Desert Barbarian

Jeremy only really grew interested when the car temp­orarily halted, to let a flock of goats pass, outside a sweet stall. Wooden bowls full of sticky pink and white sweets drew the attentions of a horde of black flies, at which the perspiring stallholder slapped with a paper fan. Across the street stood a cookshop from which the odour of spicy curry floated. Outside stood a boy not much older than Jeremy, hawking a woven basket of palm leaves; stuffed with cardamom-scented rice and minced mutton, Rahaib informed them. A smile briefly lit his count­enance as he added, 'Most delicious, my lady.'

'Can I buy some?' Jeremy asked eagerly.

Marie smiled at him. 'Another day, perhaps.' She was not altogether certain of the safety of eating food from the market. The flies which pervaded the place worried her. None of the food seemed to be covered from the sun; even the meat lay uncovered, descended upon by black tides of flies.

They moved on jerkily, the driver apparently unflurried or annoyed by the constant stops necessitated by the throngs of people who poured past his bonnet. Soon Jeremy saw something else he liked: a stall selling toys; little wooden birds which pecked at painted corn on a bright green board when you pulled the string below, elephants of bright blue which had nodding heads, pea­cocks with vivid bejewelled tails that opened and closed like fans, little wooden men who swung over and over a string stretched between two poles, windmills of painted paper which whirled round and round when you blew them.

'When can we come here again?' Jeremy asked her eagerly.

'We'll ask your mother,' she promised.

'Soon? Tomorrow?'

'Perhaps,' she said, not liking to commit herself yet. She must see what Mrs Cunningham thought about the market before she agreed to take Jeremy there.

Rahaib said quietly, 'I will escort you and the child to the market whenever you wish, Miss Brinton.'

She looked at him gratefully. 'Thank you, Rahaib. That's very kind of you.'

He shook his head. 'The King's highness has told me to see that you and the child come to no harm, While you are in Jedhpur I am your servant, miss.'

'Oh. I see.' She was taken aback, wondering how she was going to cope with his constant presence day after day.

He smiled then, his face gravely amused. 'When you need me I shall be in the servants' quarters of the bungalow, my lady.'

She flushed, seeing that he had read her mind. 'Thank you, Rahaib,' she said in faint apology.

He inclined his head. 'It is my pleasure,' he said form­ally. 'There are certain persons in Jedhpur who do not approve of the King's royal desire to modernise the king­dom. They resent foreigners, and they might make trouble for you if you went out alone. That is why the King's highness has asked me to guard you.'

She looked at him anxiously. 'You mean it's dangerous for us to go out without you?'

'It would be wiser not to do so,' he agreed. 'Most of our people are gentle and hospitable, but there are some who hate the new ways and wish only for things to go on as they have always done… these people are trouble­makers.'

She remembered what Aziz had said. 'And the Prime Minister himself does not approve, I gather?' she asked.

Rahaib's face stiffened. 'My Lord Hathni prefers the old ways,' he agreed politely. He looked at her directly. 'But you need not fear him, my lady. Lord Hathni is a very good man.'

'Aziz seemed afraid of him,' she said, half to herself.

Rahaib hesitated, then said gently, 'My lord Aziz re­spects his father too much to fear him, my lady.'

She stared at him in astonishment. 'His father?'

Rahaib inclined his head. 'Lord Hathni is the King's highness's uncle.'

'And Aziz is his son,' she said. 'Then why did he hide?'

'Because he did not wish his father to see him speaking with you,' Rahaib explained. 'Lord Hathni might then have suspected when you saw much of the Princess Aissa that it was his son's doing…'

'I see,' she said, not really seeing very much at all. Clearly, the politics of Jedhpur were involved and dang­erous. She wished Aziz had not dragged her into them, and decided that if at all possible she would steer com­pletely clear of anything which even remotely smelt of politics. She did not want to cause trouble here for Jess or for the King.

'Thank you for telling me, Rahaib,' she said, looking at the grizzled old man with gratitude.

'I thought you should know, Miss Brinton,' he said simply. 'Prince Aziz is not always very thoughtful or considerate of other people. He sees only his own desires and seeks a way to achieve them.'

'I suppose it was kind of him to wish to help Princess Aissa, anyway,' she said.

Rahaib's eyes met hers briefly. The old man seemed to hesitate, then shrugged, saying nothing. She wondered what it was he had decided not to tell her.