‘Staff of Min? Bin Sadr has a staff, a snake-headed one. Who’s Min?’
Astiza smiled. ‘Min is a god who became the root word of “man”, just as the goddess Ma’at or Mut became the root word for “mother”. His staff is not like Bin Sadr’s.’
‘Here’s another picture.’ Enoch slid it across. On it was a drawing of a stiff-postured bald fellow with one particularly arresting feature: a rigid, upright male member of prodigious length.
‘By the souls of Saratoga. They put this in their churches?’
‘It’s just nature,’ Astiza said.
‘Well-endowed nature, I’d say.’ I was unable to keep envy from my voice.
Ashraf had a wicked grin. ‘Typical for Egyptians, my American friend.’
I looked at him sharply and he laughed.
‘You’re all having fun with me,’ I grumbled.
‘No, no, Min is a real god and this is a real representation,’ Enoch assured me, ‘though my brother is exaggerating our countrymen’s anatomy. Ordinarily I would read ‘The staff of Min is the key to life’ as a mere sexual and mythical reference. In our creation stories, our first god swallows his own seed and spits and shits out the first children.’
‘The devil you say!’
‘And it is the ankh, the predecessor to your Christian cross, which is usually referred to as a key to eternal life. But why Min in a temple of Isis? Frequented by Cleopatra? Why “key” as opposed to “essence” or some other word? And why this after it: “The crypt will lead to heaven”?’
‘Why, indeed?’
‘We don’t know. But your medallion may be an uncompleted key. The pyramids point to heaven. What is in that crypt? We do know, as I said, that Silano has been making enquiries about going south, up the Nile, with Desaix.’
‘Into enemy territory?’
‘Somewhere south is where the temple of Hathor and Isis lies.’
I pondered. ‘Silano has been doing some studying of his own in ancient capitals. Perhaps he has the same clues you’ve found. But he still needs the medallion, I’m gambling. Keep it here, hidden. I’m going to see the sorcerer at a banquet tonight, and if the subject comes up I’ll tell him I lost it at Abukir Bay. It might be our only advantage if we’re in a race to this key of life.’
‘Don’t go to the banquet,’ Astiza said. ‘The goddess tells me we must stay away from this man.’
‘And my little god, Bonaparte, tells me I must sup with him.’
She looked uncomfortable. ‘Then tell him nothing.’
‘Of my investigations?’ Here was the issue the journalist had raised. ‘Or you?’
A blush rose in her cheeks. ‘He has no interest in your servants.’
‘Doesn’t he? Talma told me he’d heard that you knew Silano in Cairo. The reason Antoine went to Alexandria was to ask not about Bin Sadr, but about you. Just how much do you know about Alessandro Silano?’
She was quiet too long. Then, ‘I knew of him. He came to study the ancients, as I did. But he wanted to exploit the past, not protect it.’
‘Knew of him?’ By Hades, I knew of Chinamen, but I’d never had a thing to do with them. That’s not what Talma had implied. ‘Or knew him in ways you don’t want to admit, and which you’ve kept from me all these days?’
‘The problem with modern men,’ Enoch interrupted, ‘is that they ask too much. They respect no mystery. It causes endless trouble.’
‘I want to know if she knew…’
‘The ancients understood that some secrets are best undisturbed, and some histories best forgotten. Don’t let your enemies make you lose your friends, Ethan.’
I fumed as they watched me. ‘But surely it is no coincidence that he is here,’ I insisted.
‘Of course not. You are here, Ethan Gage. And the medallion.’
‘I want to forget him,’ Astiza added. ‘And what I remember of him is that he is more dangerous than he seems.’
I was flummoxed, but it was clear they weren’t giving out intimate details. And maybe I was imagining more than had occurred. ‘Well, he can’t do us any harm in the middle of the French army, can he?’ I finally said, to say something.
‘We aren’t in the middle of the army anymore, we’re in a side street of Cairo.’ She looked worried. ‘I was terrified for you when I heard news of the battle. Then came word of Count Silano.’
It was an opportunity to respond in kind, but I was too confused. ‘And now I’m back, with rifle and tomahawk,’ I said, in order to say something. ‘I’m not afraid of Silano.’
She sighed, her scent of jasmine intoxicating. Since the rigours of the march she had transformed herself with Enoch’s help into an Egyptian beauty, her gowns of linen and silk, her limbs and neck adorned with gold jewellery of ancient design, her eyes large, luminous, and highlighted with kohl. Cleopatra eyes. Her figure recalled the curves of alabaster jars of unguents and perfume I’d seen in the marketplace. She reminded me how long it had been since I’d had a woman, and how much I’d like to have her now. Because I was a savant, I would have expected my mind would remain occupied with loftier things, but it didn’t seem to work that way. Yet how much should I trust?
‘Guns are no proof against magic,’ she said. ‘I think it best if I share your night chambers again, to help watch over you. Enoch understands. You need the goddesses’s protection.’
Now here was progress. ‘If you insist…’
‘He has made me an extra bed.’
My smile was as tight as my breeches. ‘How thoughtful.’
‘It’s important that we focus on the mystery.’ She said it with sympathy, or was it with torturous intent? Perhaps they are the same in women.
I tried to be nonchalant. ‘Just make sure you’re close enough to kill the next snake.’
My mind a muddle of hope and frustration – the usual peril for getting emotionally involved with a female – I went to Bonaparte’s banquet. Its purpose was to remind the senior officers that their position in Egypt was still sound, and that they must communicate that soundness to their troops. It was also important to demonstrate to the Egyptians that despite the recent naval disaster, the French were behaving with equanimity, enjoying dinners as they had before. Plans were underway to impress the population by celebrating the Revolution’s New Year, the autumn equinox of September 21 ^ st, one month ahead of my guessed-at calendar date. There would be band music, horse races, and a flight of one of Conte’s gas balloons.
The banquet was as European as possible. Chairs had been assembled so nobody would have to sit on the floor in Muslim style. The china plates, the wine and water goblets, and the silverware had been packed and carried across the desert as carefully as cartridges and cannon. Despite the heat, the menu included the usual soup, meat, vegetables, and salad of home.
Silano, in contrast, was our Orientalist. He’d come in robes and a turban, openly wearing the Masonic symbol of compass and square with the letter G in the middle. Talma would have been fuming at this appropriation. Four of his fingers bore rings, a small hoop adorned one ear, and the scabbard of his rapier was a filigree of gold on red enamel. As I entered, he stood from the table and bowed.
‘Monsieur Gage, the American! I was told that you were in Egypt, and now it is confirmed! We last enjoyed each other’s company over cards, if you remember.’
‘ I enjoyed it, at least. I won, as I recall.’
‘But of course, someone must lose! And yet the pleasure is in the game itself, is it not? Certainly it was an amusement I could afford.’ He smiled. ‘And I understand the medallion you won has brought you to this expedition?’
‘That, and an untimely death in Paris.’
‘A friend?’
‘A whore.’
I could not disconcert him. ‘Oh, dear. I won’t pretend to understand that. But of course you are the savant, the expert in electricity and the pyramids, and I am a mere historian.’
I took my place at the table. ‘I’ve modest knowledge of both, I’m afraid. I’m honoured to have been included in the expedition at all. And you are a magician as well, I’m told, master of the occult and Cagliostro’s Egyptian Rite.’