A tight smile illuminated his face for a moment then disappeared.
'The second djinn. The hieroglyphs are drawn on your piece of paper, Mrs Shelley. Clearly you do not recognise them.'
'No, Lord Carstairs, I did not recognise them. I read neither Arabic nor hieroglyphics, as you are well aware,' she said coldly. 'Nor do I believe in curses and evil genies!'
'Then you should. Their names are written clearly on the paper you showed me. Anhotep, high priest and servant of Isis, and Hatsek, servant of Isis, priest of Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess. The lion-headed goddess is the goddess of war, Mrs Shelley. Wherever she went there was terror and death. The wind from the desert is the hot breath of her rage. Do you not feel it, even now? And were you not so afraid of the figure you saw just now that you threw yourself into the arms of your Egyptian servant?'
She hesitated and she saw the triumphant gleam in his eye.
'Please, Mrs Shelley, don't lie to yourself, even if you insist on lying to me. Had I not arrived at that moment, you and your servant would be dead!'
Louisa stared at him. Behind her Hassan folded his arms into the sleeves of his white galabiyya. His meek silence was belied by the disdain in his eyes. Nevertheless at Carstairs' words Louisa heard him mutter again under his breath the prayer for the protection of Allah.
'The ampulla, Mrs Shelley. Surely now you will allow me to take it.'
'Why should it be safer with you than with me, Lord Carstairs?' Part of her wanted to give it to him. Indeed she wanted to throw it at him and scream at him to take it, keep it, throw it in the Nile if he wanted to. Another part of her felt a healthy flash of rebellion. Somewhere in the back of her head she could hear her beloved George's voice: 'Don't let him bully you, Lou. Don't let him take it from you. How do you know he didn't conjure that fiend up just to intimidate you? What does he want it for, Lou?'
She felt herself smile at the thought of her husband and the oh so sensible advice he would have given her and she saw the surprise on Carstairs's face. He had expected her to cower in fear.
'I appreciate your help, but whatever it was we all imagined we had seen, it has gone now. So, I shall return to my sightseeing and 166.
to my painting, Lord Carstairs, and allow you to continue your own visit uninterrupted.' She turned and beckoning to Hassan began to walk swiftly away. 'You have made him very angry, Sitt Louisa.' Hassan's low voice at her elbow slowed her steps. 'He is not a good man. He will make a bad enemy.'
She pursed her lips. 'I make a bad enemy too, Hassan. I have been as decorous and polite as I know how, but I will not have him browbeat me into submission. Nor will I have him insult you.'
Hassan grinned. 'I am not insulted, Sitt Louisa. The English milord does not upset me, and he should not be permitted to upset you, but -' he paused thoughtfully. 'He has powers, this man. Powers to dismiss the djinn. But not in the name of Allah nor of your Christian God and it does not feel right. I think he has studied the evil arts.'
Louisa stared at him, shocked. 'But he is an English gentleman!'
Hassan shrugged. 'I am not a learned man, Sitt Louisa, but in my heart I feel things and in this I know I am not wrong.'
She bit her lip, scanning his face for a moment.
'He wants the bottle, Sitt Louisa, because the power of the djinn is harnessed to it.'
She shook her head. 'They are not djinn, Hassan. If he is right, they are priests of the ancient religion of your country; priests who, he suspects, are learned in magic too.' She paused. 'Do you think he was right? Do you think this Hatsek, if that is his name, would have killed us?'
They walked out of the shadow of the colonnade once more and into the sunlight and felt the heat like a hammer blow on their heads.
'I do not know. I did not feel the fear of death. Terror. Yes, I felt that. But it was of the unknown.'
If either had looked back to see whether or not Carstairs was following them they would have seen that for several seconds he stood watching them, then he turned sharply on his heel and headed towards the inner vestibule and beyond it into the darkness of the sanctuary itself.
When they reached their belongings once more Hassan gave the boy his longed for, hard-earnt coin, spread out the rug and began to lay out Louisa's painting things for her once more. 'When he walks past as he surely will you must be painting very hard,' he 167.
commanded. He pulled out the little folding stool for her and set up her easel and sunshade. 'Do not look at him. Concentrate on the picture you will be making.' Louisa smiled. 'Do you think that will be enough? He will walk away quietly?'
'I think he will, if you surround yourself with silence.'
She smiled. 'That sounds very wise.' She glanced at him but he was busy once more opening her paintbox.
She set up her sketchbook on the easel and stared regretfully at the half-finished sketch of the Kiosk of Trajan. She would have to continue painting the capitals with their bright green and blue decoration instead. There was no time to move and seat herself elsewhere. He might be coming at any time. She permitted herself a quick glance over her shoulder. There was no movement behind them in the great pillared hall. The only sound was the desultory cheeping of sparrows as the heat reflected off the courtyard and baked the island into a torpor.
