Master of the Desert

Now she was a little embarrassed, and had to carefully manoeuvre herself off the bed. Wrapping the cover tightly around her, she did her best to make them welcome. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she offered, lifting the jug of juice that had miraculously appeared on a nearby piercedbrass table.

The women must have brought it while she was asleep, Antonia realised, along with the dishes of sweetmeats and fruit. ‘You’re very generous,’ she said, bowing to them as best she could in her sheet ensemble.

The women giggled, as if she was the funniest thing they had ever seen and, shaking their heads, indicated that first she must follow them.

The bathing pool had been warmed by the fast-strength-ening sun, and Antonia exclaimed with surprise and pleasure to see the women had scattered rose petals on the surface of the water. This was real luxury, she thought, quite excited at having her hair washed and then her scalp massaged with the most sweet-smelling products. The world should know about these, Antonia decided when the women explained to her with mimed actions that they had picked and prepared the herbs and flowers for the lotions themselves. Maybe that was something else she could do when she wasn’t busy with the baby, the restoration work and the charity.

When they had patted her dry with soft towels, warm hands massaged her with more fragrant unguents. This should be part of her daily routine—not that she’d have time, Antonia thought with a rueful smile. And what was coming next? she wondered when the women slipped a plain, loose robe over her head.

Taking her by the hands, they ushered her excitedly into the pavilion, where they sat her down and dried and polished her hair before plaiting it loosely and decorating it with exotic flowers. More scent was applied, until Antonia decided she smelled like a garden, and then they put make-up on her and painted intricate designs on her hands and feet with henna.

This really was special attention, she thought, starting to wonder about it—but then they produced another robe for her approval, and she gasped. The women were pleased to see her delight at this first sight of a masterpiece of design in sky-blue silk chiffon. The delicate fabric floated as they showed it to her, and was decorated with tiny seedpearls and sparkling silver coins that would jingle as she moved. Before she put it on, the women fastened anklets of jewelled bells above her feet, and more around her wrists, and then they slipped the whisper of highly decorated silk-chiffon over her head. She was just revelling in those silken folds when, with some ceremony, they prepared to veil her.

She felt a real frisson of excitement now, realising this must be the culmination of the ceremony. They had even brought a full-length mirror into the pavilion, and placed it in front of her so she could see the finished effect.

She looked amazing—amazingly different, Antonia realised, seeing sultry eyes she hardly recognised flashing back at her. But the question uppermost in her mind was why? Why now? Why were the women doing this for her? What was this all about? And how could she ask her newfound friends what was going on, when no one spoke the same language? She couldn’t be so rude as to stop the women when they were having such fun attending to her—and, truthfully, so was she—but she couldn’t deny a nagging sense of doubt that suggested she was being prepared to take on the role of His Imperial Majesty’s concubine.

She would bring everything to a halt if that were the case, Antonia determined, but for now…The women carried a twinkling veil reverently over outstretched arms. To try it on, just once, was irresistible. The veil sparkled bewitchingly, exceeding any fantasy image she could ever have come up with—and were those tiny jewels sewn onto the floating panels? Blue-white diamonds? The veil was clearly precious and significant to the women, judging by the way they handled it.

And they weren’t finished with her yet, Antonia realised when they had draped it over her head and shoulders. Now they were going to secure it with the most fabulous rope of turquoise-and-coral beads. The turquoise toned beautifully with the robe, while the coral could have been chosen to point up the warm-blush tint in her cheeks.

What on earth had she done to deserve this?

That was her first thought, and it was swiftly followed by who is this? as an older woman entered the tent.

The older woman shocked Antonia into silence by explaining that Signorina Antonia Ruggerio had been adopted as a daughter of her tribe. ‘And my name is Mariam,’ she said. ‘I will be your advocate, should you require me in the discussions to come.’

What discussions? Antonia wondered. And she could speak for herself, though she nodded and smiled politely. It must be something to do with the charity, she reasoned. This was a culture she knew little about, and if she wanted to forge ahead with her work it would be wise to have an interpreter—at least until she was fluent in the language herself. But a daughter of the tribe? That was a good thing, wasn’t it?