When André was finished, the sultan pounded the divan with his fist. “May God curse the evildoers! Oh, the vipers we have nurtured in our bosom!”
He swung around to the eunuch, who flinched. “Why did we not know about this? Why do we pay a fortune for informants only to learn about treason from a Frenchman?”
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Feradge stammered, “I shall initiate an investigation . . .”
“Bring us al-Khattabi! We shall flog him personally, quarter him, and feed his stinking carcass to the lions!” the sultan raged. “What happens to traitors in your country, Mrs. Hopkins? Tell us so we may do the same to this hyena al-Khattabi!”
“Well, Your Imperial Majesty, I th-think that high treason is punishable by death in England as well,” Sibylla stammered. “Not in a lion’s den, however.” She warily looked over at the formidable predators, which were baring their long, sharp fangs.
The sultan hesitated. Sibylla could have sworn that the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. Then he turned to André. “Your information is worth its price. However, we cannot hand over Abd el-Kader to your government. Though an Algerian, he has many friends in this country and they would clamor for revenge.”
“Your Majesty is making a grave error,” urged André. “The French government wants Abd el-Kader at all costs.”
The sultan reached for a silver tray with candied dates and offered them to Sibylla and André. “Tell the French: it is not the amount of time spent on the hunt, but the kind of animal killed. Abd el-Kader will be this animal at the right time.” He placed a date in his mouth and chewed it with relish.
At that moment, a slave once again darted from the colonnade and gave Feradge a small piece of rolled-up parchment.
“Your Imperial Majesty! A carrier pigeon just delivered news of great importance from the north of the country.” He handed the sultan the parchment.
Abd al-Rahman read the contents carefully before rolling the parchment up and saying to André, “Abd el-Kader, together with the tribes of our province of Oran, to which the traitor al-Khattabi belongs, has launched renewed attacks in Algeria. The French navy has bombarded Tangier in retaliation.”
Sibylla was shocked. Their visit was too late! Would the sultan still release Benjamin? André too seemed unnerved. “Your Imperial Majesty, if you wish, I will personally intercede on your behalf with the French consul general.”
Abd al-Rahman raised his right hand. “Your offer comes too late for Tangier, Monsieur Rouston. But, Mrs. Hopkins, you need not worry. A ruler from the house of the Alaouites does not go back on his word. Your husband will be released. But mark my words: it is not an innocent man who is being freed!”
“Are you in such a rush because you cannot wait to be reunited with your husband?” André inquired querulously as he tightened the saddle girth on his horse.
“My children have been without their mother for a week. I should think that that is sufficient reason to rush,” Sibylla replied sharply. “I wish to reach Mogador tonight.”
“Vos desirs sont des ordres, madame!” André stashed the leftovers of their midday meal in a saddlebag, mounted his brown mare, and galloped away. Sibylla had trouble keeping up as he spurred his horse more and more, driven by rage and jealousy. Although he had told himself a hundred times that it was not Sibylla’s fault, he nonetheless let her feel the brunt of his bad mood.
Ever since they had left Marrakesh three days earlier, he had been asking himself why he’d agreed to such an absurd act of heroism to save his rival. It must have been his desire to impress Sibylla with his diplomatic savoir-faire and his influence with the sultan. A tiny part of him had even hoped that, during these few days and nights, he might be allowed to hold her in his arms and to love her. And yet she had not encouraged him in any way, which hurt him even though he told himself a hundred times that it was wrong to expect such recompense for his support.
“I ought to have let that fellow rot on the island,” he growled under his breath and pressed his heels into his mare’s flanks.
“André, wait! I think my horse is lame!”
He spun around to investigate.
“The right front leg feels hot. Probably a strained tendon,” he concluded after dismounting and checking the horse. “Dismount and get on my horse. I am going to lead yours. Fortunately, we’re almost there.”
Sibylla slid out of the saddle. “I can lead my horse myself!”
“You cannot seriously think that I am going to ride while you walk next to me! Now get on my horse, zut alors!”
“I understand French curses quite well, and I am not going to take orders, not even from you!” she hissed.
They stared at each other furiously for a few seconds before breaking into laughter. He leaned forward and cupped his hands to help her mount his mare more easily.
“Excuse moi! My behavior has been atrocious.”
“I’m not going to disagree.” She sighed. “Without your help, the sultan would never have agreed to release Benjamin, and I am aware of how difficult that must have been for you. Benjamin is my husband only on paper at this point. Still, we are bound in the eyes of God and the law, and it is almost impossible to dissolve that union.”
André swallowed hard. She was right. A woman like Sibylla, coming from an affluent family, might be able to obtain a divorce after long and costly litigation. But she would lose her good name and almost certainly her children as a result. And what right did he have to expect her to make such a sacrifice?
“Oh, I haven’t yet told you about Abd al-Rahman’s gift to me,” he said to distract himself from his despondency. “On the evening before our departure, he summoned me and said that I could have one wish fulfilled in return for saving him from the conspiracy.”
“That sounds like a fairy tale!” she exclaimed. “What was your wish?”
He absentmindedly stroked the horse’s nose. “A piece of land for me to work and my own house in which to live. That has been my most ardent wish ever since I was old enough to understand that my eldest brother would inherit the farm and the rest of us would have nothing.” He laughed. “I cannot deny that I am the son of a farmer.”
“Did he fulfill your wish? Abd al-Rahman has never permitted a foreigner to own land in his country.”
“Now he has!” André disagreed proudly. “There is a compound with a large pleasure garden approximately a day’s journey southwest of Mogador, where the Oued Zeltene flows into the Oued Igrounzar. Abd al-Rahman often spent his weekends there when he was a young man and qaid of Mogador, but he hasn’t gone there since his ascension to the throne. It must be rather overgrown and dilapidated.”
“But now you are the new owner and your dreams are fulfilled. How wonderful, André!”
He was moved that she was genuinely happy for him, and disconsolate at the same time. “My dreams will not be fulfilled until you live there with me.”
Sibylla lowered her gaze. “Do you remember what you said to me in the Portuguese church?”