Leaning forward she reached for her water pot and Hassan, ever watchful, unstoppered the container and poured some in for her. Rinsing her brush she selected an azure pigment in her box and began to transfer it to the china palette, bringing in more water and dabbing in touches of yellow until she had enough of the green she desired to begin her wash.
Hassan squatted down in the shade of the pillar she was drawing, seemingly lost in thought and as her eyes passed over him she found herself reliving the moment she had thrown herself into his arms. He had been strong, reassuring. He had smelt of a pleasing mix of sweet tobacco and spices and clean freshly laundered cotton which had been dried by the washerwomen in the baking sun.
Her tongue protruding slightly from between her teeth, she rinsed the brush again. She had sketched a man, she realised, beside one of the ornate columns in her sketch. Not Hassan. This was a tall, solemn man with a dark handsome face who stared, arms folded, out across the Nile towards the distant mountains to the west.
She became conscious suddenly of footsteps behind them on the rough paving slabs of the courtyard and she froze, her eyes fixed on the paper. She listened as they moved closer, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. They stopped, then the sound moved sharply away as though the owner had suddenly noticed them and been deflected.
168.
Stealing another look she saw a tall fair-haired man in a brown light tweed suit and a pith helmet, carrying a bag on his shoulder. The footsteps she had heard had come from his studded walking boots. Where he had come from she wasn't sure, but as he strode away he didn't look back.
'Do not be fooled, Sitt Louisa,' Hassan said quietly. 'Lord Carstairs is still here.' 'We could go. We could go back to the boat.
'You would let him chase you away?' Hassan raised an eyebrow. 'But you will have to face him again. He is a friend of Sir John's. Better here. Better now.'
He was right, of course. If Carstairs returned to Aswan without them, his mission would have failed and he would be less likely perhaps to talk about it to the Forresters. She turned back to the sketch in front of her, forcing herself to concentrate, aware that her hand was shaking slightly as she lifted the brush once more and began to mix her paints.
Near her Hassan sat unmoving. He appeared to be asleep but his eyes were fixed on the archway which was the only way in to the inner temple. It was a long time later that he rose silently to his feet. He watched Louisa for a moment then quietly he headed back the way they had come. She glanced after him but he gestured at her to stay and she turned back to the painting. The afternoon had grown hotter. The courtyard was airless, the bright sunlight shimmering off the stones. Even the shaded colonnade where she sat well out of the direct sunlight was without a breath of movement. Hassan had disappeared. She watched the doorway for a while then she turned back to the painting again. She was feeling sleepy. The heat folded round her like a soft blanket. Her eyes closed. She could feel the weight of the small box in her skirt pocket. It was inert. Unexceptional. Safe.
With a small sigh she slipped from her canvas stool onto the rug which Hassan had spread for her, and pulling the soft bag which contained her formal, more fashionable dress towards her, she lay down, using it as a cushion for her head. Even the sparrows were silent now. They were sitting amongst the ornate carvings at the top of the columns, their small beaks gaping as they panted in the heat.
When she awoke Hassan was sitting cross-legged on the rug beside her. He smiled as he saw her eyes open. 'You sleep like a child. I hope all your dreams were peaceful dreams.'
169.
She lay still. 'The heat is exhausting.
'Ah.' He shook his head. 'You should be here in summer! But then the Europeans flee to the north and are far away.' He chuckled softly.
'Did you see Lord Carstairs?'
'He is gone. I have searched the temple and even the roof. I do not know how, but he is not here. Sleep, Sitt Louisa. I shall watch over you.
She smiled. 'I'm glad.' Already her eyes were closing again. She felt him gently removing her shoes, the touch of his hand on her foot. He did her much honour. It was the only thought that flitted through her head for already she was plunging in her dreams into a warm, scented silence.
She woke about an hour later. The shadows had moved and the burning sunlight on her foot was searing her skin. She drew it away sharply and sat up, staring round. The courtyard was as silent as before. There was no other sign of life. Hassan had gone.
Aware that her foot was painfully burnt, she wondered where he was. Scrambling up she moved further into the shade. 'Hassan?'
The silence was so intense she frowned. It was as though she were the only person in the world. 'Hassan, where are you?' Her voice grew sharp.
Nothing moved. The sky above was white with heat and she couldn't look at it. Her feet still bare, she made her way down the colonnade towards the entrance, gazing this way and that between the columns. 'Hassan!' she called louder now. What if Lord Carstairs had found him and sent him away? What if he had gone without her? She must make for the landing stage, make sure the boat was still there.
