What was she thinking during those long hours when they didn't speak? Did she think of England, or Las Flores? Did she ever recall those days before they had learned to hate each other so well? Did she ever think of that night in the garden, that night she had promised to marry him as she had lain trembling in his arms, not just wanting him, but loving him?
He gritted his teeth. How could she have deceived him when she seemed so incapable of duplicity? And he recalled another night, blue-black as this one, when he had taken her in the governor's palace in Tripoli. How easily then her hot blood had blossomed into passion matching his own. Then he had been surprised, even awed by the warmth and wonder he felt from her surrendering body.
And with this new awareness growing within him, he had played her body like a fine instrument until, at last, everything had exploded in a shower of pleasure before, satiated, she had fallen asleep in his arms.
"Don't touch me! I won't do this again!" Her voice pierced his reverie as she writhed and squirmed beneath him like a young animal. "I won't have your child! I won't! Don't you know I hate you? And even if I can't help what happens, I swear I'll drown any baby of yours! I will ... as soon as it is born! Do you think I would have your child when it is you who murdered my father? I hate you ... you dirty . . . you filthy . . . you . . . you . . . nigger!"
Her breast was heaving and her dilated eyes had grown to polished jewels. His grip stiffened, his face suddenly turned to stone and, in his opaque eyes, she could read nothing but chilling hardness as a long moment silently passed. Then suddenly she was tumbling out of his arms and onto the floor with an unceremonious thud as he stood up, never seeming so tall, as proud as he towered over her.
Juliette sprang up, backing against the tent walls, his look scathing her as he said, "Ah-so you do have your prejudices, if not against your servant Cassia, then against the more general population of what you English indiscriminately call `niggers.' As you might someday understand, though our customs differ from yours, it does not make us inferior. And since you seem, so interested, I might add that the Arabs of this region, the Tawarigs, are all descended from the same Caucasian ancestors as you."
"Sharif, I . . ." Juliette began feeling ashamed that she had called him that horrible word when she didn't really think of him that way, not at all. But he had cut her off with a wave of his hand.
"Bon soir, madame. You may keep your precious white hide to yourself. There are others, women instead of little girls, who welcome my attention." Then noiselessly turning, he passed beyond the curtains without another glance.
A sharp pain chopped into her heart as she blinked wildly. Others indeed, she thought.
"Well, let them have you then!" she shouted after him. "You and your children too!"
But there was no answer, and she knew he had already gone. Tears filled her eyes, droplets running down her face and falling onto the big bed. Enraged, hopeless, and suddenly empty, she didn't even bother to brush them away.
She hadn't meant to call him that, but somehow it had happened. Still he was such a beast, and worst of all, there was no where else to go, no one else to help her. Yet she couldn't remain, not with him. Oh, God, how she hated him. Curling herself into a ball of misery, she held a pillow in her arms and sobbed against it.
Chapter 59
When Juliette finally sat up again, brushing the tumbled hair from her tear-streaked cheeks, it was because she couldn't endure the sounds of tambourines and drums and the shouts of men any longer.
It was those Gypsies who had started it, she thought angrily. Standing out in front of their striped tents juggling, they had challenged the warriors to best them at hitting circles marked in the sand with thrown daggers. So they had competed. But then, as the night sky had darkened, the knives were sheathed and the winners congratulated and, with shouts of encouragement, the music had begun.
Oh! How could all of them be enjoying themselves when she was so miserable? And, rising to her feet, and wiping her swollen eyes, Juliette half walked, half stumbled to the open tent flap.
Outside, some distance away, the men had built a fire larger than usual and now were sitting around it circled by musicians. The sounds of their drums and tambourines thundered in Juliette's head and she was about to turn away when she heard the men begin shouting again.
Craning her neck, she saw a woman appear from the darkness to the circle of firelight-a tall Gypsy woman kicking her feet to the beat of the drums, and holding her arms above her head as she danced out into the open space.
Now the men shouted louder and more eagerly. She lifted her face veil, swirling it above her head and moving around the outer limits of the circle with the supple grace of a snake.
The woman seemed neither old nor young, and she was not beautiful. But her bare feet danced time to the music, kicking up the dust, her mane of black hair framing her slanting cheekbones and wide red mouth in a wild mass that made her seem at once utterly sensual and challenging. Undulating her lavish body, she looked from one man to another, a large white smile flashing across her face from time to time that said more clearly than words, "Here I am-you can take me-maybe-if you are man enough."
Juliette's head throbbed and, bringing her palm to her brow, she thought, now why doesn't Sharif choose someone like that? Someone who would welcome his vulgar attentions. Why does he insist on having me instead, when I hate him? But wasn't that just like a man" to want what was not easily given?
Again Juliette thought of going back within the tent, but something about the woman kept her watching as the music slowed to a more sensual tempo and the Gypsy's voluptuous undulations became more blatantly suggestive.
