As she dropped her nightgown to the floor and stepped into the hot water, Aida felt a tightening of nerves in her midriff, a quickening of her heartbeat as she realised her foreboding was not her imagination playing tricks. What gripped her now was a sense of that peculiar doom only a woman can feel when she knows herself at the mercy of a man to whom women are merely objects of pleasure or service. Once again, she damned herself for accepting this invitation, and again she thought of Phares’s reaction when he should learn about her escapade. True, his own behaviour towards her was not snow white, but he was an Egyptian man after all, and still ‘free’. She had not yet agreed to be his wife, and he had never even promised her his love. But now … now she could not expect him to honour even his promise of marriage. She had been impulsive and childish, and she wondered how high the price of her folly would be.
She slipped into the fragrant water but it did little to soothe her anxiety. Again, Phares’s face swam into view and she closed her eyes tightly against an anguish of regret. How could she ever face him now?
Aida had always known that her country’s values were unforgiving, yet still she had behaved as though she was back in England, going where she wanted, doing whatever she pleased. Even if she somehow escaped from here, the fact remained: she was a woman alone in a Bedouin prince’s palace. Everyone, Phares included, would assume the worst and her reputation would be in tatters.
Why had she been so damned headstrong and naïve?
More out of frustration than anything else, Aida picked up the loofah and gave herself a merciless scrubbing with the translucent bar of palm oil soap. Then, with a heavy heart, she climbed out of the bath and dried herself before going back into the bedroom, where the sumptuous array of Arabian clothes were laid out for her.
A knock at the door made her turn. Abla came in and bowed respectfully. ‘His Highness, Prince Shams Sakr El Din, has sent me to help you with your garments and hair. You must look your best when you dine with him.’
A kind of numb acceptance took hold of Aida; besides, she wasn’t sure what punishment would await the girl if she was to send her away. She smiled weakly.
‘I will leave myself in your expert hands.’
Pleasure swept over the young girl’s face. ‘It is a great honour for me to attend to my lady. His Highness is obviously very taken with your beauty. Your presence has caused a great commotion in the harem.’
Aida frowned at the assumption that she was the prince’s new mistress. It was insufferable. ‘You can tell the women they have nothing to fear from me. I’ll be leaving in the morning and there’s no chance that I’ll be coming back here again,’ she snapped.
Abla said nothing, her dark lustrous eyes fixing on Aida’s face with a blank expression as she began to help her with the fabulous clothes that had been chosen for her. Biting down on her lip, which trembled treacherously, Aida submitted to the girl’s expert hands.
The trousers were of the finest midnight-blue pure silk, delicately interwoven with a gold thread and fastened to her legs at the bottom by beaded bands. They were so light, Aida barely felt their presence. Above them, she wore a short silk tunic of pearl and gold, and the front of the sleeves was open and linked by strands of pearls that reminded her of shackles … Jewelled shackles, she thought. How appropriate.
Her honey-blonde hair was left unbound but threaded with fine strands of pearls and diamonds that gave her a glittering look. Although she accepted the golden slippers, she flatly refused to dust her eyes with kohl; Abla told her it would produce a sensuous look, which Aida certainly didn’t wish to convey. She also rejected the expensive jewels the servant girl produced, refusing even to look at them when Abla opened the lid of the black velvet box.
Aida stood in front of the mirror hardly recognising the image of the woman standing in front of her. She was certainly beautiful, mysterious and seductive, but the stranger who gazed back at her looked like a slave girl, brought in by caravan. She turned away in disgust, hating every aspect of herself and feeling a frantic urge to tear the garment piece by piece from her body.
As Abla’s hand reached out to offer her an array of slim glass vials of fragrance, each one engraved with beautiful gold Arabian script, Aida pushed her away. ‘Enough of this masquerade,’ she whispered as tears welled up in her eyes.
‘It is important that you smell most fragrant for His Highness.’
