“They can’t be far ahead,” Murat said to Victoire.
“Unless they are behind us,” she suggested.
“No,” Roustam-Raza declared. “I would have seen them. They are ahead of us still.” He lowered his voice. “And therefore we must go softly. We do not want to alert them.”
“A wise precaution,” said Murat. “And while we’re employing wisdom, I think it might be best if we find a place where you women can wait for us. And keep our mounts as well.” He glanced at Lirylah. “The English may be armed, and I won’t expose you to that danger.” He tapped the pistol tucked into his belt. “I am prepared for a fight, but you are not.”
“Four is better than two,” said Victoire, feeling cheated of victory.
Murat gave her the courtesy of a candid response. “If any harm should come to either of you, I would find it intolerable. And if either of you were used as a shield, I would have to surrender all.”
Victoire looked at Lirylah, who drooped in the saddle. “Perhaps you’re right,” she allowed. “We’ll conceal ourselves behind those boulders—those three leaning together, can you make them out?—and wait for you. And we’ll hold the animals if that’s what you wish. We’ll stay there all night, if we must. Or until we see the English depart, and then we will look for you.”
Lirylah seconded this. “If you do not come to us, we will find you.” This clearly was intended for Murat alone.
There were a few reservations that troubled Victoire but she did not voice them. Suppose, she thought, the English overpowered Murat and Roustam-Raza, then waited for her and Lirylah to come to them? Or worse, what if they were found first, and used by the English to force Murat to surrender? She knew it was sensible to keep these fears to herself.
“There will be no such trouble,” said Murat firmly. “We have the advantage of surprise and we will be prudent.”
Victoire held her tongue. Murat was noted for many things but prudence was not often numbered among them. She put her hand on Lirylah’s shoulder. “We’ll be careful. Do what you must do.”
“You’re sensible, as always, Madame Vernet,” said Murat, and offered her the suggestion of a salute. He signalled to Roustam-Raza, and the two of them drew in and dismounted. “Keep them concealed as best you can.”
As she took the lead in her hand, Victoire said, “I hope that all goes well for you, Murat.”
“Jesu et Marie,” said Murat, “so do I.” He turned then to Lirylah. “I will be back, never fear. And I will not be gone long.”
“Please, not long,” said Lirylah.
“I will try,” said Murat, and kissed her hand, much to the disgust of Roustam-Raza.
“We’d better hurry,” warned the Mameluke. “Otherwise they will get too far ahead of us.”
“Right you are,” said Murat, and checked his weapons quickly. “Let us proceed.”
Roustam-Raza said nothing; he faded away into the shadows, Murat at his heels.
“I am very frightened for him,” said Lirylah as the sounds of their footfalls faded to nothing.
“As well you might be,” said Victoire, her face set. “I can see why. I am worried for him as well, and I am not in love with him.”
Dark though it was here in the shadow, and although her skin was the color of polished new oak, it was plain that she blushed. “It is my admiration,” she said stiffly.
“In part, most surely,” said Victoire. She regarded Lirylah seriously. “And he loves you as well. It must be very difficult for both of you.”
Lirylah looked away from Victoire. “I’ve said nothing,” she whispered.
“In words, perhaps, but your eyes are eloquent,” said Victoire. “As are his.” She looked about them. “I dislike wild places like this in the dark. Once night falls, I fear I will not be very sensible about it. It’s foolish of me, but ...”
“The dead are all around us here, hidden in the face of the cliffs, or so my tutor said,” Lirylah said, doing her best to conceal her fright. “They say that grave robbers can find wealth beyond imagining, if they are not killed by rock slides or the curse of the dead kings.” She shuddered, then made herself stop.
“Dead kings. A strange place to bury dead kings,” said Victoire. “Merchants, perhaps, but kings?” She spoke in a rallying tone. “Don’t be downcast, Lirylah. They’ll be back shortly and we will—”
“But they might not escape!” Lirylah cried out, then once again silenced herself. “What then, if they do not?”
“I don’t know,” said Victoire candidly. “What did you fear would happen?”
“The curse of the ancient kings,” she said very somberly. “Many have died of it. Perhaps even my old tutor.” She looked around nervously. “The English might hurt them, too.”
