Part 4 (2/2)
The train chugged away into the night-it was, as usual, late-and we went at once to the dining car, where I prescribed a gla.s.s of wine for Nefret.
”I know you hate to leave the children,” I said sympathetically. ”But take my word for it, dear girl, you will find that a little holiday from the adorable creatures will do you good. In time you will come to look forward to it.”
Nefret's pensive face broke into a smile, and Ramses said, ”Good advice, Nefret, from one who knows whereof she speaks. Did you look forward to your holidays from me, Mother?”
”Enormously,” I a.s.sured him. Ramses laughed, and so did the others; but I thought there was a shade of reproach in Nefret's look. I prescribed another gla.s.s of wine.
The lamps on the table flickered and the crockery rattled, and it was advisable to hold on to one's gla.s.s. We lingered over our wine, since there are no companions as compatible as we four. However, the car was full and we could not talk confidentially there. Before we settled down for the night we had a little council of war in Emerson's and my compartment.
”Mark my words,” I declared. ”Mr. . . . What did you say, Emerson?”
”I said, we always do.” Emerson muttered round the stem of his pipe.
”Oh. Thank you, my dear Emerson. As I was saying, if Mr. Russell learns we are in Cairo he will be chasing after us, demanding to know why we asked him to detain a harmless traveler and what we are up to now. We must decide how much, if anything, to tell him.”
Emerson opened his mouth. I went on, raising my voice slightly, for I believe in an orderly exposition. ”Even more important is what to tell Walter and Evelyn. They know nothing of our relations.h.i.+p-their relations.h.i.+p, that is-with Sethos, yet he is also Walter's brother, and in my opinion-”
”It is also my opinion,” said Emerson, taking advantage of my pausing to draw breath.
”I beg your pardon?” I exclaimed in surprise.
”Did you suppose I would dare to differ with you?” Emerson grinned at me. ”I agree that the time for secrecy has pa.s.sed. We may get ourselves in trouble with the War Office by exposing Sethos's role as an agent of British intelligence, but I can't see that we have any choice. The rest of it makes little sense unless that is admitted-and, as you might say, my dear Peabody, half-truths are more confusing than out-and-out lies. If I know Walter, the poor innocent chap will be delighted to find he has another brother.”
”Aunt Evelyn may not be so delighted,” Ramses said. Like his father, he had loosened his tie and unb.u.t.toned his s.h.i.+rt as soon as we were in private. ”The poor innocent woman has hoped for years that we would stick to archaeology and stop messing about with criminals.”
Curled up on the seat next to Ramses, with her head on his shoulder, Nefret said sleepily, ”Then she should be relieved to learn that the greatest criminal of them all is no longer an enemy but a friend and kinsman.”
”That is the approach we must take,” I agreed. ”Very good, my dear. David already knows of Sethos's involvement with intelligence and I expect he has told Lia-he tells her everything.”
”No doubt,” Nefret said. ”Neither of them has referred to it in their letters, but then they wouldn't take the risk, would they?” She raised her hand to her face to hide a yawn. ”Sorry.”
”Not at all,” I said. ”Ramses, take your wife off to-er-your compartment, she is half asleep.”
After they had gone, Emerson indicated that he was ready to follow suit, so I rang for the porter to make up our berths. We stood in the corridor while this was being done. Emerson chuckled.
”I rather look forward to informing Walter he has an unknown brother who was not only born outside the blanket-”
”A vulgar phrase, Emerson.”
”Not as vulgar as certain others that come to mind. As I was saying: but who has broken at least five of the Ten Commandments.”
”It will be a shock,” I agreed.
”It will do him good,” said Emerson heartlessly. ”He has led a very sheltered life and is in danger of becoming narrow and intolerant.”
That thought, and another that he acted upon immediately following the departure of the porter, distracted him from further discussion, and soon after he returned to his own berth I heard the deep respirations that betokened slumber. It did not come so easily to me.
