by C. L. Donley
“Out of the hands of a dead man.”
One of the other men punched Alya in the face. Hafiz raised his hand.
“This dead man. Did you see how he died?”
“Yes,” Alya replied after spitting out blood.
The General inspected her face with his hand on her chin. The smell of her offended his nostrils.
“When was the last time you showered?”
“Many weeks.”
The answer garnered a laugh from the guards. She’d been captured only a few days.
“You’re a sheepherder?”
“And goats, sir. My father was.”
“Your father is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Your husband?”
Alya found his line of questioning very telling.
“I have no husband. I am a virgin,” she added.
“Liar!” the guard yelled as they again began to abuse her.
“Do not lay another hand on this girl, or I will have you both courtmarshalled.”
The guards didn’t move as they held Alya by both arms. They eyed her maliciously.
“Did these men abuse you?”
“They beat me.”
“Did they rape you?” Hafiz kept his eyes on the soldiers as he spoke.
“I lied and told them I fuck the goats so they would leave me alone.”
“Commander, your Highness,” one of them backpedaled, “we would never dishonor the Ghassani army in such a way. Besides, the girl is a liar, she has a disease. She doesn’t bathe, she admitted to it!”
“She lives in the mountains, Corporal.” Hafiz gave them a stern look of impatience, “her country is being bombed to hell.”
“I would like to be returned to my father’s land. He has no brothers or sons, and we have been sheepherders on that land for generations,” she suddenly said.
Her bold request took the General by surprise.
“Did your father not think to produce an heir?”
“My brothers are dead, sir. All three.”
Hafiz thought for a moment as he studied her pale multi-colored eyes.
“Your people attacked our country.”
“The mountains are my people,” she replied.
General Hafiz thought of a decisive, respectable compromise.
“I will speak to the king. Perhaps we can strike an agreement in exchange for access to your land.”
“No. I will speak to the king.”
The guards were dumbstruck, though they didn’t move for fear of the General.
“And how will you get this audience with the king?”
“You will request it on my behalf, in exchange for what I know.”
In light of the news of the coming surrender, Hafiz couldn’t stifle a grin. The girl was very young, no more than sixteen. But she was sharp. Ballsy.
“And what information could you give me that could possibly be of use?”
Alya didn’t have any information, but that wasn’t entirely true, come to think of it. One occurence did stick out to her as odd while she was hiding out. It was a hail Mary, but his pre-occupation with the dead soldier got her wheels turning.
“I know where the soldiers are being kept.”
General Hafiz kept a straight face but, she’d gotten his attention. She could tell.
The Americans had lost two soldiers, presumably being held as prisoners of war. Officially, the Americans weren’t supposed to be there at all. Only three people knew of this situation: him, the American military, and this woman.
Right now, this sheepherder’s daughter had a shitload of leverage, and she seemed to know it.
“Your father. Did he kill one of ours?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is how he died?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How long have you been hiding out?”
“I’d rather save this information for the king.”
“I am the Prince of Ghassan and next in line for the throne. If you’ve spoken to me, you’ve spoken to the king.”
“Very well,” she began, “then I want clean clothes, a shower, and a proper place to sleep. And I want an agreement in writing, with the king’s seal, that I am the rightful owner of my family’s land.”
The future king of Ghassan and Commander of the Ghassani armed forces stood in silence, officially intrigued.
“Why should I give you anything on merely the word that you have information?”
“You shouldn’t,” she replied.
She looked him squarely in the eye without a trace of decorum. If she were in Ghassan, she would suffer consequences for her disrespect. But he sensed no such sentiment. If anything, the respect was mutual.
“How do I know you’re not a trap?”
“I suppose we’ll have to trust each other,” she said.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“May I please have food?” she suddenly asked.
It was then that he noticed her feeble frame, her trembling that was likely more from hunger than fear.
“Food for a name,” he said.
“Alya, sir. My name is Alya.”
* * *
“Apparently the guards are having some difficulty with her, your highness. She keeps getting caught sneaking around the palace, and she refuses to eat with the queen’s attendants.”
Prince Hafiz returned to the palace several days later to check on his asset. When at the palace he was addressed as the prince again, a title that he’d always had and therefore meant less to him, though it was technically higher than his military rank. The king’s young advisor caught him up on the ruckus their new house guest was causing.
“How does she eat?” the prince asked.
“She rummages through the palace waste at odd hours.”
“She’s a strange girl, even for one from the mountains.”
“She needs a doctor,” warned the king’s advisor.
“So, get her a doctor.”
“Your father will grow suspicious.”
“Let him. She’s important.”
That night the doctor was called, and after some difficulty restraining her, the prince was called to her room.
