Desert Barbarian

The one with the gun said politely, 'You are a hostage, Miss Brinton.'

'A hostage?' She felt incredulous disbelief. 'For what?'

'We have grievances which we wish to have heard,' he said. 'Until they are heard, you will remain here.'

'But I'm nothing to do with your country,' she pro­tested.

'You are the woman of the chairman of Unex,' he said clumsily. 'All of Jedhpur know you visit him at the palace. He will wish you to be released. He will persuade the King to hear us.'

'What if it doesn't work out like that?' she asked. 'What if the King refuses to come to terms?'

They looked at each other, then the man with the gun shrugged. 'Too bad for you.'

Marie sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed. Her legs had turned to water.

The men withdrew towards the door, staring at her. They had a quick, whispered conference, then the one with a gun came back to her and said roughly, 'You will wish to have a woman to help you. One is coming, but is not here yet. Is there anything you want?'

She glanced at him. Not quite inhuman, she thought wryly. 'I would like some water,' she said quietly.

He gestured to one of the others, who went out and came back with a large earthenware jug of water and a tin mug.

Marie drank thirstily, then began to wonder if she had been wise to drink unboiled water. One of the first things she had learnt since arriving was that it was dangerous to drink unboiled water since so many of the rivers were heavily polluted.

'When the woman gets here, there will be food,' the man with the gun said.

One of the others said something in his own tongue, and the man with the gun looked at her.

'It will be curry. We have no English food.'

Marie smiled at him slightly. 'I eat your food every day,' she said. 'I'm quite used to it, thank you.'

He seemed taken aback, as if her courtesy disturbed him. After a moment he and the others moved out of the room and closed the door. She got up and went to the windows. There were small holes in the shatters. She peered through them and saw only blue sky.

Hearing sounds outside, she quickly returned to the bed and sat down on the edge again, her back very up­right.

The door opened and the man with the gun came in, his thin dark face alert. Behind him came a young woman in a gay blue sari, her forehead decorated with the red mark Marie recognised as the sign of a married woman. She was carrying a large earthenware bowl covered with a white cloth. A savoury smell floated from it. She carefully laid it on the low table, then turned and made a polite bow.

'Will you eat?' Her English was careful and precise but not fluent.

'Thank you,' said Marie, forcing a smile.

She felt instinctively that she must try to make friends with them. It was useless to protest or make a fuss. They had a grimly determined look which made such protests merely pointless.

The young woman went out and returned with a plate. She laid it on the table, gestured to one of the chairs. 'Please sit.'

Marie obediently sat down, and the young woman took away the white cloth. Marie looked hungrily at the meal revealed—spicy, thick and fragrant, the curried lamb lay in one half of the bowl, white rice lay in the other. The young woman took up a ladle, enquiringly looked at Marie.

'What?' she asked thickly.

Marie pointed to both curry and rice. The young woman ladled some of each on to a plate. Then she paused, biting her lip, and asked quietly, 'Tarkeean?'

Marie looked at her, recognising the word, trying to remember what it meant. The young man with the gun behind her said, 'Do you wish to have vegetable curry also?'

Marie shook her head. 'Thank you, no.'

The young woman handed her a spoon and stepped back from the table. Marie looked round at the two of them.

'Aren't you going to eat with me?'