At the end of the colonnade the sand was blinding in the direct sunlight. She realised suddenly that she had left her shoes and hesitated. Then she heard a voice behind her. 'Sitt Louisa?'
She spun round. 'Hassan! Oh Hassan, thank God!' She flung herself at him. 'I thought you had gone without me.'
His arms folded round her. For a moment he held her, then she felt a featherlight kiss on her hair. 'I would not go without you, Sitt Louisa. I would guard you with my life.' Slowly she raised her face to look at him. 'Hassan -'
Her reaction had been instinctive; unthinking.
'Hush. Do not be afraid, Sitt Louisa. You are safe with me.' For 170.
a moment he said nothing more, gazing at her face, then he smiled. 'We have fought this; I thought it forbidden. But now I believe that it is the will of Allah.' He raised a finger and touched her mouth. 'But only if you will it.'
She stared at him. She ached to touch him; for a moment she could say nothing, then slowly she raised herself up on her toes and she kissed his lips. 'It is the will of Allah,' she whispered.
For Louisa time stood still. It was as though all she had ever dreamed, ever imagined in her wildest fantasies, had coalesced into the next moments of ecstasy in his arms. She never wanted the kiss to end. When at last it did, for a moment she stood, dazed. Was it possible to feel so happy? She glanced up at him and they remained close together staring deep into each other's eyes. It was a long time later that he noticed her bare feet. 'You must not go without your shoes, my love. There are scorpions in the sand. Come.' He scooped her up into his arms as though she weighed no more than one of their baskets and carried her back to the rug. Before he allowed her to sit down he picked it up and shook it. Then he grinned. 'Now it is ready for my lady to sit.'
Sitting down she drew up her knees and hugged them. The real world was closing in again. 'Hassan, I am a widow. I am free. But you. You have a wife in your home village. This is not right.'
He knelt beside her and took her hand. 'A Christian may not have more than one wife. It is written in the Koran that a man can love more than One woman. I have not seen my wife, Sitt Louisa, for more than two years. I send her money. She is happy with that.'
'Is she?' Louisa frowned. 'I wouldn't be.'
'No, for you are a passionate woman. You wouldn't understand one who no longer wishes for the pleasures of the bed. We have two sons, for which Allah be praised. Since the birth of my smallest boy she has not loved me as a wife should.'
'I could not love you as a wife, Hassan. When summer comes I have to go home to my own sons.'
He looked away. There was sadness in his face. 'Does that mean we should chase away the days of happiness which lie within our grasp?' He took her hands in his. 'If heartbreak must come, let it come later. Then there are the days of happiness to remember. Otherwise there is nothing but regret.'
She smiled. 'Perhaps it is fitting that we should declare our love 171.
in the temple of Isis. Is she not the goddess of love?' She reached up and kissed him again but he had suddenly grown tense. He pushed her away.
'Hassan, what is it?' She was hurt.
'Ma feem tish! I do not understand. Lord Carstairs. He is there!' He waved towards the distant colonnade.
She caught her breath. 'Did he see us?'
'I don't think so. I searched everywhere. I went to look for his boat, but it had gone. It is a small island. There is nowhere he could have been hiding.' He shook his head in anger. 'Wait here, my beautiful Louisa. Do not move.
In a second he had left her, slipping like a shadow along the colonnade. Louisa held her breath. The silence had returned.
Anna put down the book and rubbed her eyes. So, Louisa had found herself a lover in Egypt. She smiled. It was the last thing she had expected of her great-great-grandmother. She pictured the face in the photograph Phyllis had shown her. Louisa had been in her sixties at a guess, when the picture was taken. The high-necked blouse, the severe hairstyle with the inevitable bun tightly drawn onto the nape of her neck, the direct dark eyes, the prim mouth. They had given no clue to this passionate exotic romance.
She glanced at her watch. It was three o'clock in the morning and she was exhausted. She shivered. The story had had the desired effect. It had for a while taken her mind off her own fears and the increasing antagonism between Andy and Toby. She stared round the cabin. There was no scent now of resin and myrrh. Nothing but the smell of cooking drifting through the open window from the busy, noisy town which did not appear to sleep and which stretched out along the bank behind them. With a sigh she stood up.
There was something she had to do before she could sleep. The piece of paper taped into the back of the diary was so flimsy 172.
it was hard to read even the clearer Arabic script. She held the book under the lamp and squinted at the flimsy sheet. Yes. There they were. She hadn't even noticed the small hieroglyphics in the corner. The Ancient Egyptian characters were so minuscule it was almost impossible to make them out at all.