It was the first time he’d seen her completely clean, dressed in finery that hung on her still slight figure. Her smooth skin was dark and weathered, her eyes a mix of green blue and brown at the edges like her country itself. Her long dark hair clung to her face in clumps.
“Tell your men to let go of me!” she cried.
“If you want my help, you have to cooperate.”
“He will take my womb!” she spat.
“She’s incredibly feverish, probably hallucinating,” the doctor could only speculate.
“He will not. You have my word.”
She looked at the prince distrustfully. Finally she calmed down.
She spit in her hand and held it out, offering it to shake. A long abandoned practice of making oaths and contracts between men in the region, enforceable by death. It was the way Manaf became the country of Manaf long ago.
The prince mirrored the gesture and their hands met.
He didn’t know how to feel, touching her for the first time this way.
He’d been to many balls, where great men of other countries had presented their virgin daughters to him, veiled and covered in fine fabric and jewels. He’d also had many women of the night as a soldier moving up the ranks, disguising his parentage.
But he’d never felt the way he felt now, seeing the young girl react to his touch for the first time.
When she requested clean clothes and a place to sleep, the prince let her think she was getting something she wouldn’t have already gotten, and he was glad she gave him a reason to bring her back to the palace. From the moment he saw her, he wanted to clean her off himself, every inch of her and dress her in silk. Now they were touching, skin and spit. It felt more ceremonial than any wedding.
The doctor requested the Prince join him in the hallway once his examin
ation was done.
“She’s a bit jaundiced,” the doctor began. “The queen’s attendants appeared to have treated her… infection, but she’s still running a fever and can’t keep anything down. I suspect whatever infection she had has spread to her bladder and probably her kidneys.”
“She must be in unbearable pain,” the Prince said.
“She will have to be recovered before she can request an audience,” the king’s advisor chimed in.
“How long will that take?”
“A week?” the doctor estimated.
“I don’t have time for this,” Hafiz revealed his impatience. “Get her some medicine, some pain killers. I need to know what she knows. Now.”
The next morning Alya felt well enough to eat, her fever having broken, but she was exhausted. She had taken some awful tasting medicine that she had thrown up twice. Finally her attendants were ordered by the doctor to administer a thimble full of the medicine mixed with a little water every hour. In the morning she was given a piece of dry toast.
She was then dressed in a dark blue skirt and top that bared her midriff and a sheer black cape that attached around her neck and flowed down to the floor. A constellation of jewels adorned the bottom of the skirt and the edges of the cape.
“Where did this dress come from?”
“It was made for you especially, my lady.”
She was escorted outside the king’s throneroom, where she waited for the king to accept her invitation.
“The lady may enter!” a voice boomed, and the great throne room doors opened.
Alya kept her head high as she walked confidently toward the throne, leaving her attendants behind, some of whom broke into a slight run trying to catch up to her.
Suddenly Alya felt herself being grabbed. Her feet came out from under her and she hit the ground, a knee in her back, her face smushed against the purple of the rug. Was this a trap?
“What is this?” King Khalil bellowed.
“She is from the mountains of Manaf, my king,” the Prince sat at his side, “please excuse her. She does not know protocol.”
The king nodded and his guards relinquished their grip on her and helped her to her feet. Her hair fell from its pinned up place.
“What is it you want, girl?”
She writhed under the grip of the royal guards.
“My father was killed by your soldiers,” Alya began. “My brothers are all buried and I have no one to help me tend the land or help me guard it against bandits.”
“And what would you have me do?”
“I need you to decree that my father’s land belongs to me as my inheritance.”
“Why would the king of Ghassan get involved in the matters of Manaf?”
“Are you not a man of influence?”
The king thought for a moment, turning to his son the prince, who couldn’t stifle his grin.
“My son tells me he made you an offer in exchange for access through your territory.”
“He has.”
“And?”
“And he is welcome to it.”
“And what about the rest of us?” the king provocatively asked. The throne room was quiet. Surprisingly, a shy smile appeared on the girl’s face, the first that Hafiz had ever seen and his insides turned to mush. The king himself had a gleam in his eye.
“Whatever advantage the mountains can give you is yours, your Majesty.”
“Very well. The court will draft a deed that I will sign. Two of my men will accompany you back to your land.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
“We will not mention this visit to the king of Manaf.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
As the young woman was escorted out, the king turned and looked at his son, the prince. His young advisor, the son of his previous advisor, was at his right hand.
“Do not even think about it,” the king read his mind.
“Why not?”
“We made an agreement with Ashwari.”
“Before I was born,” Hafiz protested.
“Yes, and you have put off the meeting of the princess far too many times.”
“We are at war, abba. Should I abandon my men?”
