Part 1: Crash

The three principal advisors were interrupted in their pleasures, and worries, and dreams, to be told the news that the Emir, His Magnificence Ibrahim, may he live for ever, and his heir Crown Prince Gamel who had been travelling together, which was unusual, in one of the Emir’s private jumbo jets on the way back from a holiday in Monte Carlo, had met with an accident. What seemed to have happened was that the chauffeur delegated to collect them at the Kobek International Airport had been a little over-enthusiastic and raced along the runway after the aeroplane. Air Traffic Control spotted it and panicked. The military also panicked and ordered the pilot to take off again, fearing an assassination attempt. The pilot did his best, opening the throttles and pulling back the stick but was short of room and as the aeroplane tried to take off, it hit the lights at the end of the runway and cart-wheeled into an extensive shambles of broken and burning metal.

The Crown Prince was undoubtedly deceased, as he had been in the cockpit at the time and part of the fuselage had cut him neatly in half. However, the Emir, may he live for ever, had been in the bedroom under a hostess at the time and so he was alive, just, as she shielded him from the worst of the event. She was killed but he was rushed to the superbly equipped hospital in the Triple Palace where he was immediately put on life support.

The three principal advisors arrived at the Golden Palace just as the ambulance which had brought the badly injured body of the Emir, may he live for ever, now a truly heartfelt wish on their parts, was leaving. The Chief Eunuch was, of course, already there.

Chapter 5: Urgent Decisions

These three needed as a matter of utmost urgency to decide what to do, since the considered opinion of Abd-al-Hadi Ibn Zahir, His Magnificence’s personal physician, was that the Emir, far from living for ever, would be lucky to last the night in spite of the traditional wish for immortality heaped most earnestly upon him by these three notables especially, and the doctor. They did not invite the Chief Eunuch to join them because, in Kamal Qumsiyeh’s view, “The fewer people who know the exact position the better.”

The first order of business was to identify who would be the successor if, and more likely when, the Emir, may he live for ever, failed to gain the fervently desired immortality. In the considered opinion of Kamal Qumsiyeh that would be the eldest grandson of Emir, may he live for ever, or at least for some weeks, Prince Mahmoud Abdullah, living in England for most of his life as had his mother, Princess Zubeydeh, the widow of Emir Ibrahim’s fourth son, Prince Abdullah, who had died playing polo some twenty years earlier.

By the Kobekistani succession laws since his father had died before the reigning Emir, Prince Fakhruddin the Crown Prince’s eldest son was relegated to take his place among the flock of grandsons of Emir Ibrahim, may he live for ever.

The strange succession laws had been designed specifically to keep young children from inheriting the throne, and in an event such as this, where no son of the Emir survived him, then the oldest grandson would inherit provided he had reached his majority, which under Kobekistani law was twenty-three, whether or not his father had been the eldest son. The throne therefore descended on His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever. He was a post-graduate student of mathematics at Oxford University, better known by his English name of David Ransome, who had recently come to his maturity.

If the Emir Ibrahim had died first in the crash, then the Crown Prince would have succeeded him if only for a matter of minutes, and then his eldest son, Prince Fakhruddin, would have succeeded him and become Emir at the tender age of eighteen and there would inevitably have been a disagreement over who would be his Regent for the four and a half years until his twenty-third birthday. It was entirely possible that a civil war would have started over this dispute. Clearly it was in the best interests of the nation that the Crown Prince died first, and so it was deemed to have happened thus. In truth the Emir Ibrahim was still alive, technically, but only while the life support system was operating. The moment that was switched off he would die according to the top medical opinion., the advisors were assured by the soon-to-be-late Emir Ibrahim’s doctor, one Abd-al-Hadi Ibn Zahir.

