Children of the Storm (43 page)

“Where is the bastard?” David panted, referring, Ramses assumed, to the orator.

“Faded into obscurity, it would appear. See if you can yell louder than he.”

David raised both arms and yelled louder. After a few sentences the audience settled down to listen. Egyptians were peaceable souls, on the whole, and they enjoyed a good speech. Nods and sheepish looks acknowledged David’s impassioned appeal. That it came from the heart Ramses did not doubt. “Violence will only bring harm to you and your families, my brothers. Does not God forbid killing except in self-defense? Be patient. Freedom will come. I know this is true. I have fought for it and I will go on fighting.”

He was the hero of the moment. Fickle as all mobs are, they surged toward him, the men who had resisted him before now trying to embrace him. Ramses, who admitted to being more evil-minded than his friend, had been scanning the jostling bodies and excited faces with a cynical eye. He saw the raised arm draw back and shoot forward, saw the stone hurtle through the air, and threw himself at David. He was a half second too late.

AFTER CONSIDERING THE MATTER, I concluded we might as well stop for the day. There was no hurry. Most of the more valuable objects had been packed. I had not decided what to do about the beaded robe and the rolls of the Book of the Dead. The former had suffered since Martinelli treated and unfolded it; the color had darkened perceptibly, and the fabric looked as if it would shatter at a touch. With a regretful sigh I acknowledged what I had suspected from the first; we were bound to lose it, no matter what we did. So why not let M. Lacau bear the ultimate responsibility? If he demanded we prepare it for transport we would, and then he could amuse himself in Cairo picking out loose beads and scraps of linen.

As for the Book of the Dead, I was in hopes of persuading M. Lacau to leave it with us for the time being. Softening and unrolling the brittle papyrus was a task at which Walter was particularly skilled. I doubted there was anyone in Cairo who could do it as well, and of course he was one of the world’s leading authorities on the ancient texts.

After I had reached this conclusion and explained it to the others, we enjoyed one of Katherine’s excellent luncheons and dispersed—Evelyn to take a little rest, Walter to his papyrus, and Lia back to the house.

“Where are you off to?” Cyrus asked, watching me draw on my gloves and adjust my hat.

I decided I might as well tell him the truth. “I thought I would pay a little visit to Abdullah’s tomb before I go home.”

“Not alone,” Cyrus declared, beckoning the stableman to saddle Queenie.

“I don’t know why you assume I am in need of an escort, Cyrus. You let Lia go off alone.”

“I trust her and I don’t trust you,” said Cyrus, tugging at his goatee. “Is that all you’re going to do—call on Abdullah and maybe ask for some advice?”

“We are in need of advice, don’t you think? I assure you, I have no other aim in mind.”

“I’m comin’ anyhow,” said Cyrus.

The climate of Egypt is very dry, but a temperature in the nineties is hot, whatever the humidity. The shade of the little monument was welcome after our ride across the baking desert. Cyrus paid the assiduous Abdulrassah his dues and sat down, fanning himself with his hat and courteously looking elsewhere, while I entered the tomb.

I did not kneel or pray aloud. Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and thought of Abdullah. I don’t know what I expected. He had never come to me when I was in a waking state, and I had no reason to suppose he would respond to my silent appeal now. To be honest, it was not so much an appeal as an irritable demand. What was the use of having an informant on “the other side” if he could not or would not inform me?

The blackness behind my closed lids swam with little specks of color, spirals and whirls of light. Sounds intensified: the shuffle of Abdulrassah’s sandals, the swish of the broom, the flap of birds’ wings under the cupola, distant voices . . .

A hand touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes and saw Cyrus’s face close to mine. “You were wobbling like a top when it starts to slow down,” he said. “What were you trying to do, put yourself in a trance?”

“Entering a trancelike state when one is perpendicular is not very sensible,” I said. “Nor do I consider myself psychic, in the usual sense of the word.”

“You believe in your dreams, though.” He gave me his arm. Abdulrassah propped his broom against the wall and sat down in a pointed manner beside his begging bowl. I added a few coins and answered Cyrus’s implied question.

“ ‘Believe’ is not precisely the right word. I accept them. I suppose you are a skeptic.”

