Lord of Desire

"I have a request," she declared, changing the subject rather abruptly. “I should like to be allowed to ride for an hour or two each day."

He regarded her at length, taking a long while before he answered, "Why?"

"Because I need the distraction. I'm going mad here with nothing to do. I am not accustomed to being idle all day long, nor am I accustomed to having to beg for the least courtesy."

"Has not Mahmoud seen to your needs?"

"Yes, of course, but you haven't permitted me even the slightest freedom! I am never allowed out, never allowed any company but yours—and that hardly constitutes scintillating companionship."

"I will send some of the women in the camp to visit you, perhaps Tahar—"

"Thank you," Alysson muttered grudgingly, "but I need exercise. " When he didn't answer, she lost the careful control she'd been keeping on her tongue. "Have you any notion of how excruciating it is to be imprisoned here day after day? To have nothing to do all day long except pace the floor and worry about when you will ever again see your family, your loved ones, your country?"

A muscle flexed in his jaw, but he remained calm in the face of her anger. "I will consider your request," Jafar said finally.

"Why can you not give me an answer now? Are you afraid I will try to escape if you let me ride?''

His smile was brief. "The thought had occurred to me."

The thought had occurred to her, too, but Alysson was not about to admit it. She managed to shake her head scoffingly. "It would be suicide for me to attempt an escape in the middle of the desert. Where could I possibly go?"

"At the moment, you may go to bed. It is time to retire."

She stared at him, her eyes suddenly bright, glistening with frustration. "Damn you . . ."

Forcibly, Alysson bit her lip, clamping back the curses she wanted to throw at him. She would not, would not, allow him to infuriate her to the point that she said or did something rash. Nor would she plead with him. She would not humiliate herself by begging, as apparently he meant for her to do.

To her amazement, though, Jafar granted at least part of her request.

The following morning her blue-eyed guard Saful appeared, carrying his long-barreled rifle, and with gestures and some words of Arabic that she knew, he made her understand that she was to accompany him. For several hours then, Saful escorted her all around the city of black tents— the douar, as she learned the Berber encampment was called. Savoring her first taste of freedom in over a week, Alysson found it all fascinating, but still she was careful to view her surroundings with an eye for escape.

The tents were generally arranged in a large circle, while the horses and pack animals were kept within the protected boundary. Outside the circle, Alysson saw the artesian well that supplied the camp with fresh water, and the sandy depression that served as a latrine. She had expected as much, for none of the Arab tents shed ever been in had possessed sanitary facilities. Except Jafar's, Alysson reflected. The presence of the chamber pot in his only confirmed her belief

that he'd carefully planned her abduction. He hadn't wanted her to have any reason to leave his tent.

He hadn't wanted her to dress in breeches either, Alysson surmised, for her European clothing had never been returned to her. But despite the fact that she was dressed much like the other women, in a long belted tunic and haik, she drew curious looks from everyone in the camp—looks that she returned.

The Berbers were a handsome people, she decided. Most of the men she saw possessed the same fine aquiline features as Jafar, though many of them wore beards.

Some of the Berber men had wives to see to their needs, she concluded, but there was a cooking tent where the meals for the soldiers and servants were prepared by the women of the camp. When Saful allowed her to pause at the cooking tent, Alysson saw Tahar at work with some dozen other woman.

"Ehla," Tahar said with a shy smile. "Welcome."

Alysson returned her smile with genuine pleasure and watched as the women prepared the main meal. They were cooking over fires fueled by dried camel's dung, delicately roasting desert partridges which Tahar called ketaa, and making the customary couscous, the national dish of Barbary. This was not sweet like the couscous at breakfast, however. The steamed wheat semolina was served with pieces of lamb and vegetables.

Alysson was reluctant to leave the women, but later that day, after she had returned to her tent, she was able to ask Mahmoud about his people. Grudgingly he told her something of Jafar's tribe.

There were Arabised Berbers, she learned, who normally lived in the mountains. All of the men and many of the women spoke fluent Arabic. When in the desert they adopted the ways of the Bedouins, but Mahmoud clearly considered himself and his people better than the Bedouins,

"Berbers are men," he said proudly, puffing out his skinny chest so far that Alysson was hard-pressed not to laugh.

Yet she had heard the same thing said admiringly by a French Legionnaire who despised most Arabs. And Gervase had said the Berbers were a proud and fiercely independent people, who enjoyed fighting and who in battle showed magnif

icent bravery and spirit.

When she pressed Mahmoud to tell her about the women in the camp, she learned that Tahar was second wife to one of the warriors, but served Jafar as chief cook since he had no wives of his own.

"He has no wives?" Alysson repeated curiously, though why that fact should interest her, she would not allow herself to reflect on. She also discovered something else that surprised her.