Chapter 3

There was a long moment of silence before Zendi signified with a gesture that they were now free to disperse. The people stirred, uneasily questing one another’s baffled eyes. Mishma, standing at the King’s elbow, suggested that the unprecedented event should be kept a secret.

‘That would be most desirable, Mishma, if we could,’ agreed Zendi. ‘But it cannot be done. It is possible to pledge three people—or five—to keep a secret; but not fifty. Perhaps it is better to let them all talk until they have tired of it—and then it will be forgotten. After all, she is only a child.’

And so it was told throughout the whole Kingdom of Arabia that Princess Arnon’s young daughter had vowed to assassinate her Jewish father. The first reaction was that of sheer admiration mixed with amiable amusement. The little girl had shown great courage. She might be part Jew, but she was all Arab! Of course her vow—considered practically—was ridiculous. When she grew a little older, her recollection of it would be embarrassing, no doubt. And after a few weeks of free discussion, the strange incident—as Zendi had predicted—was forgotten.

Young Voldi, completely infatuated and not caring who knew it, spent more and more time at Arnon’s encampment, to the mounting anxiety of his parents, for he was a popular, well-favoured youth, giving promise of a bright future. With his exceptional talents for making friends and the reputation he had already won as a fearless sportsman, it was not too much to hope that his country might some day confer honours upon him. He might easily win an appointment to the King’s Council. But it seemed doubtful to Urson and Kitra that their idolized son could fulfil these high expectations if embarrassed by an alliance with a young woman of alien blood, especially Jewish blood. Whatever might be her beauty, courage, and charm, Fara would be a heavy liability.

Nor was Voldi insensitive to his parents’ uneasiness. He was deeply devoted to them and their anxiety distressed him. There were no stormy scenes. Perhaps it might have been easier for him to ignore their wishes if they had angered him with stern admonitions—if Urson had lashed out at him with bitter scorn or if his mother had become noisily hysterical. The unhappy situation was hardly mentioned among them, but it was ever present in their thoughts. Urson seldom laughed now. And when Voldi, setting forth in the morning to spend the day with the adorable young daughter of Antipas the scoundrel, turned in his saddle to wave a hand to Kitra, standing before the doorway, trying to smile through her welling tears, he felt like an ingrate.

And he had other misgivings. He was seeing very little of his companions. Until recently he had spent most of his time with his hard-riding young cronies. Indeed, he had been the acknowledged leader of this adventurous crew. What were they thinking about him? What were they saying about him, as they sat around their evening camp-fire in the mountains after a long day’s chase for wild game? It would be a sore affliction if his friends were to chatter contemptuously of his demoralizing love-sickness. He resolved to free himself of this dread.