“I dunno.” Cyrus helped me to mount. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time, and I’d sure like to set eyes on good old Abdullah again. Did you have any luck?”

“I didn’t see him, if that is what you mean. I thought . . . I may have been mistaken, but I thought I heard his voice. ‘You are at the starting point, Sitt. Now go on, and watch where you step.’ “

“What does that mean?” Cyrus asked.

“Cursed if I know, Cyrus.”

OUR ATTEMPT TO BEHAVE NORMALLY at teatime, for the sake of the children, was not entirely successful. The patch of sticking plaster on David’s brow could not be ignored. The other children accepted his assurances that it was the result of an unlucky accident, but David John kept pressing wet kisses on his nose and brow and ears until I finally lured all of them into their barricaded corner with handfuls of biscuits. (Desperate times justify desperate measures.) We were just beginning to settle down when Sethos appeared at the door demanding entrance. He must have been lunching in Luxor, for he was rather foppishly attired in a greenish tweed suit, with a regimental tie to which I felt sure he was not entitled. Beard and hair were now iron-gray and his well-cut features had assumed their normal proportions. The only discordant note was a scowl as formidable as one of Emerson’s.

“Good afternoon,” I said, admitting him.

Instead of replying, he fixed the scowl on David. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

“You heard?” David inquired mildly.

“Of course I heard. It’s all over Luxor, and by tomorrow at the latest it will be all over Cairo that you fomented a riot today. You bloody young fool—”

“Please!” I exclaimed. “The children!”

“He didn’t foment a riot, he prevented one,” Ramses said, returning the glare with interest. “There were British soldiers present. They heard.”

“They heard a ‘native’ talking Arabic.” Sethos threw up his hands. “They didn’t understand a word. Nobody is going to believe what the Egyptians tell them. He was already under suspicion—”

“He was trying to save lives,” Lia said. She was sitting up very straight and her cheeks were bright pink.

“I don’t give a damn what he was trying to do. I’ve done my best to lull official suspicions, but if he persists in putting his nose in—”

Several persons burst into indignant rebuttal. Emerson’s voice was the loudest and the most incoherent. I smiled to myself and remained silent. I had seldom seen Sethos so angry. It was a touching demonstration of concern.

In the lull after the verbal storm a soft voice made itself heard. “I beg your pardon—er—Sethos—”

“You agree with me, Walter.” Somewhat surprised, but expecting support, Sethos turned to him. “Tell your impetuous son-in-law to back off.”

“No, I will not do that,” Walter said.

Having silenced us all by this surprising statement, he went on in the same gentle, hesitant voice. “A man must follow his own conscience. I was wrong when I demanded that David do otherwise. His is a powerful voice for restraint and for peaceful means of protest. I—er—I believe in his cause and I will support him to the extent of my ability.”

“Hmph,” Emerson exclaimed. “Well said, Walter.”

“Thank you, sir,” David murmured. His eyes shone with tears, and so did those of Evelyn.

“Oh, Father.” Lia went to him and embraced him.

“Oh, blast.” Sethos sat down and loosened his tie. “I didn’t intend to start a huge emotional orgy. If anyone cries I shall walk out.”

“No one is going to cry,” I said, with a stern look at Maryam, who looked as if she was about to. “I am well aware that your anger was caused by your affection for David, but it is somewhat alarming to those who are unaccustomed to the outbursts of temper that characterize the men of the family.”

“Quite,” said Ramses, still resentful of Sethos’s criticism of his friend. “It would be more helpful if you tried to ascertain what started the trouble. You claim to have connections in the highest levels of intelligence. Don’t they have informants in the radical movement?”

“Unfortunately we lost our best agents when you and David retired,” Sethos said. “Are you suggesting that this disturbance was instigated by outside agitators?”

The compliment was wasted on Ramses. He was not proud of his expertise in deception. “I am telling you that it was. I saw several strangers in the crowd. I thought I recognized one of them—the man who threw the stone. David?”

“I didn’t get a good look at him,” David admitted. “But I suppose it might have been . . . You mean that fellow François, the boy’s bodyguard? But he—”

“He’s a Parisian apache,” Ramses interrupted. “At least he fights like one. What do you know about him, Maryam?”

