She passed on into the next hall which was given over to displays of the
African elephant, and paused in the centre of the room before a pair of
ivory tusks so large that she could not believe they had ever been
carried by a living animal. They seemed more like the marble columns of
some Hellenic temple to Diana, the goddess of the chase.
She stooped to read the printed catalogue card:
Tusks of the African Elephant, Loxodonta africana.
Shot in the Lado Enclave in 1899 by Sir Jonathan Quenton-Harper. Left
tusk 289 lb. Right tusk 301 lb. Length of larger tusk 11' 4'. Girth 32".
The largest pair of tusks ever taken by a European hunter.
They stood twice as high as she was tall, and they were half as thick
again as her waist. As she passed on into the Egyptian room
she-marvelled at the size and strength of the creature that had carried
them.
She came up short as her eyes fell upon the figure in the centre of the
room. It was a fifteen-foot-high figure of Rarnesses 11, depicted as the
god Osiris in polished red granite. The god-emperor strode out on
muscular legs, wearing only sandals on his feet and a short kilt. In his
left hand he carried the remains of a warlbow, with both the upper and
lower limbs of the weapon broken off. This was the only damage that the
statue had suffered in all those thousands of years. The rest of it was
perfect - the plinth even bore the marks of the mason's chisel. In his
right fist Pharaoh carried a seal embossed with his royal cartouche.
Upon his majestic head he wore the tall double crown of the upper and
lower kingdoms. His expression was calm and enigmatic.
Royan recognized the statue instantly, for its twin i stood in the grand
hall of the Cairo museum. She passed it every day on her way to her
office.
She felt anger rising in her. This was one of the major treasures of her
very Egypt. It had been plundered and stolen from one of her country's
sacred sites. It did not belong here. It belonged on the banks of the
great river Nile. She felt herself shaking with the strength of her
emotion as she went forward to examine the statue more closely and to
read the hieroglyphic inscription on the base.
The royal cartouche stood out in the centre of the arrogant warning: "I
am the divine Ramesses, master of ten thousand chariots - Fear me, of ye
enemies of Egypt."
Royan had not read the translation aloud; it was a soft, deep voice
close behind her that spoke, startling her. She had not heard anyone
approaching. She spun round to find him standing close enough to touch.
His hands were thrust into the pockets of a shapeless blue cardigan.
There was a hole in one elbow. He wore faded denim jeans over well'worn
but monogrammed velvet carpet slippers - the type of genteel shabbiness
that certain Englishmen often cultivate, for it would never do to seem
too concerned with one's appearance.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," He smiled eazy.
'le of apology, and his teeth were very white but slightly "t smi
crooked. Suddenly his expression changed as he recognized her.
"Oh, it's you." She should have been flattered that he remembered her
from so fleeting a contact, but there was that flash of something in his
eyes again that offended her.
Nevertheless, she could not refuse the hand he offered her.
"Nick Quenton-Harper," he introduced himself. "You must be Percival
Dixon's old student. I think I saw you at the shoot last Thursday.
Weren't you beating for us?"
His manner was friendly and forthright, so she felt her hackles
subsiding as she responded, "Yes. I am Royan Al Simma. I think you knew
my husband, Duraid Al Simma."
"Duraid! Of course, I know him. Grand old fellow. We spent a lot of time
in the desert together. One of the very best. How is he?"
"He's dead." She had not meant it to sound so bald and heartless, but
then there was no other reply she could think of.
"I am so terribly sorry. I didn't know. When and how did it happen?"
"Very recently, three weeks ago. He was murdered.
"Oh, my God." She saw the sympathy in his eyes, and she remembered that
he also had suffered. "I telephoned him in Cairo not more than four
months ago. He was his old charming self Have they found the person who
did it?"
She shook her head and looked around the hall to avoid having to -face
him and let him see that her eyes were wet. "You have an extraordinary
collection here."
He accepted the change of subject at once. Thanks mostly to my
grandfather. He was on the staff of Evelyn Baring - Over Bearing, as his
numerous enemies called him. He was the British man in . Cairo during-'
She cut him short. "Yes, I have heard of Evelyn Baring, the first Earl
of Cromer, British Consul-General of Egypt from 1883 to 1907. With his
plenipotentiary powers he was the unchallenged dictator of my country
for all that period. Numerous enemies, as you say."
Nicholas's eyes narrowed slightly. "Percival warned me you were one of
his best students. He didn't, however, warn me of your strong
nationalistic feelings. It is clear that you didn't need me to translate
the Ramesses inscription for you."
"My own father was on the staff of Gama! Abdel Nasser," she murmured.
Nasser was the man who had toppled the puppet King Farouk and finally
broken the British power in Egypt. As president he had nationalized the
Suez Canal in the face of British outrage.
"HaV he chuckled. "Different sides of the track. But things have
changed. I hope we don't have to be enemies?"
"Not at all," she agreed. "Duraid held you in the highest esteem."
"As I did him." He changed the subject again. "We ar very proud of our
collection of royal ushabd Examples from the tomb of every pharaoh from
the old Kingdom onwards, right up to the last of the Ptolemys. Please
let me show it to you." She followed him to the huge display case that
occupied one complete wall of the hall. It was lined with shelf after
shelf of the doll-like figures which had been placed in the tombs to act
as servants and slaves for the dead kings in the shadow world.
With his own key Nicholas opened the glazed doors of the case and
reached up to bring down the most interesting of the exhibits. "This is
the ushabd of Maya who served under three pharaohs, Tutankhamen, Ay and
Horemheb.
It is from the -tomb of Ay who died in 1343 Bc."
He handed the doll to her and she read aloud the three thousand-year-old
hieroglyphics as easily as though they had been the headlines of that
morning's newspaper.
"I am Maya, Treasurer of the two Kingdoms. I will answer for the divine
Pharaoh Ay. May he live for ever!" She spoke in Arabic to test him, and
his reply in the same language was fluent and colloquial, "It seems that
Percival Dixon told me the truth. You must have been an exceptional
student."
Engrossed now in their common interest, speaking alternately Arabic and
English, the initial sharp prickles.of antagonism between them were
dulled. They moved slowly round the hall, lingering before each display
case to handle and examine minutely each object that it contained.
It was as though they were transported back over the millennia. Hours
and days seemed of no consequence in the face of such antiquity, and so