Princess Sultana's Circle

frightened to protest, for they feared arrest and
imprisonment on false charges. It was alleged that all this
corruption has created more than fifty billionaires in my own
extended family.
    I found everything Al
Massari claimed hard to believe, although I could not deny
corruption was rife in some branches of our family. For example, a
prominent Princess, a cousin whom I know quite well, often
laughingly boasts about the scandalously inflated rent she collects
by renting buildings to the Saudi military.
    What makes me so indignant
is that there is no need for such behavior. The monthly allowances
received by all royals far exceeds our needs. With each Prince and
Princess receiving SR 35,000 ($10,000) monthly, a large branch of
family can collect several hundred thousand dollars each
month.
    There were other
allegations. This professor, and his associates, also accused
certain foreign journalists from highly regarded newspapers and
magazines of being paid handsome bribes to vilify and slander other
writers who dare write the truth about our government and our
country. And, here was Mohammed Al Massari, speaking out freely on
British television broadcast all over the world, while a reporter
listened with interest and sympathy!
    I sprang to my feet and
stood before the television set.
    When Maha started to speak,
I hushed her. “Shhh, look,” I said as I leaned forward. I wanted to
commit this traitor’s face to memory. The physical appearance of
this enemy of my family would surely match the evil portrait that
already formed in my mind. But, I saw a dignified man whose eyes
flashed with intelligence. Judging by his genial appearance, an
observer would never dream that there was anything particularly
important on the man’s mind, certainly not such desperate ideas as
overthrowing a King. Here was a disturbing man!
    Kareem had spoken more than
once about this professor. He was considered an ominous threat to
the rule of the Al Sa’uds, and the throne that allowed my family to
claim the country, and its revenues, as their own. I knew that my
husband, father, brother, cousins and uncles would go to extreme
measures to protect their right to control the oil of Arabia—the
black gold that currently flowed in a thousand streamlets directly
into the coffers of the royal clan.
    My mind raced as I
listened. The interviewer appeared to approve the fact that England
was becoming a haven for Middle Eastern dissidents such as
Professor Al Massari. But I felt that British citizens might one
day regret offering sanctuary to opponents of oil-rich governments,
for the men of my family are extremely vengeful. After all, a Saudi
government vendetta against the people of England had already
occurred. In 1980, Princess Misha’il, the granddaughter of Prince
Mohammed, had been put to death in Saudi Arabia for the crime of
adultery. A film dramatization of her story, Death of a Princess,
made by an independent television company, had been broadcast in
Britain.
    When King Khalid learned
the contents of the film, he was embarrassed and outraged by the
film’s depiction of Saudi royalty. He temporarily severed
diplomatic ties with Great Britain, recalling the Saudi ambassador
to London and sending the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia
packing. More seriously, contracts with British firms worth
millions of pounds were cancelled. The consequence was that many
British jobs were lost.
    When the broadcast ended, I
returned to my chair and slowly sipped my drink of cold Laban.
Mohammed Al Massari looked nothing like I had imagined, I mused.
Instead, he looked the scholar he was, not the rebel he had
become.
    Maha took the remote
control from my hand and switched to a channel that was showing
music videos. Amani’s face was set like granite as she stared into
nothingness.
    I gripped one hand in the
other and murmured out loud, “What caused that man to hate us so?
Why risk his reputation, his liberty, and the well-being of his
family, all for an idea?”
    Maha murmured, “I don’t
know, Mother.”
    Amani came to life with a
self-satisfied smile as she said, “I know.”
    I sat astonished, and
looked dumbly at Maha, who also looked puzzled. “She knows?”
Amani’s words triggered a stream of speculations in my mind. “What
do you know of that man, Amani?”
    “ Do you really want to
know?”
    Desperate thoughts of Amani
allied to some forbidden political organization sank into my mind
like a dagger. I stared at her without blinking