She shrank back, her hands fluttering at the throat of her dress. “Nothing. Honestly. He was with the party when I joined them. No one ever told me where he came from. I—I’m afraid of him. I have always been.”

“Did he ever—er—bother you?” Emerson asked fiercely.

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” His chivalrous indignation on her behalf produced a smile. “I can’t believe he would be involved in any cause, he’s not that sort of man. Justin is his cause, if you like; he is fanatically protective. But he does hold grudges. Are you sure . . .” She hesitated. “Are you sure he was aiming at David when he threw the stone?”

Her suggestion made a certain amount of sense, which the image of François as a revolutionary did not. If he had been drawn to the scene by curiosity he might well have taken advantage of the opportunity to get back at someone who had injured him—and, even more infuriating to a person of his temperament, defeated him. Ramses admitted he had simply assumed the missile was aimed at David.

“This is unacceptable,” I declared. “I would rather have nothing to do with any of them, but if that vicious French person is going around throwing things at people he dislikes, he must be stopped. Good heavens, Emerson, you may be next.”

“That would suit me admirably,” said Emerson, his sapphirine orbs brightening. “I will just pay a little call on the old lady, and if I should happen to run into François—”

“You will do nothing of the sort, Emerson.”

“But, Peabody—”

“I will talk to her, if you like,” Maryam said diffidently. “I have been thinking I ought to call on her and see how Justin is getting on. It is the least I can do, after leaving them without notice.”

“An admirable sentiment,” drawled Sethos. “I will go with you. Perhaps the old lady will allow me to pay my compliments.”

“I doubt she will,” Maryam said.

She went to get her hat and I took Sethos aside. “Why must you jeer at the girl? She is doing her best, and you are not trying at all to be—er—”

“Fatherly,” Sethos supplied, his lips twisting. “I am trying, Amelia, believe it or not.”

“You are afraid to allow yourself to care for her.”

Sethos caught himself on the verge of a shout. He glanced over his shoulder at the others and said through tight lips, “Don’t do that, Amelia. I am sufficiently aware of my motives and feelings. I don’t need you to explain them to me.”

It was probably not a good time to mention the principles of psychology. I contented myself with a forgiving smile, and after a moment he said irritably, “Very well. I will take her to dinner in Luxor, how’s that? I had intended to dine with your friend Mrs. Fisher, who knows every lady in the area, but I will send regrets.”

“That would be very nice,” I said.

Immediately after dinner Emerson went to his study, ostensibly to “set the rest of you a good example” by bringing his excavation diary up-to-date. The others also retired, though probably not with any intention of emulating Emerson. David’s courageous act and Walter’s unexpected commendation had brought a renewed awareness of that affection which is too often taken for granted; as Walter led his wife to the waiting carriage she clung to his arm and there was the old firmness in his stride. When I returned to the sitting room after seeing them off, Lia and David had already gone and Ramses was on his feet.

“We will say good night too, Mother,” he said.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of coffee?” I suggested. “Or a little chat?”

“He needs to rest,” Nefret said, taking the hand Ramses offered and rising. “He’s had rather a long day. Good—”

“Indeed he has. I feel obliged to remark, Ramses, that in giving David his well-deserved praise, we slighted you. You saved David from serious injury and risked yourself, as you have always done, for the sake of friendship and the cause of—”

“Don’t make a speech, Mother.” He was laughing, though, and he bent his head to give me an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You’d have done the same, and probably more effectively. One glimpse of that parasol and the mob would have fled, screaming. Oh, I almost forgot. I translated a few pages of that papyrus for you. They are on your desk.”

“Thank you, dear boy. Nefret, how is Selim getting—”

“I will look in on him before we go to bed,” said Nefret fondly but firmly. “Good night, Mother.”

I did not feel it necessary to wait up for Maryam; it just so happened that I was sitting on the veranda, enjoying the peace of the quiet night, when they returned.

“Good evening, Amelia,” Sethos said, helping his daughter out of the carriage. “Since you have waited up, like a conscientious chaperone, I will not stay. Good night, Maryam.”

Maryam would have gone on her way through the garden had I not opened the door in a pointed manner. “Sit down for a moment,” I said pleasantly. “Did you enjoy your dinner with your father?”