Queen Noor and King Hussein (AP)

It was Monday afternoon, and the sun-baked streets of the old city of Amman were full of life. Brightly colored taxis --in some cases seeming to teeter on two wheels -- carved around corners, as businessmen in modern suits stopped to buy figs or cups of tea or Turkish coffee from grizzled old street vendors. Up on the acropolis, the sun glinted off the marble ruins of the Temple of Hercules. The standoff between this 46-year-old American matron and one of the most powerful military and political leaders in the country had kept the whole nation on edge for more than two weeks.

 They had been watching closely as the drama unfolded, following the news reports of each move in the great international chess game. Sometimes loudly and with great passion they discussed each new protest rally over coffee and sweet pastries in the cafes. They argued the fine points of Islamic teachings about honor killings and child custody.

But not on this Monday afternoon. On this day, there was bigger news. The king was coming home. For all the divisions in the country -- the country was 80 percent Palestinian with the rest of the population divided among a host of minorities --King Hussein had the love of the people. Their devotion to him, and his to them, was legendary. Talk to any cabby in Amman -- even now, years after the king’s death -- and he’ll tell you  about the Hussein’s penchant for slipping into old clothes late at night and hailing a taxi so he could spend a few hours  wandering around the neighborhoods of his kingdom.  Yes, Hussein might have had political difficulties with the hard-line followers of Islam in Parliament. He might even have problems with ambitious and ruthless military men in his own palace.

But he had the love of most of the people. And that -- far more than the crown he had inherited as a youth when his grandfather was gunned down at Al Aqusa Mosque in Jerusalem a generation earlier -- made him a dangerous opponent to his domestic foes.

It was mid-afternoon when the thunderous roar of the king’s F-15 echoed on the streets of Amman. A skilled pilot, it was the king’s practice to use his own military jet for the final leg of his trips home from overseas. It was a way of sending a message to the people that he was back and he was in control.

The noise and bustle on the streets of Amman’s old city halted suddenly. It was silent except for the roar of Hussein’s jet engine. An old man in a kafyieh pointed to the sky. “The King!” he shouted, then giggled like a little boy whose father had just come home from a hard day at the office.

A few miles away, in her hotel room at the Royal Amman Hilton, Nesime Dokur watched as the king’s fighter jet buzzed the city. A sense of peace fell over her. Hussein was home. He was an honorable man. He had made her a promise and he would keep his word. She knew it.