'Ruby' Cornish in the fleet of the English East India Company, glowed in the sunlight.
'I am Prince Mansur ibn al-Salil al-Malik,' Mansur replied, in flowing Arabic, touching his heart and lips in greeting. 'I come as an emissary of my father, Caliph al-Salil ibn al-Malik. I have the honour to bear a message for His Excellency the Consul General of His Britannic Majesty.'
Ruby Cornish looked uncomfortable. He followed what Mansur had said only with difficulty, and he had been severely enjoined not to acknowledge any titles of royalty to which these Omani rebels might lay claim.
'Please ask your retainers to remain in the barge,' he said. Mansur dismissed them with a gesture, and Cornish went on, 'If you will come this way, sir.' He led Mansur to where a sail had been rigged over the midships section of the upper-deck as a sun shade.
Sir Guy Courtney sat in a comfortable armchair covered with a leopards king His cocked hat was laid on the table beside him, and his sword was between his knees. He made no effort to rise from his chair as Mansur approached. He wore a burgundy- coloured jacket of fine broadcloth with solid gold buttons, and a high stock. His shoes were square-toed with silver buckles, and his white silk hose reached to his knees, and were held by garters that exactly matched the colour of his jacket. His tight-fitting trousers were also white, with a codpiece that flattered his masculinity. He wore the ribbons and stars of the Order of the Garter and some Oriental decorations.
Mansur made the polite gesture of greeting: 'I am honoured by your condescension, Your Excellency.'
Guy Courtney shook his head irritably. Mansur knew now that he was Tom's twin and must therefore be in his late forties, but he looked younger. Although his hair was thinning and receding, his figure was slim and his belly flat. But there were liver-coloured bags under his eyes, and one of his front teeth was discoloured. His expression was sour and unfriendly. 'My daughter will translate,' he said in English, and indicated the girl who stood behind his chair. Mansur pretended not to understand. He had been acutely aware of her presence since the moment he had stepped aboard the yacht, but now he looked directly at her for the first time.
He had the greatest difficulty in keeping his face expressionless. The first thing he noticed was that her eyes were large and green, lively and searching. The whites were clear, and the lashes long and densely curled.
Mansur tore away his gaze and addressed Sir Guy again. 'Forgive my ignorance but I speak no English,' he apologized. 'I do not understand what it was Your Excellency said.'
The girl spoke in beautiful classical Arabic, making music of the words: 'My father speaks no Arabic. With your forbearance I will translate for him.'
Mansur bowed again. 'I compliment you, my lady. Your command of our tongue is perfection. I am Prince Mansur ibn al-Salil al-Malik, and I come as the messenger of my father, the Caliph.'
'I am Verity Courtney, the consul general's daughter. My father bids you welcome aboard the Arctwrus.'
'We are honoured by the emissary of such a powerful monarch, and such an illustrious nation.' For a while longer they exchanged compliments and expressions of esteem and respect, but Verity Courtney managed not to acknowledge any royal titles or honours. She was weighing him as carefully as he was her. She was much more handsome than when he had seen her through the lens of a telescope. Her complexion was lightly sun-gilded but otherwise of English perfection, and her features were strong and determined, without being heavy or coarse. Her neck was long and graceful, her head perfectly balanced upon it. When she smiled politely her mouth was large and her lips full. Her two upper front teeth were slightly misaligned, but the imperfection was arresting and attractive.
Mansur asked if there was anything that they needed that he might be able to supply. Sir Guy told Verity, 'We are short of water, but don't let him know it.'
She relayed the request: 'A ship always needs water, effendi. It is not a pressing need, but my father would be grateful for your generosity.' Then she gave Mansur's answer to her father.
'The Prince says he will send out the water tender immediately.'
'Don't call him a prince. He is a dirty little rebel, and Zayn will feed him to the sharks. The water he sends out to us will probably be half camel piss.'