The thought of the scent Phares had given her came into Aida’s mind. Carnations, a scent designed just for her. The little bottle lay in her bag. The prince had commented on it, had liked it. She gave a shudder, sure in the knowledge that she would certainly not wear carnation tonight. She held her wrist out to Abla sullenly. ‘Choose whichever one you like.’
Then she was ready. Abla looked her over with a critical eye. ‘You are very beautiful, my lady. His Highness will be pleased with you.’ There was a note of meaning in her voice that sent a shiver through Aida. ‘I will take you to the dining room now.’
‘Wait,’ Aida said. Going to her bag, she took out a wad of banknotes. ‘Thank you, Abla,’ she said, pressing them into the girl’s hand.
Abla’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You are too kind, my lady, but this is far too generous.’
‘Please,’ Aida insisted. The young Bedouin girl might be her one and only ally in the palace.
The girl took the money. Aida met her eyes, and for a moment wondered if she only imagined a fleeting look of sympathy in them.
‘Thank you, my lady. May Allah bless and keep from you the children of evil.’
* * *
Prince Shams Sakr El Din was waiting for her in the next room. The blue glass lamps on brass chains made a soft blue twilight, beneath which stood the crescent-shaped divan, the stools of red leather, the low carved tables silvered with arabesque details.
As Aida entered the lounging area, he rose and contemplated her in silence before coming towards her and lifting her hand to his lips. He led her to the table, seating her on the plush cushions with their bejewelled silk throws, and took his place beside her.
Behind those heavy-lashed eyes, he was an uncaring, ruthless brute, Aida thought, yet in his kaftan of sombre royal blue that matched hers, with his beautifully wrapped turban and bejewelled with the most awesome precious stones, there was no doubt he looked proud and distinguished.
A barbarian cloaked in a deceptive coat of civilisation, Aida told herself.
‘By Allah, you are the most beautiful and delectable woman my eyes have ever laid upon!’
She stared back at him disdainfully. ‘I feel like one of the concubines in your harem.’
‘And is that so displeasing to you?’
‘You have no right to treat me as one of those women. I am English.’
‘You are partly Egyptian. That’s why you have that fire in your blood that stirs mine with such power. Fire and frost, an interesting combination, don’t you think?’
‘What I think is that you are an unscrupulous barbarian. A despot who regards women as creatures of luxury, toys without minds or hearts of their own.’
‘A woman has to be handled as one handles a spirited filly. I told you as much the other day. Shakespeare had the right idea. A real woman likes to feel that she is mastered.’
It was impossible to misunderstand his meaning now.
‘Are you not impressed that the barbarian has an intellectual side to him?’ he said, and she felt his pale, tawny eyes flicker over her skin.
Aida tilted her chin haughtily, regarding him with disdain. ‘Quite frankly, it makes you even more of a monster.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Haughty too, eh?’
‘Haughty? Me? You have some nerve! You, master of a kingdom which you rule with an iron fist, rushing girls into marriage with men they hardly know, who are twice their age, keeping a bevy of women prisoners, toys for your own keif, your twisted pleasure? And you have the audacity to call me haughty?’
Aida was defiant enough in this moment not to
care if the prince completely lost his temper with her.
He swept a curt look over her face. ‘You have the emotional intellect of a schoolgirl. You are less instructed in the ways of life than the youngest concubine in my harem. You need tuition in the ways of being a woman.’
‘And you are going to be my teacher, is that it?’ Aida tried to speak the words with a cool indifference, but the suggestion in his remark stoked her already smouldering fear of his intentions. ‘You’d like to beat me down into a heap at your feet. I wouldn’t even put it past you to use a whip,’ she asserted more bravely than she felt.
Sakr El Din’s eyelids drooped in a smile; a gleam lay behind the intense look he gave her. ‘The aspects of a country formulate the character of a person. By living in the desert, your needs will undergo a change,’ he said softly. ‘You will understand that pleasure can be reaped from brutality, that pain when administered by an expert can lift you to unimagined ecstatic heights.’
‘Damn you and your arrogance!’ Aida’s hand clenched around a finger bowl, and she was preparing to hurl the contents in his face when he reached forward and pulled away her hand.