The next decision to be made was who should convey the news of his succession to His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, in Oxford. A small delegation would travel immediately to England and so be ready to speak the moment the Emir’s death happened. It was suggested that this should consist of the protocol advisor Kamal Qumsiyeh, and diplomatic advisor, Hajji Kofi Natsheh, accompanied by the Kobekistani Ambassador to the United Kingdom, together with such representatives of the British Government as it required, and the obligatory British police officers, both local and from the Royal Protection Squad. These would be joined by a bodyguard from the Kobekistani Army when it was established that the appointed Emir was present. Meanwhile Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov as advisor on economic matters would ‘hold the fort’ in Kobek itself, issuing frequent reassuring bulletins as to the progress of His Magnificence Emir Ibrahim, may he live for ever, in his recovery from the terrible accident.

Then, once the new Emir, may he live for ever, was actually en route to Kobekistan it could be announced that the late Emir had died, and his life support could be switched off. The only risk with this plan was that the Emir might survive, but that was described as needing a miracle by his doctors. However, ‘only risk’ is an odd phrase because his recovery might lead to the exile or even the executions of the four plotters. Investigation via the Internet revealed that a patient named Karen Ann Quinlan had been disconnected from a respirator similar to the Emir’s but surprised her doctors by continuing to breathe unaided. Karen then lived in a coma for nine more years, until her death from respiratory failure June 11, 1985.

Nevertheless this was the agreed plan, and nobody but these three and Abd-al-Hadi Ibn Zahir was to know exactly what was planned. The doctor only agreed to go along with the plan because no discernable brain activity could be detected and he believed that the Emir was to all intents and purposes already dead.

Meanwhile Air Kobekistan and the Kobekistani Air Force had invited the British Air Accidents Investigation Branch based in Farnborough to assist with the investigation for this civil aircraft accident. This was quite normal as their expertise was world renowned. Since both ‘black boxes’, control tower voice recordings, and much video footage of the crash were available it took less than a day to determine that it happened exactly as it appeared, and that panic orders had been issued to the pilot to attempt an impossible ‘go round’ abort of his landing. Analysis showed that on receiving the order the pilot had reacted in well under one third of a second and slammed the throttles forward, a reaction time that was described in the report as well within the bounds of what was expected of a competent pilot, and privately thought by the Principal Investigator to be a little short of miraculous as a reaction time.

Clearly this was caused by over exuberance on the part of the chauffeur of the Emir’s car and panic by Air Traffic Control and the military chief in the Control Tower, both of whom had feared an assassination attempt. The unfortunate culpable trio were in custody awaiting judgement from the Emir when he recovered, or the new Emir if he didn’t.

Chapter 6: A New Emir

David Ransome was woken by someone hammering on the door of his rooms in College at about seven in the morning, and he opened the door to see the most unexpected presence; the Master of the College was there, and was undoubtedly very put out. “I have some Police Officers, both local and from the Royal Protection Squad here with representatives of the Foreign and Colonial Office, and the Kobekistani Ambassador to the Court of Saint James, two other Arab gentlemen of unknown provenance, old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all, demanding your presence, Mr. Ransome,” he said, “What is this all about? What have you done?”

David was, perhaps, a little more compos mentis at that hour than the Master who, as was his wont, had dined and supped overly well the previous evening, so he offered, “I imagine my grandfather has died.”

“Grandfather, grandfather?” thundered the Master, “and who might your grandfather...” Silence returned as the Master remembered the previous term’s affair of the Prince Mahmoud Abdullah.

“Shall we go and find out?” asked David.

As they entered the house of the Master of the College, the three Arab gentlemen prostrated themselves in total silence and did not move until David said, ~Please get up, gentlemen, ~ using the Kobekistani Arabic his mother had insisted from childhood he learn to speak, though less so to read and write.

“Master,” said the Ambassador, using English, “The Emir, your grandfather, has died in an aircraft accident and Crown Prince Gamal predeceased him by some days. Master, I am here to humbly beg Your Magnificence to come to Kobekistan and assume Your Magnificence’s rightful throne.”