Verity did not even blink at her father's choice of words. Obviously she was accustomed to his phraseology. She turned back to Mansur. 'Of course, effendi, the water will be sweet and potable? You would not send us camel's piss?' she asked not in Arabic but in English. It was so artlessly done, her tone so level and her green eyes so candid that
Mansur might have been taken in, had he not been ready for it. Yet he was so taken aback by those words on her ladylike lips that he only just managed to keep his own expression polite but neutral. He cocked his head slightly in blank enquiry. 'My father is grateful for your generosity.' She switched back to Arabic, having carried out this test of his linguistic skills.
'You are honoured guests,' Mansur replied.
'He speaks no English,' Verity said to her father.
'See what the blighter is after. They're a slippery bunch of eels, these wogs.' It was only recently that a secretary at Government House had penned this acronym for Worthy Oriental Gentleman, and as a mildly derogatory term it had been adopted throughout the Company.
'My father asks after the health of your father.' Verity avoided saying the forbidden word 'Caliph'.
'The Caliph is blessed with the strength and vigour of ten ordinary men.' Mansur emphasized his father's title. He was enjoying the battle of wits. 'It is a virtue embodied in the royal blood of Oman.'
'What does he say?' Sir Guy demanded.
'He is trying to make me acknowledge that his father is the new ruler.' Verity smiled and nodded.
'Make the correct response.'
'My father hopes that your father will enjoy a hundred more summers in such robust health and in the sunshine of God's favour, and that his conscience will always lead him in the loyal and honourable path.'
'The Caliph, my father, wishes that your father shall have one hundred strong and noble sons, and that all his daughters grow to be as beautiful and clever as the one who stands before me now.' It was unsubtle and bordering on insolence, except of course that he was a prince and might take such liberties. He saw the quick shadow of annoyance in the depths of her green eyes.
Aha! he thought, without a smile of triumph. First blood to me.
But her riposte was quick and pointed. 'May all your father's sons be blessed with good manners and show respect and courtesy towards all women,' she replied, 'even if it is not in their true nature.'
'What's all that about?' Sir Guy demanded.
'He is being solicitous of your health.'
'Find out when his rascally father will see me. Warn him that I will brook no more nonsense from them.'
My father enquires when he may present his compliments and duty in person to your illustrious father.'
I he Caliph would welcome such an occasion. It would also be an
opportunity for him to enquire how it is that the consul general's daughter speaks the language of the Prophet with such a mellifluous tongue.'
Verity almost smiled. He was such a beautiful man. Even his insults were titillating, and his manner was so engaging that, despite herself, she could not take real offence. The simple answer to his implied question was that since her childhood on Zanzibar island, where her father had at one time been stationed, she had been fascinated by all things Oriental. She had learned to love the Arabic language with its poetic, expressive vocabulary. This was, however, the first time she had ever been even vaguely attracted to an Oriental man.
'If your honoured father would receive me and my father I would be pleased to respond to any question of his personally, rather than send my answers through one of his children.'
Mansur bowed to concede that she had taken the bout. He did not smile but his eyes sparkled as he took the letter from his sleeve and handed it to her.
'Read it to me,' Sir Guy ordered, and Verity translated it into English, listened to her father's reply, then turned back to Mansur. She made no further pretence at feminine modesty but looked him directly in the eye.
'The consul general wishes to have all the members of the council present at the meeting,' Verity told him.
'The Caliph would be delighted and honoured to accede to that request. He values the advice of his councillors.'
'How long will it take to arrange this meeting?' Verity demanded.
Mansur thought for a moment. Three days. The Caliph would be further honoured if you would join him in an expedition into the desert to fly his falcons against the bustard.'
Verity turned to Sir Guy. 'The rebel leader wants you to go out hawking in the wilderness. I am not certain that you would be safe.'
'This new fellow would be insane to offer me any violence.' Sir Guy shook his head. 'What he is after is a chance to speak in privacy to try to win my support. You can be certain that the palace is a hive of intrigue and a nest of spies. Out in the desert I might learn something from him to my
