Owen wanted to ask her about Raoul but decided that would be a mistake. Perhaps he could do it obliquely.
“How long have you know^Raissa?” he asked.
“A year,” said Zeinab, “maybe two.”
“She seems to trust you a lot.”
“She doesn’t have anyone else.”
“Not her husband?”
“Her husband, yes.”
“I would have thought,” said Owen, “that she would have known other women in the Syrian community.”
“She does,” said Zeinab. “She doesn’t go out much, that’s all. It’s all those children. Besides, Aziz is very strict.”
“He has conventional views about women, does he?”
“Normal views,” said Zeinab.
Owen wondered how he could get there.
“What about her?” he asked. “What’s her own family like? She’s Raoul’s wife’s sister, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” said Zeinab. “Raoul brought her over once he had settled down.”
“How long ago was that?” asked Owen.
“Seven, eight years ago. I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” said Owen. “It’s the usual pattern isn’t it? One person goes to a place, does well, then brings his family over. The boys get jobs, the girls get married, usually to friends. And so a little community develops.”
“Yes,” said Zeinab. “Cairo is full of communities like that.”
“But how do you fit in?” asked Owen. “Usually they’re very tight little communities. They keep to themselves. The Greeks to the Greeks, the Syrians to the Syrians.”
“Are you asking about me and Raoul?” demanded Zeinab.
She pulled back her hand.
“Why,” she said, “you sound just like the Mamur Zapt.”
Arrangements for the return of the Holy Carpet were being finalized. A large street-map of Cairo had been spread out on a table and the area between the Citadel and the mosques of Sultan Hassan and Al Rifai’ya marked out with red ribbon. Nikos and the Army saw eye to eye on these matters.
The Khedivial Pavilion was indicated by a little green flag. Neither the Sirdar nor the Agent had pavilions on this occasion, since this was a purely Egyptian affair. They would be guests of the Khedive. However, Nikos had marked out a place for the band and thoughtfully indicated in bright orange where the Army-the Egyptian Army- would be drawn up. All was clear to the Army officers who were present and to John and Paul who were looking at their watches and fretting.
The Return of the Holy Carpet was one of the two great processions of the Cairo year. The other was the Departure of the Carpet. The Carpet departed with the annual caravan of pilgrims and returned from Mecca some months later, usually well after the pilgrims had returned, the actual date depending less on position in the religious calendar than on how far behind administrative arrangements had fallen.
It also depended on the desert tribes between Mecca and the coast, who were still inclined to harass the pilgrimage and had been particularly difficult this year; so much so that the Sirdar had sent an escort of half of the Fourth Battalion, a troop of cavalry and two machine-guns, not to mention the famous screw-gun battery which Lord Kitchener had wanted to buy for the Boer War.
The Carpet, of course, was not a carpet. It was a piece of tapestry made to go round the Kaaba stone at Mecca. It was of the stiffest possible black silk-black because that was the colour of the Abbasid dynasty-and embroidered heavily with gold. Making it was a hereditary privilege of a certain family, necessarily well to do; and a new one had to be made every year, since the Khedive cut up the old one, or the part of it that was returned to him, to present pieces of it to great Mohammedan personages.
The Carpet might, or might not, have been carried in the Mahmal, which was a beautifully ornamented frame of wood with a pyramidal top, carried by a single tall camel, which was afterwards exempted from any other labour for the rest of its life. The camel brought the Mahmal all the way from the coast, entered through the old gates of the city and then proceeded in triumph to the Citadel, where it would describe seven circles and be received by the Khedive.
“Seven?” said one of the officers incredulously. “Christ!”
“Can’t you cut that down a bit?” asked another officer.
“Certainly not!” said McPhee firmly. “Seven is what is prescribed.” McPhee took a great interest in Arab ceremony.
“Seems excessive to me,” one of the Army people said, “and damn dangerous, too. All that milling about just in front of the Sirdar.” “In front of the Khedive,” said Nikos, who was a stickler for accuracy.
“It is a bit close,” said Paul.
“No, it’s not,” said Owen. “The circles are described in the centre of the square. The pavilion is set well back. The Khedive comes out to receive the Carpet.”
“Bit dangerous for the Khedive, isn’t it?”
“He’s got to kiss the Mahmal,” said Owen. “You can’t do that at a distance.”
“As long as it’s him coming out and not the Sirdar,” said someone. “Where exactly will the Sirdar be while all this is going on?” asked someone else.
“For Christ’s sake!” said Paul. “We’ve gone through all that.” “Left-hand side of the Khedive’s chair, four paces left, half pace back,” intoned Owen. “The chair will be marked.”
“How will he connect up with his horse?” asked someone who had not spoken before.
“Horse?” said Owen. “What bloody horse?”
“The Sirdar always leads the Army off afterwards.”
“Can’t he do that in a car?” asked Owen. “Does it have to be a horse?”
“Yes,” said John. “I’m afraid so.”
“He rather fancies himself on that bloody great white charger of his,” said Paul.
There was a moment’s disapproving silence from the Army.
“Doesn’t security become a matter for the Army at that point?” asked Owen hopefully.
“No,” said John and Paul together.
“It’s all part of the arrangements,” said John. “Anyway, what are the arrangements for afterwards?”
“The Khedive goes off at some point,” said Paul. “Usually early because he’s bored.”
“He goes off independently,” said Owen, “by car.”
“Is that a good idea?” asked one of the officers. “Wouldn’t it be better if they all left together?”
“We could put a proper guard on them that way,” said another. Paul shook his head. “It won’t do,” he said. “The Khedive will want to do his own thing.”
“He’d better look after himself, then,” an officer said.
There were grunts of approval.
“What about the Agent?” asked John.
“He’ll go one minute after the Khedive goes,” said Paul.
“Will he want an escort?”
“No,” said Paul. “Williams will drive him home.”
“Is that OK?”
“It’s been OK so far,” said Paul tartly.
Owen decided that it was time to assert himself.
“What will happen,” he said firmly, “is this. At some point the Khedive will leave. He will go in a car with his usual escort, one car in front, one car behind. He will be accompanied by a mounted troop, who will ride on both sides of the car, allowing people to see him but at a distance, and obstructing possible aggressors. The convoy will proceed to the Palace via the Sharia Mabdouli. Shortly afterwards, the Agent will leave, in his own car, with Williams driving, two guards, and another car escorting. Those cars will proceed independently by another route back to the consulate. At some point later, when the ceremony has been adjudged to have been finished-”
“Who’s adjudging it?” asked John.
“I am. The main body of troops will move off down the Sharia Mohammed Ali, turn left at the Bab el Khalk and make their way along the sharias Ghane el Edaa and el Khoubri back to the barracks where they will disperse. The Sirdar will ride with them.”
“Will he have an escort?” asked Paul.
“He’ll have the Army,” said one of the officers stiffly.
“Yes, but if he’s riding at the head of them, won’t that leave him a bit exposed?” “There will be an advance party,” said John reassuringly.