The taller of the other two Kobekistanis then said, “Master, my name is Kamal Qumsiyeh. I was Head of Protocol to the Emir, your grandfather, and yet I hope you will forgive my bluntness. If we are to avoid civil war when the news of your grandfather’s death is announced, then we must go to Kobekistan immediately. You may wish to bring the Princess Zubeydeh with you, Master; she may be of some use as a source of trustworthy information for you.”

“The Princess Zubeydeh?” asked David, not quite recognising the name.

“The Princess Zubeydeh, your mother – she knows Kobekistan which may be useful for you,” came the response.

“She may not want to come, and her husband may not want to let her,” David pointed out.

“Your Magnificence, may you live forever, can order her to come and she will come, of course. If the husband objects, either buy her from him or have him strangled,” suggested Kamal Qumsiyeh, causing a sudden fit of choking among the British Police and the gentlemen from the Foreign Office.

David ignored their discomfort and continued, “But I am by no measure magnificent and I don’t want to be the Emir of Kobekistan. I want to stay here and complete my research.”

“There are those who will say that it is Allah’s will that this happens. Others would attribute it to some other deity, or just to blind fate. Master, but when you are established as the Emir your actions are, of course, your choice. You don’t have to stay long; then you could return and your advisors could run the country for you.”

“I will consult my mother first,” said David, “Then I will decide.”

“As the Master wishes,” acknowledged the Ambassador, “We will wait for the Master to speak.”

Everyone, except the Master of the College whose bad temper due to the early awakening had not been improved by these foreigners addressing one of the mere postgraduate students as “Master”, trooped over to David’s rooms and the group was again increased by the sudden appearance of four enormous fierce looking Arabs armed with vicious looking scimitars held upright in the right hand. One of the British policemen said something to his boss, but it was evidently overheard by the Arabs.

“We four have the honour to be the bodyguard of His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, the Emir of Kobekistan, and have full permission to go armed in your country,” said one of the four in excellent English, “The Ambassador has the papers to prove that. Do not worry, we will not shoot unless we think it is necessary.”

“It was the swords that I wondered about, actually,” said the policeman, recognising a fellow professional.

“They are a purely ceremonial part of our uniform, although they are very sharp. If there’s any trouble we drop them, or rather throw them away to distract attention. The other hand carries the gun,” explained the Arab, producing a machine pistol as if by magic, in his left hand, “Nobody expects a gun in the left hand, or at least that is the theory.”

The two men went off into a discussion about the trials and tribulations of being part of the Royal Protection Squad of the United Kingdom, as opposed to the Emir’s bodyguard in Kobekistan.

David, meanwhile, was on the telephone to his mother.

“Yes, darling, of course I’ll come with you,” she said, “Peter won’t mind too much and you will most certainly need someone who knows a bit about the country and whom you can trust.”

“What do you think they told me when I said I had to ask you if you would come, and if dad would mind?” inquired David.

“Oh,” said his mother, laughing, “I expect they thought I would do whatever the Emir orders and that if Peter objected you could either buy me from him, or have your bodyguard shoot him.”

“Strangling was suggested, rather than shooting, but essentially, yes. The British police and the Foreign Office chappies almost had a joint fit. I can see I am going to need you.” He thought he had better leave a note for Pauline, his current girlfriend, and frequent bedmate, saying:

My grandfather has died and I have to go away for a few days. Back as soon as I can.

Love,

David.

David gathered up a few essentials, including a copy of Choquet’s General Topology and the like, in the hopes that he could find time to do some of what he considered real work, and left for London Airport, picking up his mother on the way. Kamal Qumsiyeh as protocol advisor accompanied them.

When they were comfortably settled in the luxurious seats of the Emir’s Rolls-Royce which was carrying them on the M40 to the start of David’s new life, his mother started to explain about the different way of life in Kobekistan. “Remember always that you are the absolute ruler of the country. Every citizen is entirely in your hands and is yours to do as you wish with. I don’t suppose much has changed in the last twenty years and I expect they will all show obeisance you by kneeling and putting their foreheads on the floor. When we are in Kobekistan, even I will have to show such respect to you.”

