Desert Barbarian

'The King seemed very modern-minded,' Marie pro­tested.

Aziz sighed. 'He is, actually, but he can only go so far for fear of offending the diehards who help him run this country. Believe me, plenty of people would make trouble if Aissa was thought to be running wild. She isn't married yet, although she is twenty years old, and to some old-fashioned people that in itself is shocking.'

Marie looked at him in disbelief. 'Shocking?'

'They think she is getting old,' Aziz said grimly. 'A hundred years ago she would have been married at fifteen. The King has held them off until now, but some of them are insisting that he find her a husband without further delay.'

'An arranged marriage?' Marie knew that that was the custom here, so this did not surprise her.

Aziz nodded. 'The Prime Minister is the leader of the old party, the ones who are most determined to have her married off…'

She glanced nervously at Rahaib, who stood within earshot, his face blank, yet who must have heard every word of this. Aziz followed her glance and smiled.

'Oh, don't worry about Rahaib. He was the King's bodyguard when the King was small. He would die rather than betray any of us.'

Rahaib made no move, no sign indicating that he had heard a word of this remark. Aziz smiled at her again, shrugging.

'You see? He is the eyes and ears, but he does not speak, unless the King commands it.'

'Then the King approves of what you suggest?' she asked doubtfully.

Aziz said softy, 'The King wants his sister to be happy, but he cannot move in the matter himself. He can only permit what she wishes out of his love for her. If she asks to be allowed to visit you in your bungalow, he will agree.'

Rahaib turned suddenly and murmured softly, 'The Lord Hathni approaches, my lord.'

'Oh, gracious heavens,' Aziz said in alarm. He gave Marie a quick look. 'Do not mention that you have seen me. We have never met before.'

Marie was puzzled and alarmed, turning to look down the corridor as she heard the slap of sandalled feet. When she turned back to Aziz he had vanished. She looked at Rahaib in bewilderment. His dark eyes met hers im­passively.

Then they moved on, slowly, Jeremy still staring at the walls with deep interest. He looked up at Marie, wide-eyed. 'Funny drawings,' he said to her. 'Some of those snakes are all tangled up. Are they fighting?'

'I expect so,' she said, nervously wondering about the approaching footsteps.

The man coming down the corridor was short, rather slightly built and grey-haired, his richly decorated tunic ablaze with colour, his austere face at variance with what he wore. Behind him marched two men in white turbans and red tunics, their faces wearing the same blank im­passivity as Rahaib.

He paused as he came face to face with Marie, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing. Then he smiled politely, without warmth.

Rahaib spoke in the soft local dialect, and the new­comer listened without looking at him.

Then he looked back at Marie and made the usual courteous greeting, hands together, head bowed. 'Miss Brinton! I am Hathni Kundor, the King's chief min­ister. Welcome to Jedhpur. I hope you had a pleasant journey here.'

'Yes, thank you,' said Marie, slightly nervous in his presence. He had an intimidating eye, cold and clear­sighted, and a soft precision of speech which made every syllable he uttered very formal.

He nodded in response to her reply, glanced briefly at Jeremy and then said politely, 'I hope we shall meet again, Miss Brinton.'

She stood aside, realising he meant to walk on, and with another courteous gesture he and his escort pro­ceeded along the corridor. She let out a long sigh of relief.

'Whew!'

Glancing at Rahaib, she fancied she caught a flicker of something that might have been amusement passing across his face, but the next second he had assumed his usual calm mask.

They made their way out of the palace without further incident, got back into the black limousine and drove out of the palace gates into the teeming city. Soon they were driving between tiny, white-washed flat-roofed houses threaded with alleys which wound away out of sight. Thin, stark-ribbed dogs scratched in the dust. Women in bright silks and soft slippers, their heads draped against the intruding sun, moved from shop to shop with grace­ful steps. Around an ancient, stone-walled well sat older women, their faces wrinkled and dried up by the sun, gossiping with the ease of old friends, while children in cotton shirts scampered barefoot around them, chasing each other in some ritualistic game.

The streets grew more and more crowded, and the car had trouble inching its way through them. Street-sellers carrying trays of food shouted their wares. A water carrier waddled along, slopping precious drops on either side of his yoked shoulders, followed by a crowd of thirsty dogs who licked at the wet dust.

From street cafes came the high wail of traditional music. A dancing girl in gold-trimmed skirts and bare feet, her ankles and wrists jangling with golden bangles, came out of a café to stare at them as they drove past.

Marie was delighted by one shop, the flat stall in front of it swathed in rainbow-coloured silks, red, yellow, green, blue, flung across the stall in voluminous folds to catch the eye, the gold and silver threads woven into the material glittering in the sunlight. The shopkeeper, see­ing her eager eyes, bowed invitingly, but the car drove on slowly.