"A soul. A soul I have a son!" The sheik's voice turned the tension above her into shouts of happiness.
Anna looked up. The light grew dimmer, the walls and people receding. The last thing she remembered before slipping into a deep sleep was the sheik's exalted expression as he held the red squalling infant high in outstretched arms.
Years later, looking back, Anna sometimes wondered what life might have been like after that if everything had gone differently. Perhaps in time she might have forgotten her husband and the world she had known before and come only to recall her luxurious life as "favorite," mother of the heir, and first wife to the sheik of El Abadan. But what might have been was shattered in a single moment the following day when a pendulous-breasted wet-nurse with a wide smile presented Anna her son, and the gurgling baby looked up.
Anna's breathe rasped inward in the sharp cry of one who is cut to the bone and waiting for the blood to appear. Merciful God, this wasn't the sheik's child, but Brandon's! If the shape of his tiny face left any doubt, it was erased by the diamond-shaped birthmark behind his ear, identical to Brandon's.
Inwardly she shivered, clutching the baby to her in a protective, loving gesture that made her attendants smile and a voice from over her shoulder say, "So you love the son if not the father, Ann-Ah?"
It was the sheik. And holding tiny Brandon to her breast, Anna shrank from him, her eyes turning cold as glass. As the sheik's dark face leaned over her child, his sharp features seemed more sinister than ever before, though his smile was gentle.
Repulsion tingled up her spine and she flushed scarlet. Did he know? Did he even suspect? Not only was there a birthmark, but the child's skin, though still reddish, was fair like hers.
Anna tried to discern any question in his expression. But she could read nothing but paternal pride. Her thoughts raced. Surely he must realize she had been no virgin that first time. But of course when she had stabbed him, there had been so much blood and confusion, and he could have drawn whatever conclusion he pleased. And men were so vain-they would believe whatever was most flattering.
Looking at him now, she longed to throw the truth into his arrogant face. But she didn't dare. Surely then her son would be murdered just as his father had been. No! No one must know . . . never even suspect!
Rocking her baby, Anna cooed softly to him. It seemed as if Brandon had come back to her in the form of this tiny child, hers to love and protect. Tears sprang to her eyes. And now there could be no escape. A baby could never survive the trip across the desert, and she could never abandon him.
Brushing her own tears off the baby's white arm, Anna glanced bitterly up at the sheik's triumphant expression. He had won, though he would never know why. For all her struggles and rebellion and plans of escape, she was held here by ties that were as old as time and as unbreakable. The jaws of the trap had closed with finality. Then quite suddenly, with a sweeping chill that made her shiver, Anna Phillips realized that she would never see home again.
PART II
KARIM AL-SHARIF
THE PALACE OF EL ABADAN-1884
Chapter 10
The sun was just lifting itself above the city walls of El Abadan as Karim al-Sharif strode down the stone steps and into the palace gardens, long robes fluttering at his booted heels.
Dawn was Karim's favorite time, an hour which sometimes found him waking up among his love-sated women or, more often, galloping across the desert at the head of his father's security patrols. This morning, however, was to be spent differently. In less than an hour Karim would be guarding his father during a journey to the Assar oasis, a hundred kilometers to the south. They would be gone several days and now he was hurrying to join his mother and pay his respects before leaving.
As he entered the garden Karim adjusted the neckline of his outer robes. This morning he had made certain his robes were spotless, and that the smell of women and of pleasure had been washed from his body. He had long known how shocked his mother could be by the sexual side of his life, no matter how natural, even commendable his father considered it to be.
He wouldn't want her to know how he had spent the previous night and, recalling it himself, pictured the new sultry-eyed beauty he had brought to his harem only the night before. Then, smiling, Karim continued down the cobblestone walk, passing between acacias and oleanders whose coral blossoms reminded him of the, girl's lips.
A slight breeze swayed palm fronds overhead, disturbing the cluster of bees darting ravenously around its pollen clusters. Then rounding a curve in the path, Karim came upon his mother sitting alone on a carved stone bench.
She was very erect, her profile still young and clean lined, though something about the thinness of her shoulders made her seem fragile and somehow old. And it was only now as she turned slowly and saw him that her perpetually sad eyes glimmered with light.
Lifting his mother's hand, Karim brushed the back of it with his lips in the French greeting she preferred to the more traditional salaam where one touched the forehead, lips, and breast in a flowing motion.
"Brandon, my son," Anna whispered with an almost passionate ring.
"Mother," Karim answered simply with a loving smile, before seating himself close beside her. That she called him Brandon Phillips instead of Karim al-Sharif as everyone else did seemed to Karim perfectly natural. She had always done so and it was, he supposed, her own pet name for him.
So it was not her address that brought concern to his eyes, but rather how much thinner she had become, accentuating the ephemeral quality that had always clung to her. With extra gentleness he held her thin veined hand as she smiled up at him.