“Yes, the Ambassador, and two advisors from Kobekistan did that in Oxford. I was a bit embarrassed in front of the Master and the policemen. What does Hajji mean? I know it’s not a first name.”

“Hajji is the title given to a person who has undertaken the greater Muslim pilgrimage to the Sacred Mosque at Mecca, which takes place in the twelfth month of the Muslim year and which all Muslims are expected to make at least once during their lifetime if they can afford to do so. It is one of the Five Pillars of Islam,” she explained a little impatiently, then continued, “As to your control over your subjects’ lives, it goes much further than obligatory obeisance. You must watch what you say, especially if someone annoys you. If you say ‘Oh, go away,’ to someone in an annoyed tone, then they will probably be exiled for ever to some unpleasantly cold country by some over-zealous official who thinks he knows what you mean. If you played at being the Red Queen and said ‘Off with his head,’ the person concerned would certainly be beheaded, in public, within the hour.”

Then she fell silent, wondering how to broach the next subject. Taking a deep breath, she explained, “The women who bear your first two or three children, especially the boys, will be very powerful within your household, so be careful whom you impregnate.”

David stared at his mother. “I ... I don’t intend to...” his voice tailed off.

“An heir and a spare are essential and as soon as possible,” his mother replied, “When you are there you are an absolute ruler. There are probably fifty or sixty women in the Emir, your grandfather’s harem. You have inherited them. One of them, Djamilla, was the mother of Crown Prince Gamal, your late uncle; she has a separate section in the harem and thinks she owns the country.”

David sensed the bitterness in his mother’s voice; obviously she had suffered from her mother-in-law’s interference before.

“You have to demote her to be just another woman in your harem. When you meet her you must be firm and make her submit to you completely.”

“What do you mean?” asked David.

His mother gathered herself again and continued, “I mean sexually. You must take her properly, and in her bottom and then make her clean your ... you with her mouth. But you must not ejaculate. That declares your ownership of her absolutely.”

“But ... but...” David stammered.

“Everyone will think that it is very kind of you to let her live. Her husband, your grandfather had every woman in his father’s harem strangled the day he came into power, and she knows it because she was already his Head Wife.”

There was silence for a while, then David asked, “What about the running of the country? I can’t do that; I don’t know how.”

“Kamal Qumsiyeh, Hajji Darwish Dosmukhamedov, Hajji Kofi Natsheh and the others will do all the actual work, if you let them. Policy is all you lay down and they attend to the details. Be wary of them though, they will come to you and offer you only one course of action if they want you to do something. If you are wise you will find out for yourself about some things. Use the Internet to find out what is going on outside; the local press will be censored in your name. When they say a decision is needed urgently, be especially wary. Your orders will be obeyed to the letter, at least until your orders became so oppressive that someone decides to assassinate you and succeeds. You will find one phrase very useful, in Arabic it is ~The Emir has spoken, ~ and in English it really means ‘Do it or else... ‘ or ‘Do it or be exiled or worse... ‘ and you need to use it sparingly.”

Chapter 7: Travelling To Kobekistan

At Heathrow they were escorted through a deserted VIP lounge by a Ground Hostess in a smart baby-blue uniform with a little matching cap and matched court shoes. Princess Zubeydeh noticed with some amusement that even her fingernails were painted with the same shade of nail varnish. They were led directly to their aircraft where they were seated in a small lounge equipped with comfortable arm chairs and a Steward took David’s order for breakfast, which was not apparently limited to a fixed menu, but made no move to offer his mother anything.

As the airliner took off David had yet another view of the peculiarities of Kobekistani life. The stewardess came into the presence of the passengers and made obeisance.

“Up,” said his mother but the servant did not move a muscle. ~Up, ~ she tried. Still no movement. “She will only stand when you order it,” his mother waited for David’s reaction when he saw the stewardess’s ‘uniform’.