“Now that’s a danger I can readily accept,” said Victoire with energy. “And I think we must take action before dusk. Most of the valley is in shadow already. Only the rim shows light. If we don’t act now we will not be able to act until morning.” She had been searching for an excuse to do just that, and suddenly she felt she had sufficient reason. She started forward, then swung around to look at Lirylah. “It could be risky.”
“It would be riskier without Murat, wouldn’t it?” asked the Egyptian girl.
“Yes, it certainly would,” answered Victoire with feeling. “You are right about that.” She reached up for the reins of their mounts and went about securing them to a single, long line. “Help me with this,” she said to Lirylah as she knotted one end around an outcropping of rock.
“There could be scorpions,” said Lirylah uncertainly as she took the other end of the rope.
“So there could, but this way we’ll have something to ride when we’re ready to leave. Otherwise, the animals will wander off, and what will become of us then?” She finished securing one end, and, with an exasperated sigh, took the other end from Lirylah and searched out a similar boulder to tie it to. “We know which way they went, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do,” said Lirylah softly, as if ashamed of her hesitation.
“Then we must follow them, and quickly.” She gathered up her skirts, wishing for the hundredth time that she could wear britches like men did. But the Egyptians were offended already at the immodest dress of European women. If she were to scandalize them even more by adopting men’s riding apparel, Berthier would no doubt order her back to Paris. That is, if a ship were ever able to sneak into Alexandria and then slip past Nelson’s ships to get back to the capital. When they had left, rumor had said they were cut off from all contact with France. She strode over the rough ground, Lirylah struggling to keep up with her. Victoire slowed to allow her to catch up, then said in an undervoice as they continued on their way, “Pick up rocks and keep them in your skirt. None too large, but not so small that they are nothing more than pebbles. You want to be able to throw them.”
“Throw rocks?” repeated Lirylah.
“Why not? There is nothing else we can throw, is there? And neither of us carries a pistol, worse luck.” She increased their pace a little, stopping from time to time as she came upon fist-sized rocks to toss into her skirt, which she now held basket-style in front of her.
Dutifully Lirylah did the same thing, though her eyes were distressed and she frowned at the rutted track. It was growing darker now, and it was increasingly difficult to pick out the way. “I have never thrown rocks,” she said a little later.
“This is a good time to begin,” Victoire stated.
They went on a short way in silence. Then a figure loomed out of the dark. “What?” whispered Victoire.
“I said you would not be content to wait,” replied Roustam-Raza. “At least you left the camels behind.” He indicated a place off the track. “We have been watching them. They will leave shortly.”
“How can you be sure?” asked Victoire as she followed after the Mameluke, Lirylah
trailing behind.
“Their guides will not remain when the sun is gone. They are afraid of spirits of the dead and of robbers who are alive.” Roustam-Raza laughed very softly. “They are not very brave men.”
“Apparently not,” said Victoire, and found herself facing Murat.
“You’re a handful, Madame Vernet,” he said, but with approval in his brown eyes. “And you’re probably right to come. I’ve been thinking that I did not want either one of you becoming hostages.”
“I should think not,” said Victoire.
He stared at Lirylah, his gaze eloquent, then shook himself. “We’ve found a very good position to watch from,” he told them. “You’ll see.” He indicated a narrow footpath up the side of the cliff. “It doesn’t go very far, but it overlooks the cave where they are busy.” He had dropped his voice to little more than a murmur.
“Can you see what they are doing?” asked Victoire urgently, speaking quickly and softly.
“They are widening the entrance to a cave,” said Murat, and motioned her to be quiet and follow him.
It was difficult to climb the steep, narrow trail, and Victoire was more than once tempted to swear aloud when her foot slipped or her hold on an outcropping of rock slipped. Yet somehow she made it to the narrow shelf that overlooked the place where the English and their Egyptian guides worked.
“You understand them,” Murat whispered in her ear.
“A little. Not very much,” she warned him, and gave herself to the task of listening to what they said.
Below them the activity centered around three lanterns and a number of picks. The work was done hurriedly and stealthily, convincing Victoire more than ever that the men were up to no good. She caught a few words, but not enough of them to be able to guess what the purpose of this hasty digging might be.