‘I wouldn’t try it,’ he murmured with blazing eyes. ‘I might be tempted to give you a taste of that whip before you are properly prepared for its enjoyment.’ He gestured to the meal set out so appetisingly on the low table. ‘Come, the food will get cold.’
Aida battled with a sudden dizziness, and cold sweat trickled down her spine at his words. Now she had no doubt she was his prisoner; she must control her temper and keep her head in order to think calmly of a way of escaping.
Not only did the mounds of food look inviting, they smelled heavenly. Aida had not eaten since the night before and, despite her fear and fury, she felt her mouth watering.
The prince poured a pale golden wine into her crystal glass. ‘Taste it, habibti. It is a wine distilled from the Zahdi dates, which are grown on the oasis.’
She did so, out of curiosity, and found it potent but admittedly delicious.
‘I thought the Muslim religion prohibited the drinking of alcohol.’
‘So it does, but we export our wine to many countries, and of course there are plenty of foreigners in Egypt to sell it to.’
Aida ate the food in a kind of hungry spell. She knew she needed all her strength if she was going to try to escape. Her eyes fell on a saucer on which was the depiction of a gazelle in flight from a leopard … such an appropriate symbol.
As if reading her thoughts, something with which he had often surprised her, the prince’s eyes narrowed until their pale golden irises seemed to be spears piercing her face. ‘Do you imagine Cairo would be so easy for you to find?’ he spoke mockingly. ‘Even the bravest men in my oasis get lost in the desert and die. How do you think a mere young woman would fare? And what would you do if the storm overtook you, eh?’
She looked up at him, pushing her plate away. ‘At least I wouldn’t be your prisoner.’
‘You might fall into hands less clean than mine.’
‘Anything is better than being here.’
He quirked a black eyebrow at her defiant stance. ‘You have a poor way of returning my hospitality.’
Her blue eyes flashed angrily. ‘You’re the last man to be sitting in judgement on me! If I’m ungrateful, it’s because you’ve kept me here. And now, please, I would like to return to my room.’
Sakr El Din rested his turbaned head against the cushioning of the divan. He took a long, almost black cigar from a humidor and lit the end. ‘Do relax against the cushions next to me, habibti, and stop your childish pantomime.’
Aida thrust aside his hand as he tried to pull her towards him. ‘No,’ she exclaimed, her eyes huge with indignation. ‘Don’t touch me, please. If you’re going to keep me against my will, at least allow me a little dignity.’
‘And what about mine, eh? You haven’t stopped insulting me since the beginning of the meal.’ He leaned towards her again. ‘You have excited me … whet my appetite for games that nothing else can assuage.’
In a flash, he pushed the table away and pulled Aida on to the cushion beside him against his hard body. His face in the lamplight was savage, his eyes ablaze with temper and desire. ‘You deserve the taste of the whip, my little filly, rather than my caresses. Be kissed instead of bruised, it will be far more pleasant.’
Aida fought him like a she-cat, but there was no getting away.
‘You’re just a barbarian, a savage in a golden robes. You disgust me,’ she hissed, gritting her teeth as she continued to struggle in his arms, causing every nerve in her body to cry out in protest.
‘Words I can silence with a kiss,’ he murmured, bending over her and putting his threat into action. He took her lips with a fierceness that brooked no refusal. The strength in his arms could have cracked her body as he forced her to yield to his kiss. The warmth of his hard and unyielding body burned through the silk of her habit, and his fingers bit into her flesh. She shuddered with pain and fright, and like a wild thing continued to struggle, even going so far as to kick at him.
Suddenly, as though she weighed nothing, the prince lifted her up in his muscled arms and made his way to the bedroom. Although she cried out and fought with all her strength, she was but a toy in his grip. An incredible fury shook her. Like a young vixen, she sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and saw the drops of blood run on the bronzed skin.