David gave the order “Up,” and looked at the girl for the first time, as she was partially concealed by the arrangement of easy chairs. As his mother expected his face was a picture of astonishment as the ‘uniform’ the girl was wearing, to be sure she was wearing the same uniform cap as the Ground Hostess had worn, though it had a small gold letter V badge attached, but that was almost all. The only other ‘clothing’ she wore was that her fingernails and toenails had been varnished in the same baby-blue as her cap. Just then the steward returned pushing a trolley with David’s breakfast which was served on a tray which fitted into almost invisible fixtures on the arms of his chair. When he tore his eyes away from the girl and looked at the man, he saw that he was also as good as naked. True he wore trousers, but they were made of thin chiffon, and his genitalia could clearly be seen through the material. His finger and toenails had also been painted baby blue.

“Is the Princess not to have breakfast?” he asked the steward.

“Master?” came the totally perplexed response.

David realised the answer, so he decided to lay down the law, at least for now, “She eats now, here, with me, and you ask her what she wants.”

This caused another obeisance and the stewardess took the Princess’s order. It arrived very quickly, but was served by the nude girl.

When they had eaten and were comfortably settled in the luxurious seats the lecture on life in Kobekistan continued

Then another small problem occurred to David, or he hoped it was small, “While you are with me in Kobekistan where will you live, Mother?”

With downcast eyes she answered quietly, “I would like to have the use of the Head Wife’s suite in my son, the Emir’s harem while I am here, if my Master permits. All you need to do is tell the Chief Eunuch it is your wish.”

“Chief Eunuch?” he queried.

“He is the head of your harem staff, and should be utterly respectful to you and of your wishes. If you ever feel you can’t trust him you should get rid of him the moment you decide that. All you would need to do is tell his chosen successor and everything will be done. A silly example of the level of obedience you can expect is that you should only need to tell them once what sort of jam you want with your toast at breakfast and it will always be available every day without fail. If you change your mind about that and ask for a different flavour then the new one will appear every day, but the old one will be kept in stock in case you change back. You could end up with the largest stock of half eaten pots of jam in the world, Master.”

Her manner towards him had changed, and David sensed that it had changed forever. In his own country, where they would be in a less than an hour, he was her Master, and that of every other citizen. He could order whatever he wished and it would be done, or at least every attempt humanly possible would be made. What he did not realise was that flying in an airliner of Kobekistan Air he was already in his own country.

“It isn’t a good idea to try to change anything for the first few weeks,” she advised, “Not until you have found your feet,” then she added as a truly prophetic afterthought, “Though you might have Djamilla strangled if you feel like it; it could save a good deal of trouble.”

David thought that an odd joke for his mother to have made, then he realised than she wasn’t joking, “Tell me about the harem and life for those in it,” he asked her.

“That will be both easy and difficult,” she said, “But much of what goes on in there and why does not concern the Master who owns it.”

“I don’t understand why easy and difficult, and why not my concern?”

“It is easy because little ever happens there, but difficult to comprehend to a Western mind because of the subtleties concerned. It is not your concern because all the minute by minute, and often day to day management is usually left to the Chief Eunuch. Changing a Chief Eunuch is a momentous matter, not to be undertaken lightly on a mere whim, but you need to trust him implicitly or get rid of him. Most domestic trouble, and in the Emir’s palace that means revolts, feature the Chief Eunuch as one of the leading lights.”

“Try to explain, please Mother.”

“Very well. The harem itself is a closed world, very strange to Western modes of thought. There the women have none of the pressures heaped on wives and single female adults in societies which regard themselves as more ‘civilised’. Within the harem nobody has any worries about food, comfort, money, clothes, or responsibilities. All of those are dealt with by their owner, or his staff. The only facets of her life that a concubine has to worry about is where she is placed in the tiny hierarchical society of the concubinage, though it goes without saying that this is a vicious and nasty competition. Much depends on who is the current favourite, who is carrying or has given birth to male children of the Emir, may he live for ever, and who has been declared an actual wife,” she said, hoping it did not sound too much like a sociological lecture.