Our failure to hear from Sethos was frustrating but not fatal. He might be away-temporarily, one could only hope. I considered it possible that the dastardly Italian had sought refuge with his former acquaintances in Sethos's criminal network-supposing any of them were still in Cairo. Curse it, I thought, turning over with difficulty in the narrow bunk, how can we take action when we are ignorant of so many things? I ought to have cornered Sethos years ago and demanded a full accounting of the present status of the organization and the whereabouts of his confederates. Well, but his visits had been brief and infrequent, and there had been too many other things to talk about-his stormy relations.h.i.+p with the journalist Margaret Minton, the tomb and its amazing contents, the twins, the house in Cornwall-which was legally Ramses's property but which he had willingly lent to his uncle-and Sethos's daughter Molly.
Despite-or perhaps because!-of the fact that women found Sethos attractive, his relations.h.i.+ps with the female s.e.x had been far from satisfactory. For years he had professed an attachment to my humble self-a lost cause if ever there was one, since Emerson would never have allowed it even if I had faltered in my devotion to my spouse. In recent years he had transferred his affections to Margaret, who returned them with (at least) equal intensity. But Margaret had her own hard-won career, as a writer and newspaper correspondent specializing in Middle Eastern affairs, and she was unwilling to commit herself to a man who put his hazardous occupation ahead of her. Patriotism is all very well, but a woman likes to know where a man is and what he is up to, particularly when there is a possibility he may walk out of the house one day and never come back.
Then there was Bertha, Sethos's mistress and accomplice during his criminal years. Pa.s.sionately devoted to him at the beginning of their relations.h.i.+p, her tigerish affections had turned to rage when she learned of his purported love for me. She had met a violent death at the hands of my friends after several attempts to kill me, but not before giving birth to Sethos's daughter.
We had encountered Molly-or Maryam, to use her proper name-only once, when she was fourteen years of age, before we were aware of Sethos's real ident.i.ty and hers. Soon after that she had learned certain disturbing facts about her mother's death and had fled from her father's house. Despite his habitual insouciance I knew Sethos felt guilt and deep concern on her behalf, but his efforts to trace her had failed. We hadn't seen her or heard of her for years.
The waning moon slid long silver fingers through the gaps in the curtains. It was late. I cleared my mind of distractions. Finally Emerson's rhythmic breathing and the swaying of the carriage lulled me to sleep.
A YEAR AFTER THE ARMISTICE Cairo still had the look of an armed camp. Below the very terrace of Shepheard's, a crowd surrounded a young orator who held forth in eloquent Arabic on British injustice and the inalienable right of Egypt to independence. The attempts of the doormen to silence him were frustrated by the pus.h.i.+ng and shoving of his followers, and the more timid of the foreign residents of the famed hostelry hung back, fearing to pa.s.s the mob. We stopped to listen.
”Anybody you know?” Emerson inquired of Ramses, who had once been involved in a somewhat unorthodox manner with one of the nationalist groups.
”Good G.o.d, it's Rashad,” Ramses exclaimed. ”The last I heard he was in prison.”
The speaker caught sight of him at the same moment and broke off in mid-sentence. His blazing eyes moved from Ramses to Emerson, both of whom were conspicuous because of their height. I took a firmer grip on my parasol.
Rashad bared his teeth and pointed a quivering forefinger at Ramses, but before he could speak, one of the bystanders cried, ”It is the Father of Curses and his son, and the Sitt Hakim his wife, and the Light of Egypt. Welcome! Have you come to speak for us and for our cause?”
”Certainly,” Emerson shouted over the chorus of greeting.
”Not now, Emerson!” I took a firm grip of his arm.
”Well, perhaps not,” Emerson conceded. He raised his voice to the pitch that has, together with his command of bad language, given him his Egyptian nickname. ”Disperse, my friends, and take Rashad with you. The police are coming.”