Oh God, what had she done! At once she was torn between the delight of having hurt him and the fear of his retaliation. Yet he barely flinched. The door of her bedroom was thrust open and he carried her to the great bed, dropping her on to the lace and silk coverlet without ceremony before opening a drawer in a small table beside the divan and taking out a chain, cuffs and padlock.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped as she struggled to get off the bed.
But he pushed her back silently, holding her down with the strong fingers of one hand, pressing into her breast, gripping her like the talons of a hawk. His eyes seemed to smoulder with points of fire in that dark, cruel face and she watched numbly as he cuffed her hands and feet and tied her with the chain, which he padlocked to the bed.
He stood there studying her, looking every inch a man without mercy in whom a rage of passion was building up.
‘Are you planning to cane me?’ Aida looked up at him, chin held high even though her spirit was flagging.
‘Alas, I will have to postpone that delight until the morning. I have an important meeting to attend to tonight, but the anticipation of administrating all sorts of pain and pleasure to your fair flesh will increase my enjoyment all the more.’
‘You won’t get away with this. They will come looking for me … The Embassy, Phares, Uncle Naguib, everybody … I’m not alone in the world, I have friends,’ she gasped.
Although she shrank inwardly with fear, Aida retained a cold look of dignity; it was the only way she had now to oppose him. She had learned that he liked to fight her; it awakened the animal in him and whet his sadistic nature.
His eyes raked over her face. ‘Good luck to them, habibti. By the time they come, not even the blue devil, effrit el azrak will be able to find you.’
And with these words, he turned and left the room.
Aida lay silently on the bed and as awareness of what was in store for her sank deeper into her mind, the quietness became torment. With a sudden sob, she buried her face in the silk pillow. How fiercely she wished she could kill him. If there had been a knife to hand, she would have plunged it into him the moment she had a chance. She shivered and gritted her teeth, vowing never to resort to self-pity. She’d got herself into this mess and surely there was a way out. She imagined a hundred ways of escaping, but none seemed plausible. Finally, fatigue and desperation overcame her and she sank into a deep sleep.
Dawn was not far off when Aida fancied she heard someone moving around her bed and opened her eyes. In the shadows, she recognised Alba and Khadija. Alarmed, not knowing wh
at was going to happen, she lifted herself up on one elbow.
‘Quick, roumia, get dressed with these clothes,’ Khadija urged, dropping some Bedouin robes next to Aida.
‘Khadija? You’re helping me …?’
‘Yes, quick, before my nephew returns.’ The old woman spoke under her breath as she swiftly unlocked the padlock holding Aida prisoner. ‘You are creating too much trouble in our happy harem and His Highness will not listen to reason. Your screams last night were a disgrace, and will only encourage others to revolt.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘A horse is awaiting you at the door to the palace. Ali, Abla’s brother, will take you to the edge of the oasis. From there, you are on your own.’
‘Do you have a map of the desert?’ she asked helplessly.
Khadija laughed scornfully as she undid the final cuff from Aida’s foot. ‘We have no maps here. Ali will give you a compass and a gourd of water. It’s a good thing I have a kind heart and haven’t poisoned you, or buried you alive in one of those ancient tombs of which my nephew is so fond.’
Aida rubbed her wrists, glancing around warily.
‘Where is the prince?’
‘That is no concern of yours. You’d better hurry before he comes back and all hell breaks loose. We will all be whipped, if not killed.’
‘What will happen when he finds out I’ve escaped?’
‘Heads will roll, I’m sure.’
Aida looked aghast. ‘Yours?’ Much as she had no liking for the woman, she wished her no harm.
Khadija shook her head. ‘He would never suspect me.’
‘Abla, then?’
‘No, I will be her alibi.’
‘Then whose?’
‘I have no doubt he will find someone to blame.’ She helped Aida put on a turban, draping the cloth about her shoulders; Aida had noticed commoners in the oasis wearing ones in this same style, quite different to the elegant headpiece worn by the prince. ‘Hurry, we will go from the back door. Your disguise will protect you. Cover your face and do not speak to anyone.’
Song of the Nile Page 42