“That ‘much’ is controlled by the position in the hierarchy but amounts to nothing more than who has first choice of where to sit, who has the right to choose her own attendants from among the plentiful supply of servants, who receives a small degree of deference from her companions, and who can take the first choice of food at meal times. Even this last privilege is totally meaningless, since there is ample food of every conceivable type available at every meal. The Kobekistani men folk’s taste in women runs to the well-upholstered figure, rather than the supermodel, and the food provided for them is available in quantities designed to fatten, rather than to slim. Even the weather is of no interest, since almost none of the women have ever left the confines of the harem in their entire lives. Among the few exceptions are the occasional transfers of women between owners, though that is exchanging one gilded cage for another and, even more exceptionally, a foreign woman might be allowed to return to her own country if she is trusted implicitly. Under the reign of the late Emir, the only other women to leave the confines of the harem were the very rare women who were selected to be quarry in the peculiarly local version of hunting. Usually these women returned, but occasionally one did not, and the perfectly truthful rumours that they had been given their freedom meant nothing to the majority of the concubines who have no concept of any life outside the harem walls.”

She paused for breath.

“Indeed there were women in the harem when I was there who had been born there, and had never stepped outside the Golden Palace in their entire lives. Of course, most of them had been ‘outside’ the harem as far as the Emir’s bedroom, or into that of one of his honoured guests, but even then they were only a few yards away along a corridor. There were no windows to the exterior in the harem walls, sunlight reaching them through the glassed-in roof. A stranger approaching the harem from the outside, were such an unthinkable event ever to take place, would arrive through one of two corridors, from the heavily guarded side door of the Golden Palace, or from the equally protected Throne Room, and both of these lead to the anteroom of the harem. There is, of course, one other entrance to the harem, but that is only the short passage to the Emir’s bedroom. A woman being escorted to a guest’s bed would have to pass through the Throne Room to reach it, so a number of the women had actually seen that room also. In all the total size of the known world for these women is thus about the same as a football pitch, and is entirely indoors. They know nothing of what in the western world is known as society, and the population of their entire world is less than a hundred people. Compare that to the number of people you have met in your lifetime, or who attended the same events as you and you may begin to understand how ... circumscribed their lives are.”

The conversation went on for some hours until the pilot announced that they were landing in Kobekistan in approximately one hour.

As they came in to land at Kobek another oddity happened; his mother donned full purdah, explaining to David that it was the custom, and would be unwise for him to change it, even for her. It would be unwise because it would be dangerous for the women who were visible, she explained. He, himself, she advised, should normally wear the local traditional dress which was more Indian than Arabic and was basically a shalwar kameez, though the kameez was a little longer than the Indian version.

Chapter 8: Arrival

When the new Emir, His Magnificence Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, arrived in Kobekistan from Oxford, England there was some delay after the aircraft stopped before the arrival of the assigned Rolls-Royce at the bottom of the steps. This delay caused very worried looks among the officials, but one of them said eventually that it was only because the chauffeur did not want to make any mistakes, considering the previous events.

The Emir’s Palace was visible from some considerable distance away as the Rolls-Royce sped towards it from the airport. It looked the sort of building a child might have made, if given a truly tremendous number of Lego bricks which were all yellow. It had six floors and there were perhaps a hundred windows at each level. The architectural style reminded David of drawings he had seen of some of Albert Speer’s proposals. It was flanked by two smaller versions of the same style, but one green and the other red.

Close up, they looked even more massive and David realised that the yellow was caused by some form of glittering gold paint covering the exterior; he later learned that it was tiny facets of the stonework which had been given a coating of gold leaf. The red and green buildings had been treated with rubies and emeralds in the same way.

Inside it was airy, light, spacious and cool. David vaguely remembered the high ceilings and the ornately painted walls, but the details which he had lived with until he was four years old and then not seen for almost the last twenty years were very vague. Every servant they passed was kneeling with his forehead pressed down on the floor in obeisance at the arrival of the new Emir. David turned to pass a comment on this to his mother but she was not there.