Her bright smile sneered slightly now as she brushed close to one of the men, at once inviting and repelling. Her large scarf floated between outstretched arms, accentuating the heavy bouncing of her large-nippled breasts.
The men shouted less often then until the only remaining sounds were the music and the whisper of the Gypsy's veils and mesmerized "ahs" of appreciation from around the circle.
No, the woman was not beautiful, Juliette thought, but she possessed a feral essence that would kindle any man's desire. And now she noticed that even Sharif, who had been conversing with several of his headmen, had stopped to take notice.
Apparently the girl noticed him, too. The drums and tambourines quickened the pace, and she paused directly before him, her feet keeping time as she twirled faster and faster until the light veils draping her body lifted out, revealing all her lavish curves.
Faster, yet faster, the beat increased, until bare legs flew. Then, in a jarring halt, the music ceased, and suddenly the Gypsy was kneeling at Sharif's feet, her head bowed submissively.
He smiled, and the man beside him nudged another as a murmur raced over the crowd. Juliette held her breath as Sharif reached to lift the woman's face. She couldn't see the woman's expression, but imagined her knowledgeable eyes bright with invitation.
Suddenly it was too much and refusing to watch any more, Juliette jerked the tent flap closed and began pacing up and down in front of the hassock. Well, at least she didn't care! Let him take his pleasure where he found it. She couldn't hate him any more than she did now. He had treated her like an animal and worse, all the while acting as if he were the injured party.
Well, let him have his women. She was just the sort he was meant for, one who made her living dancing for coins, one who would willingly pleasure him. Defiantly she wiped away a tear. But when the music started again, she found herself at the doorway peering out with lips pressed firmly together.
Now it was another woman who danced and Sharif and the first woman were not around the fire or within sight. Of course he had already taken her somewhere, perhaps behind one of the sand dunes surrounding camp. Yes, that was just what he would be doing, rutting like an animal on the ground. In a burst of fury, Juliette kicked a bundle of clothing lying on the rug halfway across the tent.
The blow broke the twine that held it toge
ther and scattered pieces of clothing across the rug. Surprised, Juliette noticed they were not Sharif's, though they were men's breeches, a top, and a burnoose. No, they were not nearly large enough for him, but they would, she realized immediately, fit her.
Why would he have brought this here if not for me? She wondered. And why men's clothes? And bending to pick them up and clutching them to her one by one, an idea took shape.
Quickly she pulled off her hot robes and slipped on the clothes, finding the wide-sleeved shirt a bit long, though the burnoose and pants were satisfactory. And twisting the long dark length of fabric around and around her head, she formed a turban before knotting it just behind one ear and letting the end drape onto her shoulder. A pair of soft kidskin boots completed the costume. Then, picking up a hand mirror, Juliette studied her reflection.
Dressed this way, who would notice her? She asked herself with growing excitement. And tonight, Rashid was not outside but apparently occupied with the entertainment. It was an opportunity to escape, and this time disguised as a man.
Lowering the mirror, her sparkling eyes stared straight ahead. Of course, who would realize she was a woman? And there was a small oasis only a few hours back where they had stopped at midday. She would find water there and with the gold from Sharif's trunk she could bargain for passage with a caravan going north.
She was not as naive as she once was. She spoke the language now and couldn't be fooled as she had been before by Henry. Of course there was still a risk, but what was her alternative? Now Sharif would be crueler to her than ever. She would not be his slave, to be rejected or even killed at his whim or, worse, to bear his children. Wouldn't it be better to die from thirst, or at the hands of bandits?
Yes, even that would be preferable. Looking out the tent flap she noticed even the guards had joined the throng around the dancing girls, abandoning their posts and making everything almost too easy.
Just outside the doorway, Sharif s stallion Fadjar was staked. It was an Arab custom never to herd horses together, since having them in one place made them too easily stampeded by an enemy tribe. So each man kept his mount by his own tent, where the horse doubled also as watchdog, alerting his master to intruders.
Fadjar snorted as Juliette carefully ducked around the side of the tent. She firmly said the Arabic word that Sharif used with the animal and, to her relief; he quieted immediately, making no further sound as she ran lightly across the open spaces from one tent to another until well out of reach of the fire's glow. Then pausing, she moved stealthily toward a small tent where a horse was outlined against the sky.
The mare detected Juliette almost at once, raising her slender neck, pricking forward sculptured ears, and turning a finely etched face to look at her with intelligent curiosity.
"Easy, girl," Juliette whispered, "easy."
She stretched out a hand toward the mare as if having something in her palm, at the same time berating herself for not bringing anything with which to bribe a mount. Hastily she searched through her robe pockets, delighted to find a dried date.
It was withered as hard as a rock, but Juliette held it toward the mare, whose eyes grew brighter as her neck arched forward in a play of muscles, and her nostrils opened and closed before reaching for the tidbit.
Velvety lips brushed Juliette's palm as the, mare sucked up the date, chewing and swallowing it pit and all. Juliette stroked her fine neck. Certainly these Arabians of Sharif's people were the most beautiful horses she had ever seen, small, graceful, hardy, and as fiery as the desert for which they were bred. "Easy, girl," she repeated softly looking over her shoulder and hoping no one in the tent could hear.
