Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [150]
“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