A troop of mounted men clattered toward the scene, led, as was customary, by a British officer. As Rashad ran off, he twisted his head round to look at us over his shoulder. His lips moved. It was as well we could not hear the words, for his scowling face suggested he did not share the friendly att.i.tude of his followers. By the time the squad of police arrived, they were all gone.
Perhaps it would be in order for me to remind my less well-informed Readers (a small minority, but nonetheless worthy of consideration) of the historical background in order to explain why a British officer was in command of Egyptian troops, and why Cairo seethed with the spirit of revolt. Though it was formally a province of the Ottoman Empire, Egypt had effectively been under British control since the middle of the nineteenth century. In 1914 it was declared a British protectorate, under military occupation, when the Turks were threatening the Suez Ca.n.a.l and it was feared that Egyptians would support their fellow Muslims against an occupying power they had always resented. These fears had not materialized, except for a single abortive attempt at an insurrection in Cairo. Maternal pride compels me to add that it was aborted by Ramses, who had taken on the role of a radical nationalist leader named Wardani in order to intercept the weapons sent by Turkey to Wardani's group. Had it not been for his efforts, and the equally perilous part played by David, the Ca.n.a.l might well have fallen to the enemy.
But as I was saying . . . What Egypt wanted was independence, from Britain, Turkey, or any other nation. Once the war ended, the demands of Egyptian Nationalists intensified.
Britain's response had not been well-thought-out. One bad mistake had been the exiling of Nationalist leader Zaghlul Pasha. A tall, impressive-looking man, he was a splendid orator and much beloved by the Egyptian people. When the news of his summary deportation became known, rioting and demonstrations broke out all over Egypt. Though we were of course deeply distressed by the violence, the uprising in Upper Egypt earlier that year had not affected us personally. Our Egyptian friends were too sensible to engage in such a futile, uncivilized procedure, and naturally no one would have dared inconvenience the Father of Curses and his family.
The rebellion was put down by force. Zaghlul Pasha was released and went off to Paris, where the Peace Conference of the Allies was meeting to decide the fate of conquered and occupied territories. Zaghlul's demands were ignored. The British government insisted that the protectorate must be maintained. As a result, disaffection continued to smolder, isolated acts of violence against foreigners still occurred, and orators like Rashad stirred the populace up. Britain had agreed to send out a high-level commission of inquiry under Lord Milner, the colonial secretary, but few people believed that its report would bring about the changes Egypt demanded.
”There's another complication,” Ramses said, as we mounted the stairs to the terrace.
”No, why should there be?” demanded Emerson. ”Kamil el Wardani may hold a grudge against you and David, but he is out of the picture, Zaghlul Pasha is the accepted leader of the independence movement. Has Rashad changed allegiance?”
”It doesn't matter,” I declared. ”We have enough to worry about without becoming revolutionaries, and we must at all costs prevent David from becoming involved with that lot again. Emerson, I strictly forbid you to climb on soapboxes and orate.”
”They don't use soapboxes,” Emerson said mildly.
I looked from his smiling, self-satisfied countenance to the hooded eyes of my son, and a strong foreboding-of a sort to which I am only too accustomed-came over me. Sympathy for the rights of the Egyptian people was one thing, and we had always been of that mind. Rioting and instigating riots was something else again.
Our rooms on the third floor of Shepheard's were a home away from home; for more years than I care to admit we had dwelled there at least once each season. The suite had two bedrooms, one on either side of a well-appointed sitting room, and two baths. Before she and Ramses were wed, Nefret had occupied the second bedchamber, with Ramses in an adjoining (but I a.s.sure you, Reader, not connected) room.
Emerson went at once to the balcony of the sitting room, and stood gazing sentimentally out across the roofs and minarets of Cairo. He invited me to join him. I was itching to unpack but I could not refuse; how many times had we stood on that same balcony, on that precise spot, in fact, reveling in our return to the land we loved, and antic.i.p.ating a busy season of excavation. How long ago it seemed, and yet how recent!
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