The train ride was hot and uncomfortable. It amused Christina that, with all the trains in England, she had had to come halfway across the world to ride on one. She much preferred the cool comfort of a coach, however, though it was a bit bumpy at times.
Mrs. Bigley and Christina shared a seat in the overcrowded salon. "I've heard there are many dangerous outlaws in the desert. Is it true that the Bedouin tribes make slaves of their captives?" Christina asked Mrs. Bigley nervously.
"It's all quite true, my dear," Mrs. Bigley returned. "But don't worry about it. The outlaw tribes fear Her Majesty's Army, as well they should! They hide in the Arabian Desert, which is quite far from Cairo."
"Well, that certainly is a relief," Christina sighed.
The train pulled into Cairo before nightfall. The Bigleys showed Christina and John to a hotel.
"After you get settled in your quarters, I'll show you the city in its entirety, and we can go to the Opera House," said Mrs. Bigley kindly. "Did you know that it was right here that the famous opera Aida was first produced, to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal?"
"I didn't know, but I haven't read too much about this country," Christina replied. She was too tired to be overly interested in anything tonight. She and John thanked the Bigleys for their kindness, and bade them goodnight. John ordered a light supper, but Christina could eat very little, and retired early.
Her room was at the opposite end of the hall from John's, and a hot bath awaited her. She quickly shed her clothes and slid into the tub. This is heaven, she thought! The heat and crowded railway car had made her feel sticky and dirty. But now she luxuriated in the steaming hot water.
She lay there for an hour before rinsing off and donning her nightdress. The hot water had relaxed her, and she had no trouble falling off to sleep.
Chapter Six
SOMETIME in the middle of the night Christina was awakened from a peaceful sleep by a noise in her room. She opened her eyes to see a tall figure standing above her. Christina wondered what on earth John was doing standing beside her bed looking down at her in the dark. But then she realized it couldn't be John. This man was taller than John, and he had something covering his face.
She started to scream, but before she could make a sound, a huge hand clamped down over her mouth. She tried to push him away, but the man was too strong for her.
Suddenly he pulled her to him and kissed her painfully, crushing her body against his and running his free hand boldly over her breasts.
My God, she thought frantically, he's going to rape me! Christina started to struggle violently, but her attacker dropped her back onto the bed and quickly bound a gag over her mouth, tying it tightly behind her head. He pulled a sack over her head and pushed it down over her body, tying it around her knees. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
Christina tried kicking her feet to throw him off balance, but he bounced her up in the air, so that the breath was knocked out of her as she landed back on his shoulder. She could tell he was walking, and she heard the bedroom door open and close.
They seemed to be descending stairs, and then she felt a slight breeze touch her bare feet. They must be outside. Oh God, what is this man going to do with me? Did I come to this Godforsaken country just to die—and how will I die? Will I be raped brutally first? Why did I ever leave England? Poor John, he will blame himself for my death. I have to get away!
Once more, Christina kicked and squirmed, but the man crushed her to him to still her efforts. He walked faster for a few minutes, then suddenly stopped. He spoke in the native language, then threw her over something. Christina squirmed, but stopped when she felt a painful whack across her buttocks.
A different voice muttered something, followed by a loud burst of laughter, and Christina felt herself bounced up and down. She knew then that she was lying across a horse, like a sack of potatoes. She almost laughed hysterically when the man pressed a hand into her back. Was he afraid she might fall off and hurt herself before he could hurt her?
Christina's heart was beating so fast she was afraid it would burst. Where is he taking me? she wondered, and then it dawned on her. Of course—they would be going into the desert. What better place to rape a woman than the desert—where her screams could not be heard. And there seemed to be several men riding with them. How many rapes would she have to endure before they killed her?
They rode for hours, but Christina lost track of time. Her hair was tangled over her face, and her stomach ached from the position she was in. She couldn't understand why they were taking her so far into the desert. Then they stopped.
It's going to happen now, she thought frantically as she was lowered to the ground. When she felt no hands on her she tried to run, but she forgot the sack was tied about her knees and fell forward onto the sand.
This was all the humiliation she could stand. She began to whimper. She would have been crying hysterically if she hadn't had the gag in her mouth. Someone picked her up and put her on her feet again. Her toes sank slowly into the cold desert sand.
Christina felt the rope being untied at her knees, and she lunged forward again. But she was pulled back and caught to a man's broad chest. He held her imprisoned in his powerful arms for what seemed like an eternity, then chuckled deeply. He lifted her up onto the horse, then mounted behind her. It seemed the man was at least going to let her ride upright with some dignity.
But why were they riding again? Why hadn't they done anything to her? Did they think to make her suffer more by keeping her in suspense? Then it came to her. Maybe they weren't going to kill her after all. Maybe they would sell her as a slave after raping her. Of course. She would probably bring a handsome sum at a slave auction. She would make an unusual attraction, with her long blond hair and slim white body. That was probably it, she thought miserably. They will use me and then sell me for a profit. That would be worse than dying.
Christina always said she would be a slave to no man in marriage. But now she would be a real slave—to a master who could do anything he wanted with her. She would have no say in the matter. She prayed they would kill her instead, for she couldn't bear to be a slave.
The hours dragged on slowly until Christina began to see light through the rough material of the sack and knew it must be dawn. She thought of John and of his misery when he found her gone. She doubted he would ever be able to find her, for they had been riding all night.
Where were they taking her? Christina could feel the sweat pouring down her sides and legs as the day grew hotter. She would curse this bastard to the devil if only he could understand her. She was exhausted.
Finally they stopped, but Christina didn't care anymore —she didn't want to think anymore. She was lowered to the ground again, her legs crumpling under her. She wasn't giving up, but she knew it was useless to run. The sun blinded her for a minute as someone dragged the sack up over her head. When she could see again, a short native was standing in front of her. He handed her a robe and a square piece of cloth with a cord, which was for the Bedouin headdress.
"Kufiyah," he said, pointing to the cloth. He untied the gag from her mouth and walked away.
There were three of them. Two medium-sized young men, and one huge man who was watering the horses. The young man who gave her the robe and kufiyah came up again, smiling sheepishly, and handed her some bread and a skin of water. She was very hungry, for she had eaten little the night before.
When Christina finished eating, the big man came toward her and took the waterskin from her, tossing it to one of the other men. His kufiyah covered the lower half of his face, so she couldn't see what he looked like.