Diana's muscles relaxed and she sat back easily on the cushions, the
little passage of wills had restored her confidence in herself. She
moved her hand and it brushed against her jacket, coming away stained
and sticky, and she noticed for the first time that all one side and
sleeve were soaked with blood. She ripped it off with a shudder and
flung it from her, rubbing the red smear from her hands with a kind of
horror.
The little tent was intensely hot, and there was a close, pungent smell
that was eminently native that she never experienced in the cool
airiness and scrupulous cleanliness of Ahmed Ben Hassan's tents. Her
sensitive lip curled with disgust, all her innate fastidiousness in
revolt. The heat aggravated a burning thirst that was parching her
throat. She got up on to her feet slowly, and with infinite caution, to
prevent any jar that might start again the throbbing in her head; but
the effects of the blow were wearing off, and, though her head
continued to ache, it did no more than that, and the sick, giddy
feeling had gone completely. She crossed the tent to the side of the
Arab woman.
"Give me some water," she said in French, but the woman shook her head
without looking up. Diana repeated the request in Arabic, one of the
few sentences she knew without stumbling. This time the woman rose up
hastily and held out a cup of the coffee she had been making.
Diana hated the sweet, thick stuff, but it would do until she could get
the water she wanted, and she put out her hand to take the little cup.
But her eyes met the other's fixed on her, and something in their
malignant stare made her pause. A sudden suspicion shot through her
mind. The coffee was drugged. What beyond the woman's expression made
her think so she did not know, but she was sure of it. She put the cup
aside impatiently.
"No. Not coffee. Water," she said firmly.
Before she realised what was happening the woman thrust a strong arm
round her and forced the cup to her lips. That confirmed Diana's
suspicions and rage lent her additional strength. The woman was strong,
but Diana was stronger, younger and more active. She dashed the cup to
the floor, spilling its contents, and, with an effort, tore the
clinging hands from her and sent the woman crashing on to the ground,
rolling against the brazier, oversetting it, and scattering brass pots
and cups over the rug. The woman scrambled to her knees and beat out
the glowing embers, uttering scream after scream in a shrill, piercing
voice. And, in answer to her cries, a curtain at the side of the tent,
that Diana had not noticed, slid aside and a gigantic Nubian came in.
With outstretched hand shaking with rage, pointing at Diana, she burst
into voluble abuse, punctuating every few words with the shrieks that
had brought the negro.