He is so tall, Anna was thinking, even taller than his father. How proud Brandon would be if he could see his son now. He had proven himself a champion at the spring festival last year, defeating all the tribal champions in accuracy with a rifle and in knife throwing. Then only a month ago he had won the yearly palo contest, a brutal game played on horseback in which the men competed for possession of a beheaded goat which, after it was tossed high in the air by an elder, became the property of any man tough and skilled enough to successfully fight off the others.
The object of the contest was simply to get the goat any way possible and keep it long enough to carry it across the goal line at the distant end of a sandy flat below the cliffs of El Abadan. There were no rules to the game. All means were used except actual weapons. Tripping an opponent's horse or several opponents uniting to unhorse a single one were all permitted and encouraged by the crowd that lined the sides of the field to cheer their favorites.
Seated in a private pavilion behind a screen so she could see but not be seen, Anna had felt unable to look, though she couldn't possibly have looked away. So putting her hands to her eyes and spreading her fingers to peep between them, she had watched the men gallop fiercely up and down the field. But in the end of it was Karim, bloody and bruised but smiling, who rode his black foaming stallion across the goal and onto the raised platform where the most revered elder, Ali Ben Zadi, awarded him the prize of a gold medallion.
After that day the respect shown to him by the men was no longer simply that due his status as crown prince but because he had shown himself a leader. Even the older ones began asking his advice on various matters and inviting him to their houses and tents to dine and to eye their discretely displayed daughters.
Almost shyly now Anna's eyes studied her son as she thanked heaven for the thousandth time that the desert sun had bronzed his skin as his heredity had not. For all appearances this young man before her was as Arab as the long head scarf that twisted round and round his head to form a turban, the very end being left to drape rakishly to one side. No one had ever suspected his real parentage, or if suspicious, had not dared to speak. And now as Anna watched him she wondered if it was the time to tell him the truth or if she should wait. How could she begin a fantastic tale? What would he say?
She had always intended to tell him someday but, in her mother's eyes,
Anna still saw in his grown-up face what remained of the child that he had been. For all his strength and handsomeness and twenty years, Brandon was still her baby and, despite his maturity, he still possessed a fiery temper. Who could tell how he would react to learning his real father had been murdered by the man he now so proudly called by that name?
It could so easily end in disaster. It was this fear that kept her silent on the matter now, reaching instead to touch the long bronzed fingers that so resembled his father's, as she asked, "Why are you leaving El Abadan, my son?"
A servant appeared with tea which was served with cups and saucers instead of a single demitasse used by Arabs. Karim took his cup and sipped from its edge rather than downing it in a single gulp as he did when among the men.
"Englishmen have camped in the ruins of the old fortress at Sevit," he explained. "There has been trouble concerning the well water there, and the Assar tribe has complained and called a tribal council. I go with my father to hear the words of the Assar. Then the council of elders will decide what is to be done."
Anna's wan face was startled into animation. "Englishmen? Here?" she said, her thoughts suddenly racing.
From time to time she had heard of parties of Europeans, but never as near as the fortress of Sevit. Oh, if she could only go to them and take Brandon with her. Perhaps she could explain their circumstances and be given protection. A kind of elation expanded within her for a moment as she thought of seeing familiar white faces, of speaking her own language, and of hearing news of England and France.
Glancing at her son, Anna burned to tell him her secret but, fighting down the impulse, she compressed her lips. No doubt the English force was small, she told herself, and would be no match for the sheik's pursuing forces even if they did agree to protect her.
Anyway she could never risk, being the reason for another slaughter. And thinking of this made the hope she felt diminish and pass away, fear suddenly taking its place as she asked her son, "What will the sheik do to the Englishmen?"
Karim didn't miss the hesitation in his mother's voice. He had always known she didn't accept the people of El Abadan, or her position as first and most honored wife of his father. Instead she clung to her white ways, even insisting he be educated in English, French, and geography in addition to the lessons his father gave him in trade, medicine, horse breeding, war strategies, and the Holy Koran. And during the time he spent with her she would often remind him, "You are half-white, Brandon, you must always remember that."
Now he squeezed her small hand and kissed it. "Do not worry, Mother. There should be no need for bloodshed. The complaint from the Assar chief was unspecific, probably only a minor matter. The English will certainly not challenge a force larger than their own and, if they go in peace, there will be no need for trouble."
Looking up into his dark, smiling eyes Anna listened to the deep tones of his voice that reminded her of that brief happy time twenty-one years ago when it had been her husband’s voice. How well her son understood her, just as his father had, and like him, tried to be reassuring.
Still her forehead creased with worry as she said, "But, Brandon, you must be careful. You must remember you are half white. You must not let the sheik raid the fort or commit murder!"
"There is no need to commit murder,"' he said calmly. "We will only turn the white men away."
But he could see his words had little effect on his mother's fearful expression.
