The Sultan's Daughter

The threat had its effect. She wilted and obediently accompanied him. But she ignored several questions he asked her as they walked along, and maintained a sullen silence until they reached the house he had taken over.

Inside the entrance there was a small, open patio in the sunken centre of which a little fountain tinkled into a stone basin. Outside the July night was sweltering, but here it was reasonably cool. In the four corners of the patio there were low stools, piled with cushions. Motioning the girl to one of them, Roger took off his coat, mopped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief,

sat down on another stool and had a good look at her.

In the full light of the hanging lamps that had been left burning by the servants he saw that, although her hair was dark, her skin was even fairer than he had expected. Unlike so many women in the East it had not a single pock-mark, and her complexion was flawless. Her eyes were not black but tawny. There were traces of kohl under them but she must have rubbed most of it off in an absurd attempt to make herself less attractive, since the little that was left had been insufficient for her tears to cause it to run enough to disfigure her cheeks. As he studied the marvellous head that rose so incongruously from the black draperies, he thought, ^' Stap me, but that Sergeant was right. She looks every inch a Sultan's daughter. Although she isn't, no Commander of the Faithful could ever have had a lovelier one.' Then he said:

^' Mademoiselle—or perhaps I should address you as madame— to maintain this silence is stupid. I make no promise to return you to your father either now or later. But I'll not even consider doing so unless you tell me about yourself. What is your name? ' For a minute she regarded him speculatively with her enormous tawny eyes, then she answered. ^' Since you insist on knowing, Monsieur le Colonel, it is Zanthe. And I am unmarried.'

^' Well,' he smiled, ^' that is a start. Now, how did it come about that you were caught by those soldiers? '

^' As you must know,' she told him, ^' after the great battle on the other side of the Nile the mobs of Cairo swarmed out of their dens. The Janissaries who would have put them down had died fighting or had fled. There was no one to defend the mansions of the wealthy except the men of the households. Many were broken into and their inmates murdered. We succeeded in defending ours; but my ... my father feared that the riots would grow worse the following night, so it was decided that we should leave the city. By day things were fairly quiet; but unfortunately there were delays, owing to our wishing to take with us many valuable belongings. It was evening before we left, and the sun was setting behind the Pyramids. Near a village a few miles outside the city our caravan was attacked by marauding Arabs. There was a fight, my father was killed . . ^' Mademoiselle, I am truly sorry,' murmured Roger. She gave a little shrug. ^' It was the will of Allah. I feel no great grief for him. He was no longer young and was at times a very cruel man.'

^' What happened then? '

^' When they saw my father fall dead the men of our escort panicked and fled. All the other women of the seraglio were riding on camels, so I suppose they and the baggage were carried off by the Arabs. I was on horseback. Beside me Ali, my father's falconer, was riding with my maid mounted behind him. Ali seized my bridle and turned my horse. We galloped off and got away in the darkness. A few minutes later we found ourselves back in the village. Fearing to return to Cairo I decided to seek refuge there, and we were hidden by a farmer in his barn.

^' This morning I found that the French had entered Cairo and had restored order, so I thought it would be safe to go home. But shortly before we were about to set out a further misfortune befell us. A party of French soldiers arrived in the village. I hid again; but it was horses they were seeking and they took every animal they could find, including ours. Our only course was to walk. That is why we did not reach the city until after dark. When we got to my home we found it had been broken into and partly looted. I was very tired, so rested there for some time while Ali got us a meal. But with all the locks broken I feared to stay the night there, in case marauders returned to carry away more loot, and I decided to seek shelter with relatives. It was while on our way to ... to my uncle's house that we were attacked by the Sergeant and his men. They threw poor Ali down, beat and kicked him and left him, perhaps, dead. Then they dragged my maid and me down into that cul-de-sac where you found us.'

In the main her story had the ring of truth. During the French occupation of Venice no woman had been safe in the streets at night, even when accompanied by a man. Bonaparte's fierce troops had pitched many such Italian escorts into the canals; so Roger knew that the Sergeant would not have hesitated to set his men on the unfortunate Ali. Her account of her flight from Cairo also sounded highly plausible. Yet there were certain discrepancies in her story that he meant to plumb. For the moment, he said only:

^' You have certainly been through a terrible time these past few days, and particularly tonight. Although you rested and fed a few hours ago, no doubt you would like some refreshment.'

^'1 am not hungry, monsieur,' she replied, ^' but I would like something to drink, provided it is not wine.'

Leaving her, he went out to the back of the premises. The previous day he had led a party to find and purchase by order, at any price he chose to fix, various delicacies for the Headquarters Mess. In a few houses owned by rich Copts he had found cellars of wine and had had the bulk of them transported to Murad's palace. But he had reserved several dozen for himself, and he now opened a bottle of rich Kamiros wine from Rhodes. Then he hunted round until he found some sherbet for his guest.

As he handed her the sherbet he said, ^' Mademoiselle, from several things you have said, and your refusal of wine, it is clear to me that you are a Muslim. Yet you told me that you were the daughter of a French merchant. I find that strange.'

After hesitating a moment she replied, ^'1 said that because I thought it would carry more weight with you and those men. But it is my mother who is French and taught me that language.'

^' What happened to her? Was she captured by the Arabs with the other women? '

^' No, monsieur. Fortunately she was not in Cairo. She . . . she was divorced by my father and married again. She lives in ... in Syria.'

^' But as a Frenchwoman, your mother was surely a Catholic. And, even if repudiated by her husband, her faith would not permit her to remarry.'

Zanthe looked away quickly. ^' Things are different in Mohammedan countries. Everything was . . . well, arranged for her.'

Roger felt sure that his beautiful captive was lying, and not very cleverly, for she could quite well have said that her mother had become a Muslim. As he was wondering how best to get the truth out of her, she drank up her sherbet and said, ^'1 am tired now, and would like you to take me to a room where I can sleep.'

Nothing loath, Roger finished his glass of wine and stood up. ^' We will go upstairs then. This house is not large, but it is comfortably furnished, and I will leave nothing undone to assure you a sound sleep.'

Taking with him his glass and the bottle, which was still two-thirds full, he led her up to the best bedroom of the house. The two oil-lamps in it had been left burning by his servant, and shed a gentle glow round the room. Its main feature was a huge divan bed. Setting down his bottle and glass on a small Moorish table inlaid with ivory, he locked the door.

'What are you about? ' Zanth6 exclaimed, her eyes widening. ' You cannot remain here, monsieur! '