Golden Bird

“Hassad,” started Sara and he turned to her without really looking at her. “Hassad, where is the Prince? I wish to speak with him.”

“I am sorry mistress, but His Highness has gone out into the desert. He has asked me to inform you that all the arrangements have been made for your safe return to America, as soon as you and Mr. Wilson are ready to leave. He also asks me to convey his wishes for you to have a long and prosperous and happy life.”

“That’s it? That’s all he has to say?” she asked, incredulous.

Hassad shifted his eyes to make contact with hers, and for just a moment, Sara thought she read compassion, ... or was it pity? She felt he wanted to say more, but, “Yes, mistress, that is all,” was what he said before turning to David, indicating that he should follow.

Hassad had felt compassion, for he had seen the hurt in her eyes—her beautiful eyes. He could understand his master’s love for the woman, and felt his pain. Their pain. He had been tempted to tell her what else Rashid had said, but His Highness had sworn him to silence.

“Oh, Hassad, how I wish I could make her forget her life before she came here ... to me. I want to beg her to stay, but can not ... this is not her place.” he sighed, as if a loved one had died, and rambled on in Arabic, more to himself than to Hassad. “She will return to her life with this David Wilson, but she will not forget ... But how will she remember? ...with love? ... or with hate? That is what I fear, Hassad, her hate. She will hate me for my deception ... but, I thought, ... I had hoped, she would grow to love it here and never want to leave ... it was easier to do nothing ... and the negotiations, they had to be protected ... but as you know, they have been settled for weeks now ... it would not have been easy, but I could have sent her home weeks ago. I wish, Hassad, that I had never seen her, that she had never been brought here. I curse my uncle’s soul to equal the pain I will carry with me for the rest of my life.”

When Rashid had finished, Hassad was silent—there were no words he could say to ease his master’s pain. Rashid mounted his big Arabian stallion and looked down at Hassad.