Margaret Pargeter

by Sanja

  Ross was reluctant to enter Armel's tent again after the tumult of the morning, but as there was no one around she knew she must grasp the opportunity which might never come again. Not for a moment did she dare allow herself the luxury of hesitation. Should anyone discover what she was up to she might never get another chance.

  Silently Ross slipped through the closed flap, seeing immediately, to her relief, some neatly stacked paper and writing material on the table. Even while the faint query flashed through her mind as to why he should want such things she hastily stuffed a few sheets in the folds of her caftan, along with a thick charcoal pencil, before beating an equally hasty retreat. The whole atmosphere of the tent reminded her too much of Armel, and the peculiar sensation in her throat she did not like.

  Under the palm trees Salem still waited. When she recovered her breath, Ross knelt down beside him and drew a living likeness of them both on the paper. Then came twp horses and the distant horizon. This was so cleverly executed that he understood right away, without the need for further gestures.

  Nodding his greying head, he smiled cunningly and held out his hand. Ross bit her lip, knowing instinctively what the man was after. With even more reluctance than she had entered Armel's tent, she drew from an inner pocket the gold watch she had managed so far to conceal. This, along with a small sum of money, had been hidden in her torn jeans and no one had apparently noticed. The watch had been a treasured expensive gift from her father, the only thing of real value she had ever possessed, and much as she hated parting with it Ross felt he would have wished her to do so under the circumstances.

  Salem's smile widened at the sight of the articles in her hand. Putting out his own hand, he made as if to take them, but she had the sense not to let him have them there and then.

  'Later,' she promised, and when he frowned sharply she indicated with her finger the rough city she had drawn on the paper. 'When we reach there 1'

  After a few moments this appeared to satisfy him as his quick frown changed into another smile. Taking the charcoal, he reached for the spare sheet of paper, clumsily but clearly sketching the first rays of sun before dawn. Ross, staring down at him as he worked, was impressed by the intelligence of it, especially as Armel had told her some of the older men had never attended any kind of school. Then she recalled that Moroccan culture went back almost to the beginning of time, that many of their cave drawings went back over tens of thousands of years, telling as clear a picture of life then as if the same people and animals existed today. And she had read that in the madrassahs —the Moslem law and theological colleges—artists paved the way for intellectuals, that the skilled craftsmen and talented sculptor had been the most highly esteemed.

  Salem's drawing undoubtedly said before dawn. How he was going to arrange it she did not know, but these people would have their own way of going about such matters. He would not have agreed if he had not known exactly what must be done. That he had not agreed to take her until he had seen her money convinced her he was not interested in her personally, that he was wise enough to realise her watch was worth a great deal more than the trouble she was putting him to. As a lone man, without a wife, he would probably, with the aid of this cash, set himself up in a small street business; in time he would perhaps be able to afford many of the comforts Armel no doubt denied him.

  Ross was ready and waiting long before the appointed hour the next morning. Again she had spent a resdess night, unable to suppress the despondency that gripped her now that she was leaving this place for ever. It wasn't sensible to imagine she could really feel nostalgic about a tent she had occupied for little over a week. It was even more ridiculous to feel a great reluctance to go now there was the opportunity.

  Small voices had tormented her as she had lain awake, staring wide-eyed into the darkness around her. What was there actually to return to? This country was wild and in many places barren, but it was hauntingly beautiful, in her eyes anyway. She had fallen in love with it, just as she had the ruthless Sidi ben Yussef who held her. The knowledge of this, coming as it had done like a bolt from the blue, had shaken Ross so much she had nearly sobbed out aloud. It seemed incredible that such a thing could have happened in so short a time. Yet hadn't .she lived through a lifetime with Armel? Didn't the world stand still, stop spinning on its axis when he kissed her? Never had she known such emotion as she had experienced then. Never, she knew, would she ever feel it again. Nothing like this could happen twice, no matter how long she lived.

  Temptation was almost irresistible. Shouldn't she stay, take whatever crumbs Armel offered, whatever his opinion of her? There could be several weeks of breathtaking happiness to set against the rest of her life, which might stretch as empty as the desert before her.

  But it was the reminder that she would have the rest of her life to live that finally decided Ross she must go. She loved Armel desperately, and while he didn't have any affection for her, she was aware he wanted her rather badly. Remembering his arms, the feeling that could rise so dangerously between them, Ross realised she might not easily escape the consequences of such a possible union if she stayed. He was a man who would take all or nothing, one who wouldn't stop until he had taken every last reserve, until she was committed to him fully in every possible way. Then she would be cast aside, a man so cruel he wouldn't give her a second thought, and she could be left with two to fend for. She, who had barely enough resources to look after herself.

  No! Although the ultimate outcome held a strange, almost irresistible fascination, it was one she could never sensibily contemplate. She must go !

  An hour later she was riding swiftly away from the camp with Salem by her side. The horses were not Armel's best, but they had a heartening turn of speed. Ross hoped it would be possible to return them later. While she did not mind so much about bribing Salem, she had no great wish to be thought a thief.

