Chapter 25

Her bewilderment showed in her reluctance to go, but Voldi waved her on. Digging her heels into Darik’s ribs, she set out on the last lap of her home-bound journey.

After she had disappeared, Voldi wondered whether he should have been more explicit—or, better, should have said nothing at all about conditions in the royal household. Perhaps Fara’s intuition might provide a partial explanation. She couldn’t help remembering that Deran had shown himself to be unfriendly. Maybe she would guess that the jealous Prince would resent his return. It was difficult for Voldi to tell her that Deran was bitterly jealous of him: she would presently discover this without being told.

It had often occurred to Voldi that the King had unwittingly done him a disservice in appointing him to succeed his eminent grandfather as a member of the King’s Council. Deran had been noisily resentful and derisive. Voldi’s long-time comrades, approving his appointment, were treated to the Prince’s scorn.

Before he left again, on the grim errand from which he was now returning, a dozen of Voldi’s boyhood cronies, all of them sons or grandsons of distinguished Arabians, had invited him to join them on a stag-hunt deep in the wooded mountains. And that night around the camp-fire they had confided their bitter opposition to the Prince who, they said, had become so arrogant and so thoroughly detested by the people that his accession to the throne would amount to a national disaster. Voldi had tried to temper their anger…’He’s young yet. Be patient. His attitude may change as he grows older.’

‘The trouble is,’ they told him, ‘the Queen, who is passionately devoted to the Prince, encourages him in his folly.’

‘And the King?’ Voldi had asked.

Well—the gentle-spirited, peace-loving Zendi, whatever he might think of the situation, had done nothing about it.

‘The fact is,’ Museph had blurted out recklessly, ‘Arabia needs a King with a loud voice and a savage temper; somebody like rough old Aretas, who could outyell and outcurse the toughest sheik in the land!’

At this juncture Voldi had said quietly, ‘Let us forget now that this matter has been discussed. Such talk is treasonable—and we all know it.’

‘Someone ought to tell Deran,’ rumbled Raboth, ‘just how thin the ice is where he walks!’

And Voldi had brought a laugh—and a conclusion to the talk—by reminding Raboth of the convention of mice that resolved to put a bell on the cat, and found that no mouse would volunteer to perform this service.

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