So, now she knew the names of the two phantoms who guarded the tiny scent bottle. Anhotep and Hatsek. Priests of Isis and Sekhmet. Biting her lip she shook her head.
Shutting the diary she slipped it into the drawer and pushed it shut. Louisa had survived to become a famous artist and a somewhat prim-looking old lady. Whatever magic those two evil men had brought with them into the modern age it cannot have been as frightening as all that. After all, she had brought the scent bottle home with her to England.
173.What then didst thou do to the flame of fire and the tablet of crystal and the water of life after thou hadst buried them? I uttered words over them.
I extinguished the fire and they say unto me, what is thy name?
Hail... I have not done violence to any man. Hail ... I have not slain any man or woman.All memory of the entrance to the temple tomb is lost once again; the dunes lie beneath the cliff face in a desolate corner of the land. The spirit may roam by day and come forth by night over the earth but the bottle is a prisoner, forgotten, wrapped in its own silence and, without it and the secret it contains, what reason is there to come forth?
One of us has gone before the gods .. that which came forth from his mouth was declared untrue. He hath sinned and he hath done evil and he hath fled from Ammit the devourer.
174.When we hide from the gods all time is the same. When the gods bid us sleep they do not say for how long. A further two hundred thousand suns roll over the desert and once more robbers turn their eyes towards these dunes. The priests stir. Perhaps the time has come.Anna woke with a start. She lay still, staring up at the ceiling of her cabin where striped shadows from the slatted shutters rippled amongst the bright reflections from the water outside the window. Her head ached and she pressed her fingers against her temples. Her exhaustion was total. She felt too tired even to sit up. It was when she glanced at her wristwatch that the adrenaline kicked in. It was almost ten o'clock.
The boat was deserted. She stood in front of the noticeboard outside the dining room, which had long ago stopped serving breakfast, wondering where they had all gone. The schedule for today had completely slipped her mind. The neatly typed sheet in front of her had the day's activities carefully listed. This morning there was an optional outing to Aswan and the bazaar followed by a short visit at midday to the Old Cataract Hotel. She frowned. She would like to have gone there. Slowly turning away she wandered up to the lounge. Ibrahim called out to her as she made for the shaded afterdeck. 'You have missed your breakfast, mademoiselle?'
She smiled at him, touched that he had noticed. 'I'm afraid I overslept again.' 'You like me to bring coffee and croissant?' He hastily stubbed out his cigarette. He had been polishing the bar and now he tucked the duster away on a shelf and came over to her.
'I should love it. Thank you, Ibrahim.' She smiled at him. 'Has everyone gone ashore?'
'Nearly everyone. They want to spend lots of money in the bazaar.' He grinned.
175.
While he fetched her coffee she made her way to a table at the far end of the shady deck, beneath the awning of white canvas. It was the opposite end of the ship from the row of pots with their profusion of hibiscus and geraniums, bougainvillaea and the small hidden bottle. This was the perfect chance to retrieve it. It could not be left in a flowerpot on a small Nile cruiser indefinitely. But once she had it back in her possession she would have to make a decision. She stared through the rails at the water. She wanted to talk to Serena. She wasn't sure how she felt now she knew the names of the two priests who followed her bottle. And she needed to know more about the priest of Sekhmet.
Groping in the shoulder bag which she had dropped on the deck by her chair she brought out her guidebook. There was, she remembered, a brief summary of the Egyptian gods somewhere at the beginning of the book. She flipped open the pages and stared down. There she was, Sekhmet, with her huge lion's head. 'The lion goddess unleashes her anger -, the text commented. Over the figure's head was a sun disc and the picture of a cobra. She shivered.
'You are cold, mademoiselle?' Ibrahim was there with his tray. He put her coffee and croissant on the table with a tall glass of fruit juice.
She shook her head. 'I was thinking about something I'd read here, about the ancient gods. Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess.'
'These are stories, mademoiselle. They should not make you afraid.'
'She is the goddess of anger. They show her with a cobra.' She glanced up at him. 'How do you know so much about snakes, Ibrahim?'
He smiled at her, tucking the empty tray under his arm. 'I learnt from my father and he from his father before him.'
'And they never harm you?'
He shook his head.
'When Charley found the snake in her cabin you said it was guarding something of mine. How did you know that?'
She saw him lick his lips, suddenly nervous. He gave her a quick glance as though trying to decide what to say and she thought she would help him out. 'Was it a real snake, Ibrahim? Or was it a magic snake? A phantom?'
He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. 'Sometimes they are the same, mademoiselle.' 'Do you think it will return?'
176.