  With some difficulty she had retrieved her discarded trousers. Although they were terribly torn at least they would be more comfortable to ride in than any of the clothes Jamila had given her. About Jamila she refused to think, realising that the girl, along with others, would probably receive the barbed edge of Armel's tongue when he arrived home and found her gone. Where was he? she wondered, as she gripped the saddle tightly with her knees. Fervently she hoped she and Salem would not bump into him before they managed to reach safety. An area of this size was just the unlikely place where such a thing might easily happen, whereas in a square mile one might wander all day and never see a face one knew.

  How Salem had managed to avoid arousing the suspicions of the other men at the oasis, she couldn't tell. To have done so, especially when he had had to take two horses, proved he must be cunning as well as daring. When Ross spared a moment to think of this it made her curiously uneasy, but it was something she refused to dwell on. Salem might not be too trustworthy, otherwise he would not have been so eager to desert Armel, but she was in no position to pick and choose. Salem was not anything she could not cope with. Even if the worst did happen and he ran off with her money, she would still have a horse, and she could not be so very far from civilisation.

  Some time later Ross came to realise bitterly that, so far as riding went, she was very much out of practice. She hadn't, in fact, ridden since she left school, when the orphanage had arranged holidays for the children who had no one to go to. She had spent three weeks with a family who owned a riding school, and in that time she had learnt a great deal, many of the basic principles. With Cynthia, of course, there had been no opportunity to further that brief education, but Ross had thought it would simply be a matter of taking up where she had left off. How mistaken one could get, she was only just beginning to learn. Long before midday she was sore and throughout the remainder of the day, which seemed the longest she had ever spent, it became a matter of severe self- discipline to stay in the saddle. The sun burnt her shirt-clad back, for she hadn't been able to find a thick burnous, such as the men wore, and her head ached from the consta
nt glare, the fine particles of sand blown from the hooves of the leading horse.

  They stopped only a few minutes for a break at lunch time. Food was something Ross had decided to leave to Salem, imagining he would understand she had no means of getting any herself. To her dismay he appeared to have only one goatskin of meal and another of water and did not seem at all keen to share even these meagre rations with her. He did, with a toothless grin, draw a handful of dates from a greasy pocket and offer Ross these, but she felt so secretly repulsed by the dirt on his hands that she was forced to decline. She did manage to beg from him one small drink of water, and with this she forced herself to be content. It could not be for long, and she willed herself to forget her terrible- thirst, her growing hunger and remember those awful hours she had spent with the nomads, when she had been given nothing to eat at all.

  That afternoon the charm of the desert seemed rapidly to disappear. Instead of the undoubted beauty, Ross's mind started to become obsessed by all that was terrifying—sandstorms, the possibility of getting lost, of wild animals and snakes. Of these Lance had used to reel off the names of a few, the cobra, the horned viper being, he had said, the worst, with the victim having about one minute to get the proper anti-toxin. Then there was the scorpion, which had featured so frequently in the beds of the unwanted in ancient tales. Ross shuddered to think of the awful fate that might await her if she did not take care.

  Yet disaster, when it came, was not in the guise of snakes but through her horse. It went lame soon after the sun had reached its height, and Salem's fury was not pleasant to see. When he stopped to inspect the animal's foot he simply snarled at Ross when she tried to ask if it was going to be all right. It was clear he understood what she was getting at, if he couldn't understand her stumbling French. Sullenly he shook his head, but seemed to accept that they could now go only at walking pace while the horse still limped. This did not prevent him from attacking the poor beast every now and again with a stick, much as Ross tried to prevent it. She felt so sorry for the horse she would gladly have walked, but each time she started to dismount Salem flew into an even greater temper. Long before they halted for the night Ross was near to hating him—and hating herself more for ever having left the safety of Armel's camp.

  The place where they had stopped filled Ross with further dismay. It looked like a small oasis but was really no more than an almost dried up water hole surrounded by a few stunted trees. There didn't seem enough wood of any kind to light a fire, which she knew to be almost essential in the desert.

  No fire, no food, and a man she instinctively did not trust for company! How Freddy would laugh at her stupidity when she found him. Rather desperately she slid her stiff, weary limbs from the horse and began to gather up the few pieces of twigs and sticks she saw lying on the stony sand. Salem did not seem inclined to do more than watch, as if he knew the wood she gathered would only burn for perhaps an hour, no longer.

  The horses had slaked their thirst in the brackish water, but dry as her throat was, Ross shrank from the black, evil- looking colour of it. Never had she expected to feel so miserable! The headache which had begun earlier now pounded, and despairingly she gazed around for some place she might lie and rest. Darkness had come, as it always did, with a frightening suddenness, and she could find little reassurance in the few flickering flames she had managed to drag from the fire.

  Swiftly she threw on another armful of the dried tinder, before accepting a drink from Salem's water bag. She was surprised he had offered it, but was so grateful she didn't immediately question his unusual generosity. Not until she gave it back to him did she see that he held out his other hand.

