The Treasure_ A Novel - Iris Johansen [74]
“Egypt.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at the cup again. “What does it say?”
“It’s a story about a young man and a quest. You’d enjoy it.”
“Then tell it to me.”
“You want stories? How strange.” He smiled. “Nasim would not be interested in stories, only in the power of the cup. Don’t you feel the magic of the grail? Can’t you feel the force of it coursing through you as you hold it in your hands?”
“No.”
Tarik laughed. “Nasim would feel it. He believes in the grail.”
“Then he’s a fool. There’s no magic here.”
“You’ll not be able to convince him. You can never convince men like Nasim they cannot have what they need. And sometimes it’s best not to try.”
“Tell me what’s written on the cup.”
“Impatience again. It’s a long tale, but I’ll tell you what is written here.” He tilted the cup so that Kadar could see the inscription engraved on the inside of the rim. “It says, Protect. That’s what I’ve been doing. But I’m tired now. I deserve to rest. It’s time someone else took over the task.”
“Me?”
Tarik nodded.
“You chose the wrong man. I’ve no desire to protect your grail.
It means nothing to me.”
“But it will. Sit down.” He sat down himself and stretched out his crippled foot. “Take your time. You wanted to see the grail, now examine it at your leisure.”
Kadar seated himself and slowly turned to the grail. “There’s something else on the other side of the cup.”
“Eshe.”
Kadar looked at him inquiringly.
“I believe you’ve digested enough for now. I’ve always found it’s best to go very slowly when the tale is so long and involved.”
“I want to hear it now.”
Tarik shook his head. “Hold it, become accustomed to it. Then I’ll put it back in the coffer until I think the time is right.”
Kadar’s grasp clenched on the cup. “I’ve no liking for this teasing. What game is this you’re playing with me, Tarik?”
“One where I make the rules.” Tarik leaned back in his chair. “Enough talk of the grail. Now relax and I’ll tell you about the man who sold me this fine villa.”
Selene spat out the leaf. “I’ll eat no more. Do you hear me? It tastes terrible.”
“Maybe you’ve had enough of it.” Layla tucked the last of the leaves into the pouch at her waist and kicked her horse into a trot. “We’ll see tomorrow.”
“We’ve tried rosemary, thyme, the leaves of the bush with that red berry. When will we stop?”
“When you’re no longer ill.”
“It’s bad enough to be ill, but it’s worse to have to eat these foul plants you keep stuffing in me.”
“Stop complaining. This is a worthwhile thing we do. Not only for you but for other women.”
“We? I’m the one who’s suffering.”
“I would do it, if I were with child.”
The exasperating thing was that Selene knew she spoke the truth. Layla was utterly relentless and completely convinced what she was doing was right. It was difficult to refuse someone with that extreme dedication. She could only hope that either her illness would naturally pass or Layla would find something she thought had allayed it. “If you give me one more nasty-tasting leaf to eat, I may not survive to bear—” She could see Layla was not listening.
Her expression was abstracted, her brow knitted in thought. “If it doesn’t work, tomorrow we will try basil.”
Selene wanted to knock the obstinate woman off her horse. She muttered an imprecation and spurred ahead to where Haroun and Antonio were riding.
Haroun fell back to ride beside her. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said curtly. “Why should anything be wrong?”
“You seem . . . disturbed. And you were ill again this morning.” He moistened his lips. “It is not a good thing to be ill every day. I’ve been worried.”
“It’s not good, but there’s nothing to be worried about.”
“Is it the fever?”
She shook her head.
“We should stop and let you recover.”
Why not tell him? She couldn’t keep it secret for long when he would see her every day. “It may take many months for me to recover from this affliction. I’m with child, Haroun.”
He smiled brilliantly. “I wondered . . . I remember Lady Thea was so taken. That’s why we’re