“You believe his story?”
“Not a word.”
“What? Then you think he’s—”
“Oh, he’s a clever one, that’s for sure, but he’s not who he seems.”
“Who then?”
“You tell me,” Maeve folded her arms. “This was all too convenient. Either he’s part and parcel with LeGrand, or he’s working for the other side—one of those Assassins Paul stumbled on. But he’s certainly not the humble and amiable trader he claims to be.”
“Good lord. Do you think the Assassins could be privy to our mission here as well?”
“Anything is possible,” Maeve concluded. “We would be foolish not to assume as much. It seems we’ve got a date with this man for the discovery tomorrow. I wonder if he’s here for the same reason we are: to keep watch on the stone.”
“Yes,” said Nordhausen, “and don’t forget LeGrand. He’ll be there as well. It should give us an opportunity to watch the two of them. Could make for some interesting chemistry if they are both agents in this Time war nonsense.”
“You have a knack for understatement,” said Maeve. “Well, we may as well rest here for the heat of the day. But lock the door. I don’t trust either of these men—LeGrand and Khalid alike.”
Part VII
Discovery
19
The morning sun was already promising cruel heat as the last of the wagons pulled into the work area. All about the walls of Ft. Julien the labor party of local peasants worked to remove the hard, sun-baked stone that jutted from the base of the aging rampart. A French officer of engineers stood watching as three men strained against a long iron bar wedged in the rock. From the early hours of the morning, the men had been clearing the base of the wall, hauling the smaller stone away to be mortared on to the higher sections above.
There was an urgency and sense of haste in their movements. A large Turkish force had landed at Aboukir bay, days ago, and quickly overcome the French garrison there. Now the threat to both Alexandria and Rosetta was quite real. At Rosetta, the French found the ruined walls of an old fort, eighty meters on a side. The wall towers had four movable turrets for the mounting of artillery, but the French officers quickly noted that they would not be fit to mount even one of their smaller guns, an eight-pound cannon. The crenellations on the ramparts connecting the turrets were in decay, and the tower keep at the centre of the fortress still harbored a small mosque.
Living quarters, a hospital, ovens, guard units and ammunition dumps were quickly established at the site by a battalion of engineers. They were ably assisted by a dedicated Lieutenant, one Pierre François Xavier Bouchard, and Robert spied him at once as he turned to squint at the labor detail.
Bouchard was a tall man, still young at the age of twenty-eight, and well suited to the task. He had first come to Egypt, not as a soldier, but as one of the many savants that had accompanied the expedition. With an interest in the ancient carvings and archeology, Bouchard realized he might best serve his own curiosity, along with the French interests, by joining the corps of engineers. He had only lately been assigned to the Rosetta work detail, and now, Robert knew, he was about to make the single most important discovery of his life—The Rosetta Stone; it was lying somewhere in the dry, cracked soil of the embankment at the base of the wall, waiting to emerge from centuries of silence and darkness, and enlighten the whole Western understanding of the ancient Egyptian culture. It was the key to deciphering the hieroglyphics, for it would bear a message in each of three languages, and serve as a primer for scholars in decades to come.
Nordhausen watched the men work, a feeling of rising excitement and anxiety in his chest. Now they were struggling to pry loose a particularly stubborn rock that was wedged into the supporting foundation of the wall. The officer, Bouchard, gestured to two other men, indicating that they should lend their weight to the lever and, even as they rushed forward to the task, LeGrand appeared in a billow of dust, riding in on the same covered coach that Robert and Maeve had arrived in the previous day.
The two travelers had come to the scene an hour earlier, escorted by their guide, Khalid. He was especially gracious, bringing them cool water and a plate of sweetened bread and dates when he arrived at their room that morning. They ate, and then were eager to reach the site of the impending discovery, though they did not share their real intent with their host. Nordhausen carried on about his interest in the old Egyptian carvings in the region, and Khalid was only too happy to banter with him about the improvements the Arabs had made to the architecture in centuries past.
Now they were standing in the lee of a high tower on the wall, watching with keen interest as the work parties cleared the rubble away by slow, tedious labor.
Though Maeve wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible, it was hard for the other Westerners at the scene not to notice them. A few French infantry were eyeing her from a distance, though Khalid played his role of the cordial host well, and made it seem that he was entertaining guests, or trading partners in some long planned exchange of commerce. It was a ruse that seemed to be working, for no one bothered them until LeGrand arrived in his coach and fixed his grey eyes upon them with a squint of suspicion.
Khalid was quick to notice. He turned to Robert and leaned in close, as Arabs are accustomed, as if confiding some intensely personal matter.
“He is here.”
“I beg your pardon?” Robert was not quite in tune.
“You know the man of whom I speak. The grey one in the coach, near the gate by the west wall. You must be very cautious now, my friends. This man is dangerous.”
“You know him?” Robert expressed his natural curiosity, hoping to ferret out the relationship between the two that he was already suspicious of himself.
“Let us say that I have had dealings with the man. He is not to be trusted.”
“Ah… Then he is another trader?” There was something in Robert’s voice that was not lost on his host. Khalid smiled, his dark eyes narrowing under their heavy brows.
“He trades in things that most men would be wise to leave in peace,” said Khalid. “But, then again, the commerce of the hour brings us all here to some end or another, does it not?”
Robert nodded agreeably, though the insinuation was not lost on Maeve, who regarded the Arab with a knowing gaze. She was keen to observe the obvious tension in the man’s face and deportment now that LeGrand had arrived. The interloper was down from his coach and making his way boldly across the courtyard, intent on trio by the tower.
“Bonjour, Madame,” LeGrand said politely, bowing as he stepped into the shade of the tower. “Monsieur.” He said to Nordhausen, and then proffered a wan smile in Khalid’s direction, nodding his head in a mock bow.
Khalid touched his heart with his hand, and made a shallow head bow in return. “You are very punctual, LeGrand,” he said in English, with just a hint of annoyance.
“Oh?” said LeGrand. “And just what brings you into the company of these good people, Sheik? Are you working some trade for the Sultan?”