Sweet Revenge

Here the houses were more elegant, shaded by trees. One or two even boasted the luxury of grass. She thought she remembered visiting in one of them, drinking green tea in a dim parlor with the sound of silk rustling and the smell of incense clogging the air.
    They drove through the gates to the palace, past the dark, blank eyes of the guards. This, too, had changed little, though her child’s mind had lent it more grandeur than it deserved. In the harsh afternoon sun its stucco walls were brilliantly white. The green tile roof was an arrogant slash of color. Its windows, most curtained against the glare, glinted. Its minarets rose, but in deference to Allah rose no higher than those of the mosque. Parapets circled so that in times of civil strife or foreign attack it could be defended. The sea hammered at its back. Its gardens were lush, shielding it from prying eyes, and, more, shielding the women of the house from temptation when they chose to wander through them.
    Though there was a door for women as well as one for men, it was to the garden rather than the main entrance the limo drove. Adrianne’s brow rose only slightly. So, she was tobe delivered to the harem before seeing Abdu. That was perhaps for the best.
    She waited until the driver opened her door. Though she was certain he must have been a relation, however distant, he didn’t offer a hand to assist her out. His eyes remained carefully averted. Gathering up her skirts, she stepped out into the blast of heat and scent. Without a backward glance she let herself in through the garden gate.
    There was a trickle of water from the fountain, the fountain she knew her father had had built for her mother during their first year of marriage. It fed a small pond where carp grew as long as a man’s arm. Around it flowers bent, drawn to the moisture.
    Before she reached the hidden door, it was opened. Adrianne stepped through, beyond the black-clad servant, and smelled the women’s scents that brought her back to childhood. As the door shut, closing her in, she did what she had longed to do throughout the long drive from the airport. She pulled off her veil.
    “Adrianne.” A woman stepped into the shadowed light. She smelled strongly of musk and wore a red-sequined gown suited to a nineteenth-century ball. “Welcome home.” As she spoke, the woman gave the traditional greeting, a kiss on both cheeks. “You were only a child when I last saw you. I am your aunt, Latifa, wife of Fahir, brother of your father.”
    Adrianne returned the greeting. “I remember you, Aunt Latifa. I’ve seen Duja. She’s well and happy. She sends love to you and honor to her father.”
    Latifa nodded. Though Adrianne outranked her, she had given birth to five strong sons and held a place of honor and envy in the harem. “Come, there is refreshment. The others want to welcome you.”
    Here, too, little had changed. There was the scent of spiced coffee and the heavy seduction of perfume mingling with the bite of incense. A long table had been spread with a white cloth edged in gold and was laden with food no less colorful than the gowns of the women. There were silks and satins, and even though the temperature soared, the sheen of velvet. Beads and spangles glistened. There was the warmth of gold, the ice of silver, and always the sparkle of jewels.Bracelets clanged and lace whispered as traditional greetings were exchanged.
    She brushed her lips over the cheeks of Abdu’s second wife, the woman who so many years before had caused Phoebe such unhappiness. Adrianne could find no resentment. A woman did as a woman was bid. That was confirmed as Leiha, already the mother of seven, and more than forty, was obviously pregnant again.
    There were cousins she remembered and a score of minor princesses. Some had cropped or crimped their hair. This was, like the vivid gowns, something they did for their own pleasure, and like children with a new toy, to show off among themselves.
    There was Sara, Abdu’s latest wife, a small, big-eyed girl of about sixteen who was already swollen with child. From the looks of it, both she and Leiha had conceived at about the same time. Adrianne noticed that the stones on her fingers and at her ears were no less brilliant than those worn by Leiha. Such was the law. A man could take four wives, but only if he could treat each equally.
    Phoebe had never been an equal here, but Adrianne couldn’t find it in her heart to despise a young girl because of it.