She didn't speak for several minutes, her eyes looking at him with a sad longing. She reached within her robes and withdrew a ring threaded on a long gold chain. She held the object in her closed palm for a moment, shutting her eyes briefly as if in prayer before unclasping her fingers and slipping the chain and the ring over his head.
Karim had seen it many times; a heart-shaped ruby ring inscribed simply Beloved on the underside of the stone. His mother had once told him it was an heirloom from her family. He always had wondered if perhaps there was more that she did not say, but he did know she valued it more than any of the magnificent treasures given her by the sheik.
"I want you to have this," she whispered. "This ring has been dearer to me than you can understand now. I want you to take it with you and wear it always as a symbol of my love."
Karim felt his insides shift with a soft emotion. Then, as gently he embraced his mother, he noticed tears in her eyes. He held her closer then, as if she were his child. "I will wear it always," he said solemnly.
"Yes," she said. "And I love you. Promise you will always remember how I love you."
He nodded. "I promise."
"And promise me," she continued, her eyes opening wider. "Promise me there will be no bloodshed, that the English will be spared."
For a moment then Karim paused and studied his mother. It was not an easy promise to make. While he was his father's heir, his powers were severely limited until he actually assumed the throne. And if the white soldiers should become hostile. . . .
"Promise me," she repeated, her thin hands now clinging to his sleeve. "Promise the English will not be harmed."
How pale she is, Karim thought, and how fragile. The weight of her sorrow and love pulled upon something deep within him. Could he deny her anything? Then pressing the ring to his lips, he dropped it down the neckline of his robe to rest against his heart before saying, "I promise."
Chapter 11
It took only a day to reach the camp of Ben Sadi Assar, leader of the Assar tribe, and once there, Karim could easily see, as could everyone, that the Assar's well had caved in.
Silently, the sheik led the way down the short hill and scraped his boot in the dry sand where once water had been. Nearby palm trees were still flourishing, but while there was underground water for their needs, it obviously was out of reach of the tribesmen and, therefore, of the goats that gathered around the collapsed opening, hanging their heads and bleating plaintively.
Still the sheik was silent, his face impassive, and no one else spoke as he led the way back up the hill and into a large tent. When Karim, following directly behind his father, bent to step under the tent flap, he was surprised to find the council of the five tribes already assembled there and waiting.
Karim touched his forehead to show proper respect for his elders before seating himself in the hassock next to but lower than his father's and arranged in a circle with the other cushions and hassocks.
Karim hadn't expected them to meet so soon. He had expected an opportunity to fill his stomach and to quench his thirst. But seeing there would be no delay for such luxuries, Karim removed his thoughts from his clawing hunger and, with a developed self-discipline focused his attention instead on the meeting at hand.
The Sheik of El Abadan, Grand Sanusi, and leader of the council were the first to speak in a quiet serious voice.
"We have come, and we have seen the damage to the well of this oasis that is the proper domain of the tribe of Assar. And now we ask the leader of the Assar, Ben Sadi Assar, to speak of those who have dared commit this unholy act of desecrating this well and source of life."
All heads turned to Ben Sadi Assar, whose cold countenance fixed them all with a look of greatest gravity.
"The English soldiers," he began from between clenched teeth. "They have proven themselves once again more treacherous than hyenas. All men know this oasis has been but a small watering hole yielding only ten skins of water between dawn and dusk. Always the sides of this well have been fragile so they must be treated respectfully and drawn with great care. But the white men are greedy. They are not satisfied with the slowness of the water, though it has served my people thus for a thousand years. The whites came with tools of a type we have not seen before, great metal scoops operated by ropes, and with these they dug the well, though it was not our wish, and only promises not to raise arms against the whites without taking counsel kept our sons from raising their swords against them. Instead we only asked the white men to stop-begged them."
Assar's black eyes snap
ped. "But to our pleas they only responded with foolish promises, saying they could make the well yield more water than could ever be remembered, enough to double our numbers of goats. But the whites have always lied, and so it was proven again. But this time Allah himself punished those who dared interfere with his plan. For their impudence the well collapsed, burying those men who dared defile it."
Assar paused, looking to each elder, his voice cold as he spoke again. "Now the white men have gone to the abandoned fort at Sevit. But they go leaving behind a well destroyed and useless. And though we have dug until our backs are broken, still the water hides from those who have abused it, providing drink only for these noble palms while our herds drop into the sand and perish."
Hashad Babir Rasoun, sitting at the left hand of Assar, nodded in agreement, his own eyes narrowing with anger as he added, "But the English have not only desecrated our well, they also have brought us their infidel sickness that 4 marks the faces of the young and weak with red spots before fore they die of a wasting fever. Enough I say! The English take our lands, our water, and even our women as their own." His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger. "Now they must be shown this land is not theirs, but ours, and that we are not men who would cower beneath the stamp of their F boots. I say we attack the fort at Sevit and burn it and the soldiers to dust!”
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