  For a moment Ross felt confused. Then, when he made an encircling movement about her wrist, she realised he wanted her watch. Not the time—these desert men recognised each hour without the need of any clock. No, he was after her watch and money, and he wanted them now. Clearly he intended leaving her to fend for herself.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ross, her heart pounding with shock, stared numbly at the smirking, determined man before her, trying desperately not to let him see her fear as she stubbornly shook her head. It was only as he stepped nearer that her courage failed, and reluctantly she drew the precious watch from her pocket along with the money. What could be the use of quibbling? He was wiry, much stronger than she. She would rather do anything than risk being touched by him 1

  As soon as the watch lay in his hands she had thought he would leave her and disappear into the desert. To her horror he did nothing of the sort. After placing his loot carelessly beside his goatskin containers he turned back to her again, laying his dirty hands on her, leering at her as he tried to draw her closer.

  Ross gave a scream of terror, then started to fight him with every ounce of her strength. Her resistance seemed to take him by surprise, but he was strong and she knew that gradually she was being overpowered. Her shirt tore, ripped down her shoulder and arm by his scrawny fingers, and she could hear the breath hissing evilly between his coarse lips. Wildly she swung around, pushing against him, but he gave no sign of weakening and she felt his hands closing tightly over her neck.

  Then, just as a wavering darkness began mercifully to take possession of her senses, she was free. Salem was torn away from her as hands grasped him roughly, throwing him angrily some yards across the sand.

  Ross scarcely needed to look to see that her rescuers were Armel ben Yussef's men. As she sank helplessly to her knees she lifted her tumbled head to see through a blur that he stood only a few yards away, a whip in his hand.

  'No!' she cried impulsively, lifting both arms to shield her face, thinking he intended using it on her. 'Please,' she whispered, 'no, not that 1'

  But it wasn't herself he had in mind—not then. Ruthlessly, as the men dragged the cringing Salem from her, Armel's whip rose and fell several times on the man's back, and each time Salem screamed with fright. Armel seemed to know exactly what-he was doing and, Ross thought hysterically, his men looked quite disappointed when he stopped, too soon to have done any real damage. Salem was lifted, flung over his horse, the animal receiving a slap just sharp enough to cause it to gallop swiftly off into the desert, a wildly bewailing Salem clinging to its back. Ross's watch lay where he had placed it on the goatskin.<,

  Ross still crouched where she had fallen, watching Armel helplessly. Would it be her turn next? Never had she seen his face so cold; it was even more forbidding than that first time she had seen him in the nomad's tent. Ignoring her, he wrapped his whip before striding towards her horse, bending, as the animal limped, to examine its leg. There was only "a minute before he straightened, then taking a small revolver from his pocket he passed it to one of his men, rapping out some low-voiced instructions as he did so. Quickly the man led the injured horse from sight and there was barely another minute before a shot rang out.

  Almost at the point of collapse, Ross felt sick, so disgusted with men in general she could scarcely bring herself to look at Armel even though she owed him so much. As he came to her at last, she cried, 'Did you have to do that? Salem is a beast, but I thought you were better !'

  'Indeed, madam!' his voice rang like steel, lashing her as surely as if he had used his whip. 'So we are all one as bad as another—an opinion I will recall at some future date. That horse could not have made the journey back. He never had any hope of recovery. It was better to put him out of his misery without further delay. Would you have left him to suffer?'

  'And-Salem?' she mumbled drunkenly, realising the truth of what Armel said. She hadn't intended asking about the man. Certainly he was horrible, but perhaps it was not his fault he had acted as he had done. Hadn't she bribed him with something he couldn't resist? Armel knew this as his eyes had dwelt comprehendingly on Ross's money and watch. What would happen to Salem now?

  'Did you have to use your whip?' she breathed.

  'What would you have me do?' Armel's voice ripped into her. 'Take him hundreds of miles to the near
est town, lodge a formal complaint with the police? Attempt to explain your part in the matter? By the time they dealt with him he would have forgotten the crime of which he is guilty. No, girl. Justice in the desert might be rough, but it serves its purpose very well. Salem will think twice before he commits the same crime again. Not that I am sure whose crime is greater, yours or his 1'

  'It was my fault, monsieur.' Confession might be good for the soul, but it hurt.

  'Of that I have no doubt,' he retorted, his face suddenly livid as he grasped her by her arms, pulling her savagely up to face him. 'Didn't you realise—don't you ever stop to think, you little fool, what you were doing? He could have killed you, left you to die. No one might have found more than a few bleached bones !'

  A wave of horror hit Ross again and she would have fainted if he had not caught her to him. Once again he called curt orders to his men and almost instantly she was lying on a pile of warm blankets beside a fire which seemed to be blazing miraculously. Armel knelt by her side, pressing a silver flask of brandy to her shaking lips.

  It ran down her throat so that she choked and cried out in pain as it burnt her dried lips. Yet such pain seemed nothing compared with the one in her heart as his hard, unrelenting face swam above her. 'Armel,' she pleaded, there being no room left for pride, 'I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble. Will you forgive me?'