Inexplicably she felt an odd sense of being watched, although she could hear no sound or see any movement to indicate a presence. So bending, Juliette silently untied the fastening, and with only the lead rope and halter as a bridle, mounted the mare bareback with a leap. Then clapping her heels to her sides, Juliette only half heard something like a shout as she galloped away toward the north and freedom.
Beyond the circle of tents the mare quickly moved into the long-strided, tireless gallop for which her breed was famous, moving up and down the dunes as effortlessly as a bird. The sand was cooler and therefore firmer now. But while it did not suck at the horse's feet, Juliette knew the coolness also brought a sea of poisonous vipers roaming over the sand, hunting for rats and fennecs and each other, and trying not to think of this, she pulled her mare to a stop at the summit of a dune.
Glancing over her shoulder, Juliette assured herself no one followed. The oasis, they had rested at during midday was perhaps five miles ahead. Searching for the North Star, she breathed deeply in and out.
She had escaped-quietly, easily, and no one would be the wiser for hours. With any luck, by the time her disappearance was discovered, she would already be a safe distance ahead, and anyway, they would not be sure which direction she had taken. Would Sharif even delay the caravan to search for her? She wondered. Now that he had the rifles and with the limited supply of food, he seemed especially eager to reach El Abadan.
A surge of euphoria swept up from her toes, through her stomach, and into her throat. Freedom-she could feel it yes, taste it in the air. Still, looking for the North Star, her eyes were drawn by the silent flight of an owl to the east, and she saw them, silhouetted against the crest of a dune, a large band of mounted figures, their rifles unslung and ready as they came ever closer. And feeling a frozen knife stabbing her guts, Juliette breathed aloud, "Hussar!"
Chapter 60
A cold wave passed through Juliette's stomach and even the trembling of her fatigued legs stopped as she looked again. No, it wasn't her imagination. The force was moving steadily forward, their horses' hooves making no sound in the sand.
Hussar! Of course! What better time to attack Sharif than now, when even the guards were distracted by the Gypsies, and the camp could be overrun before any defense could be mustered.
In her imagination Juliette heard the gunfire, the surprised shouts of men and cries of women. And Sharif, they would want to kill him most of all. Who could tell what barbarous tortures these people used. He would die, and horribly, and, with a mental image of Sharif lashed to a stake and bleeding, Juliette was suddenly wheeling the mare and heading back toward camp. Someone had to warn them!
Sensing the sudden new urgency in her rider's commands, the mare responded, immediately bounding back down the dune and sliding most of the way as if skiing on her hocks.
Clinging to the mane, Juliette prayed the Hussar had not seen her. Yet, in the moonlight, the mare's whiteness made them an easy target. The waves of undulating dunes standing between herself and camp, that only a moment ago had seemed short, now stretched endlessly in the distance as, leaning forward to encircle the mare's neck with her arms, Juliette expected every minute for an accurate rifle shot to knock her from the horse.
But there was no fire as the animal bounded up the face of one dune and then another, finally nearing camp until, at the top of a last dune, the mare suddenly shied, turning unexpectedly in the opposite direction so abruptly that Juliette fell off to hang by the one knee still hooked over the horse's back.
The mare stood still while Juliette righted herself with a heave of her thigh and, in doing so, she noticed a small detachment of black-robed men coming toward her from the direction of Sharif's camp.
Sharif's men! Not more than twenty yards away-men already searching for her though, oddly, they were on foot and not mounted. They appeared calm, apparently unaware that the Hussar were so close and not wanting to risk shouting Juliette reined the mare and urged her toward them.
The mare snorted, refusing to go and tossing her head rebelliously as Juliette urged her harder. But it didn't matter, the men had seen her and, in a few running strides, were circling the mare, which continued to dance and pull against Juliette's hold until one of the men grabbed the animal’s halter.
Juliette looked from face to face. She didn't recognize
any of them. Then someone grabbed her leg and she was falling onto her back in the sand with a soft thud.
Instantly scrambling to get up, she saw the mare's foreleg strike out at one of the men.
The man jumped back, avoiding the blow and drawing his dagger in a single motion. Then leaping forward, he took the mare's bridle hard and, twisting her head aside, plunged the blade into her throat.
Blood spurted and the mare fell thrashing into the sand as the man turned back to lean over her again, his knife raised and flashing in the starlight.
Juliette's scream was loud and high-pitched. "No!" Abruptly his blade paused in midair.
"Don't you realize who I am?" she began in rapid French.
The Arab seemed startled and frowned and the others, who had ignored her until now, turned to see.
Lowering his knife, the man reached forward and knocked the turban from her head, spilling her blond hair out onto the sand and baring her face. Now they all leaned closer making guttural sounds of surprise as several faces broadened into leering grins.
Desert Hostage Page 40
