“What do you mean?” Sibylla was curious to know. “Is he a foreign diplomat?”
“Rather a French misfit,” Willshire said reflexively. He, like most Englishmen, had a strong dislike for the French. “Rouston used to be an officer with the Chasseurs d’Afrique and served in Algeria. However, the past few years, he has preferred to dwell in a mud hut with the Chiadma. Because he persuaded them to resolve their longstanding feud with the ruling family, the sultan holds him in the highest regard. Abd al-Rahman particularly seeks out Rouston’s advice when it comes to the reform of his army, which, between you and me, is in deplorable condition.”
“Military advice from a Frenchman!” Benjamin huffed. “Apparently, the sultan has never heard of Abukir, let alone Waterloo, or he would know of the military superiority of us English.”
Sibylla turned her gaze back to Rouston. She took him to be about thirty, a few years older than she. He sat calmly and confidently on his prancing mare while he looked into the crowd.
What sort of man prefers to live in the desert with a Berber tribe rather than with his own kind behind city walls? she wondered. Was he married to one of their women? She shook the improper thoughts from her head.
At that moment, Rouston looked her way and their eyes locked for several seconds. He smiled subtly and Sibylla’s heart leapt. She was startled. Never had she experienced anything of the sort—with Benjamin or any other man. What could have gotten into her? She was a married lady, after all, and a pregnant one at that! She quickly lowered her gaze and moved closer to Benjamin.
Meanwhile, the sultan’s interpreter had translated his master’s greeting into all the languages of those present. “His Imperial Majesty Abd al-Rahman, Sovereign of all the Faithful, renews and reinforces the friendly alliance that his ancestors have built with the rulers of the European countries. His Imperial Majesty will do everything in his power to intensify and expand this alliance, with the help of God.”
At a signal from His Majesty, the consuls general stepped up one by one and answered with well-chosen words. After Consul General Drummond-Hay had spoken, a eunuch and several slaves approached to collect the gifts for the sultan.
“But I wanted to present the gun to His Majesty myself,” Benjamin protested. “This way I know neither that he really received it nor that he knows it is from me.”
“You may rest assured that His Majesty is informed in detail about the provenance of all the gifts,” Consul Willshire told him.
Yet Benjamin refused to hand it over. The delay caught the sultan’s attention and Drummond-Hay felt compelled to explain. A short exchange with the translator ensued.
“His Imperial Majesty the Sultan permits the merchant Hopkins to hand over his gift to his favorite eunuch, Feradge!”
Benjamin looked at Drummond-Hay uncertainly and the latter nodded emphatically. So he unwrapped the gun from its protective cloth. Before handing it to the eunuch, he held it up for the sultan to see. A murmur went through the lines of soldiers as the silver studs sparkled in the light. Even His Majesty seemed interested. Benjamin was satisfied. He was sure that the sultan would reward him for this valuable gift, maybe even with exclusive rights for the export of leather!
Benjamin pondered how to make his request as the eunuch handed the gun to his master and the sultan examined the workmanship. He would speak of the amicable relations between their countries, of lucrative deals, rising exports, and rising profits.
But he never got the chance.
“His Imperial Majesty Sultan Abd al-Rahman thanks the merchant Hopkins for his valuable gift. It is only a merchant who disposes of extraordinary wealth who can make extraordinary gifts. His Majesty esteems this generosity highly. But His Majesty’s heart is saddened because his unfortunate people are suffering from hunger. Yet now, thanks to the generosity of the merchant Hopkins, His Majesty can aid his people by raising export taxes by a mere ten percent. Ten percent, the same as the churches of the infidels levy.”
“What?” Benjamin gasped. “That’s the thanks I get? A ten-percent increase in tariffs?”
“Hopkins, be still!” Consul Willshire took hold of Benjamin’s arm. “If you don’t play along, he’ll raise the tariffs even more!”
Benjamin blanched. He had never felt so tricked. It was all he could do not to scream in anger at this greedy ruler of the Muslims.
Just you wait, he thought, clenching his fists. He who laughs last laughs loudest! Whatever you take from me now, I’ll get back penny for penny later!
“Come,” Sibylla whispered and took his clenched hand. “Let’s go back to the inn.”
At that moment, the translator’s voice rang out once more. “His Majesty would like to know if the lady whose hair resembles that of a desert lioness is among his guests.”
Sibylla could not believe her ears. How could the sultan know the name the qaid’s wives had given her? What did this mean?
She stepped forward hesitantly and bowed her head. She heard the sultan’s deep voice, which was always soft, whether assuring the merchants of his friendship or raising the tariffs for her husband.
“His Imperial Majesty says, So this is the merchant’s wife with the lion’s hair who has sold English babouches to our wives. Our wives were very pleased and thank the lady with the lion’s hair.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Sibylla raised her head in surprise. The sultan nodded gently and turned his horse. A few seconds later, the palace gates closed behind him.
Benjamin glared at his wife. She had told him of her business deal with the slippers, but he had dismissed it as frivolous. But now his wife had been honored by the sultan in front of everyone while he had been humiliated—also in front of everyone.
“Stop! Stop this instant!” Sibylla drove her mule between the man with the whip and the two slaves. The slave driver reined in his mount and stared at her furiously, his arm raised, ready to deliver the next blow. The two men struggled to their feet. Blood was streaming down their backs, and their skin was broken and covered in welts. It hadn’t even been two days, but the extravagance and ceremony of the scene at the gate seemed to Sibylla to have happened in another world.
Their wrists were bound, and their necks were held inside two forked branches tied together at their throats and attached to each other at the end. Whenever one stumbled, the other was pulled to the ground with him.