“Enough excuses. You will be king, Hafiz,” King Khalil reminded him. “I’ve tolerated your need to look death in the face these many years. You will need a queen.”
“When the war is won,” answered Hafiz.
“Relations with Manaf will be strained. If you wish to form an alliance, one of your brothers may marry the girl.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Do not pout, General,” the king teased him. “Love’s arrow pierced me many times before I settled on your mother. It will be the same with you too.”
* * *
King Hafiz received a request for an audience with the queen mother. Another one.
He knew that if he turned down a third he would have hell to pay. He granted it, and the great throne room doors opened.
“Permission to approach the king,” her shrill voice filled the auditorium as she sauntered down the aisle draped in royal purple.
“What is it, mother?”
“Request to speak to the king in private.”
The two retired to the private king’s chamber and he dismissed the royal guard.
“Mother, you can speak to me alone anytime. Why do you waste the palace’s resources?”
“The king of Ashwari has married off his daughter to a sheik in Saudi Arabia.”
“That is wonderful news, mother.”
“That is all you have to say?”
“She was fifteen, when I was born, mother,” he sighed, exasperated. “They should have considered their daughter before they agreed to uphold such a nonsense arrangement.”
“You did this on purpose,” she accused him.
“The king can marry whomever he wants.”
“Yes, but you plan to make a wreckless choice,” she deduced, “otherwise you would not have waited until you were free of all other obligations.”
“You brought up wives, mother. Not me.”
“Do not tell me your mind is still fixed on that wild animal from the mountains.”
“Choose your next words, carefully mother.”
“It’s been five years, your Highness,” she mockingly sneered, “if she had any wits about her she is married by now. With children.”
“She is,” he replied, “To a merchant. And she is childless.”
“I knew it!” she said, “You’re a wreckless king! She’s a filthy whore and she’s not even of noble birth! You’re going to ruin this country!”
“That’s enough. Get her out of here.”
As the guards gingerly took hold of the queen mother she yanked herself away, indignant.
“If your father saw how you treated me, he would spin in his grave!” she yelled as she walked out.
“My father’s head was grey before his time because of you, and now he is free,” the king replied to mother unaffected.
When Hafiz lost his father last year, he lost a piece of his heart. The only advantage was the fact that he was now the king, and that his mother officially had no power whatsoever over him. He longed for comfort, the first bachelor king in many generations. But there was only one woman he wanted, only one who haunted his dreams.
* * *
The next day, the king’s helicopter landed in the midst of the sprawling landscape of Alya’s land.
She retreated from the small house and met the king and his men outside, the wind in her hair whipped up from the swirling blades of the helicopter. She looked mature but still every bit as youthful. Happy and much more healthy. It instantly brought a smile to the king’s face. She recognized him like she would an older brother, with fondness and trust. His heart skipped a beat against his will. Any power he had was an illusion. She could make him throw away half his kingdom if she wished.
“What brings you to the mountains, your Highness?”
“Here to visit an old friend.”
Alya smiled.
“You look well,” he said
“You’re too kind, your majesty. As do you.”
King Hafiz had grown up in the palace and now he was king. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell Alya his real reason for being there, which was to make her his queen. He knew very well that with all his power, he couldn’t “make” her his anything. Not without losing her respect, something he was not willing to do.
“Would you like to come in, your majesty? I’m afraid there may not be enough room for you and your men.”
“No need. Let us enjoy the weather up here on the countryside.”
The king and his men and attendants made a spread on the steep grassy hill, the breeze blowing forceful and cool, the mountains like great skyscrapers in the distance.
“I was sorry to hear about your father. My condolences to your family.”
“Thank you.”
“He was a fair man. Honorable.”
“Yes, he was.”
“My husband will be home soon,” she volunteered.
The king smirked. Either she knew why he was here and desired to keep him from embarrassing himself, or perhaps it was her way of reprimanding him, telling him that he waited too late.
“What is his name?” he asked, as if ignorant.
“Hazim.”
“Your husband works the land?”
“He’s a merchant, your majesty. He hires hands to help me work it.”
“Ah, so this is a marriage of convenience.”
“No, your majesty. We married for love.”
The word lodged in his brain, disrupting his guts.
“You love him?”
“Yes.”
“Is this man as old as your father?”
Alya furrowed her brow in confusion.
“Did you come here to insult my husband?”
The king was livid, but he didn’t let it show. Here was this mountain beauty, having auctioned herself off to some wrinkled businessman for survival. And she was was grateful to him. So much so that she loved him. And defended him.
“I’m here to invite you to the palace. Both of you.”
“Why, your majesty?”
“I want to buy your land.”
Alya gazed directly at the king, hostility in her eyes.
“You will redirect your gaze, madam,” one of the king’s men warned her.
