and were being exercised.
Her eyes narrowed against the bright light. Was it another town she could see outlined there in the distance, dancing like a gold painting on the horizon? Surely not … it was a mirage. She had seen enough of them during the morning’s journey to recognise one. No wonder these people believed in djinns and spirits. Even in broad daylight, with the bright sunbeams on the undulating sand dunes making them look like a heaving ocean of gold, there was that strange sense of unreality. Nothing was real. So how could people behave normally? Herself included.
Chapter 11
Although the late afternoon sun still shone royally overhead when the prince’s guests congregated in the garden for the display of horsemanship, the fierce heat of its rays was tempered by a most delicious breeze which, blowing over countless leagues of sand, brought with it a fresh and life-giving breath of coolness that was welcome after the hot, still day.
Out in the desert the horizon’s mirage shimmered like a band of liquid above the sparkling sand, but in the garden of Kasr El Nawafeer the green trees and sweet water were realities, and the fountains tinkled merrily as they flung their silver drops high into the air.
The tourney ground was a vast arena built in a semicircle with tiered seating above a performance area, like the Ancient Roman and Greek amphitheatres used for gladiator fights and other events and competitions. All around the arena, the spectators were ringed, men and boys in a motley crowd, wearing garments of every shade – gold, green, blue – brown faces working, brown hands gesticulating, bare feet shuffling in the sand.
In the place of honour, Prince Shams Sakr El Din’s guests struck a note of alien coolness. Aida in particular stood out. The dark colouring of the other women in the party contrasted noticeably with her honey-gold hair and brilliant fairness, marking her out as the daughter of a land far removed from this fierce country of sand and sun and wild desert men.
Behind them, the green garden of the palace glowed like an emerald in the sunlight, its hundreds of palms like sentinels guarding this precious oasis in the heart of burning desert sand and rocks. All around, the air was loaded with the heavily sweet fragrance of the yellow jasmine that grew everywhere. The whole scene was an enchanting medley of colour and life. Blue sky overhead, the azure merging into green and then to flame in the west; the multi-hued garments of the crowd, vivid against the orange sand; the shining coats of the horses – bay, chestnut, glossy black and purest white; the bright native saddles – some brilliant vermillion, others decorated in gaudy hues; and everywhere, the sunlight, flashing on land and spear. Wherever Aida’s eye turned there was life and radiance, and somehow, she forgot her woes. The blood coursed swiftly in her veins and her eyes sparkled as she drank in the extraordinary spectacle.
The prince did not sit next to Aida during the tournament. Shams Sakr El Din appeared to have forgotten her existence and she was grateful for the respite. He concentrated on Simone, whose simpering airs seemed to enchant him, and Sonia, who was also competing for his attention. Placed between Alastair and Mrs Saunders, Aida had a great time listening to the humorous running commentary taking place on both sides of her. Eva, Marica and Norma sat behind her, and judging by their constant chatter and raucous laughter, all three women were delighted by the proceedings.
The gymkhanas which Aida had attended at the Gezireh Sporting Club in Cairo, and Semouha in Alexandria, were mere child’s play compared with the magnificent riding, galloping, tent-pegging and other feats in which the desert riders indulged.
Down over the sand thundered a wild cavalcade, robes flying, hawk-eyes flashing, weird and wonderful cries ringing through the air. So swift were their movements that it was difficult to follow them with the eye. They performed wonderful acrobatic feats, mounting their horses at full gallop, standing in their saddles, tossing from one to another their long spears, leaping, hurdling, exchanging horses in mid-gallop, and indulging in a hundred different tests of skill that showed off their splendid horsemanship.
To make matters more interesting, the event had been run on competitive lines, one party of equestrians attempting to outdo the other in the neatness and daring of their feats. The nomad riders, those desert tribes from which the ghawazy had originated, did indeed look even wilder than the Bedouins, but an easy camaraderie existed between the two groups. It was evident that in spite of the loud cries and vehement clamour, which at first alarmed Aida, the utmost good humour prevailed, although each party was intent on carrying off the honours of the day.
Although the nomad riders were in many ways the superior, Prince Sakr El Din’s men rode handsomer animals than those of their rivals. As a result, the teams were evenly matched, giving a spice of piquancy to the entirely friendly contest.
Now, a shrill clamour was arising among the crowd of onlookers. The Bedouins, who at first had kept a respectful distance from the visitors, had gradually crept nearer to the semicircle of seats in front of the tourney, where the prince’s guests were gathered. The prince explained to his party of foreign guests that this was a request for a contest of skills between the chief of Nomads and Sakr El Din himself. He stood up, eyes dancing, white teeth flashing in his bronze face, and took up the challenge with gusto.
Never would Aida forget the sight before her eyes at that moment. In front of her was the vast space of sand: gold and tawny now in the light of the setting sun. In one corner, the nomad riders sat in a group, magnificent desert men
with aquiline features and flashing eyes, their large, sweeping gestures native to those who have their habitation in the empty spaces of the earth. In the opposite corner, Shams Sakr El Din’s men were grouped; and they too were splendid specimens of humanity, with quicker, more restless movements, as befitted those who dwelt in something more akin to civilisation than their nomad brothers.
For twenty minutes, the spectators were treated to an exhibition of such perfect horsemanship as was rarely seen, even in England, a country renowned for its skilful equestrians. As though the animals themselves entered into the spirit of the game, they too did their best, and honours were equally divided between the contestants.
At last, as if by a preconceived plan, the riders came sweeping back at terrific speed, each party making a wide detour in a semicircle, towards the impromptu stand where Aida and the other guests sat. Then, just as it seemed that the two leading horses must crash into one another, there was a sudden halt, a check, and two short, simultaneous cries. The animals were pulled up immediately in front of the visitors, each rider sitting like an image of bronze in his saddle for a second before leaping to the ground in a sign that the show was over.
After the game, prizes were given out and the radiant prince shepherded his flock back to the palace so they could prepare themselves before dinner. Cool rooms and fragrant baths awaited them after their festival of sun and sand, he promised them.
Towards the west, the sky was like an oriental tapestry woven in carmine and dusky gold, intermingled with the palest green. The rolling dunes that surrounded the oasis were tinged delicately with pink, and the distant hills veiled in a purple mist, which added to their stature and gave an imposing effect to their somewhat meagre proportions. The whole oasis was preparing for the rest that comes with evening. A muezzin wailed from his minaret platform, and then the tawny sky turned violet. Long strings of native labourers, in shapeless garments of blue or pink cotton, were making their way, some to the mosque, others to their little homes dotted around the oasis. A few yellowish dogs of dubious ancestry slunk at their heels, or turned aside to investigate some heap of delicious garbage with uncritical attention.
Song of the Nile Page 40