“There!” whispered Murat, pointing to a canvas satchel containing a long, heavy object. “That’s what they’re—”
Roustam-Raza, looming behind him, reached out and put his hand across Murat’s mouth, glowering at the men beneath them.
Victoire tried listening again, and learned just enough to realize that the main purpose of this activity was to embarrass the French and make it possible for the English to claim a remarkable discovery at a later, more fortuitous time. Most likely a time when the scepter would act as a rallying point for the Egyptians to revolt against French rule. That made very little sense to her, but she continued to listen, although she learned nothing more.
It was almost completely dark now, and the Egyptian guides were restless, anxious to be away from the place.
“We’re almost done,” said one of the English, the one who had been in charge of the party. His Egyptian accent was heavily distorted. His manner betrayed his military background. “We will be gone in an hour.”
“The path is almost wide enough,” said the other Englishman, a bearded man with a patch over one eye and the bearing of a scoundrel. “If you will work with us, we’ll complete this later.”
“How much later?” demanded one of the guides, making the sign to ward off the Evil Eye. “There are many spirits of the dead in these places.”
“If they’re dead, they’ll be pleased at what we’re doing,” said the first Englishman. “We’re returning what’s rightfully theirs.”
“It is a bad place to be,” insisted the guide.
“Then with your help we will be out of it the sooner,” said the second Englishman with asperity. “Lend your back to it, man.”
Victoire translated this for Murat, speaking so softly that only with an effort could he understand her.
The men continued to work for ten more minutes, and then one of them gave a grunt of satisfaction. “There.”
“You’re through?” asked the first Englishman.
“So it appears,” said the second, standing up and putting his hands against the small of his back. “First asses and now this. You have much to answer for.”
The first Englishman paid no attention. He took the canvas satchel and opened it quickly, drawing out the treasure inside.
In the lantern light the fine gold of the royal flail seemed to be doubly alive. The guides stepped back in awe, and one of them reached for an amulet hung on a cord around his neck.
“I know where we could dispose of that and make ourselves rich as a nabob,” said the second Englishman.
“That would cost too dearly: you would never live to spend your fortune,” said the first.
“There are places the British lion does not hold power,” said the second with a sneer. “Who is to say we could not learn to like the Americas? Or the islands in the Pacific Ocean?”
“Where the cannibals are?” the first challenged. “No, thank you. The captain said that all was arranged. If I am to enjoy the fruits of this night’s work, I must be patient, and so must you, Gregson.”
Gregson shrugged. “Who else might come here, and find this? There is a good reason this valley is called the Treasure-chest of Robbers.” He nodded toward their guides. “They have relatives, and those relatives have relatives. This scepter will not be a secret for long, Hazlett. And I doubt it will be here when you come back for it.” He folded his arms and favored his compatriot with a long, hard stare.
“You’re mistaken,” said Hazlett. “Look at the guides. They will not bring anyone here. They’re afraid of the curse.”
Their argument became too swift for Victoire to be able to follow them. She looked to Murat and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.
He indicated he did not hold her at fault.
Suddenly Gregson took a swing at Hazlett with his pick. Hazlett leaped back, shouting as his clothes tore.
The guides babbled and pointed and stayed well clear of the fight.
Hazlett was the larger man, but Gregson was the more experienced fighter. The two wrestled and bludgeoned one another with hands and feet, but neither gained a clear advantage.
The scepter lay in the dust at the edge of their fighting ground.
And then Gregson had a pistol in his hand. He crouched back, away from Hazlett, his left-handed aim sure. “Get up,” he ordered, unaware of the guides moving away from him for using his cursed hand to fire a pistol.
Hazlett, winded, lay on his back, blinking as he watched Gregson. “You don’t want to kill me.”
“Why not?” asked Gregson, getting slowly to his feet, his aim unwavering.
“There are those who know our errand. They will question you if I don’t return.” He tried to sound calm and very nearly succeeded.
“And I will tell them that you took a fever in the desert, that your legs swelled up and nothing could be done to save you.” He spat and prepared to shoot. “Get on your feet.”
Hazlett did not move.
“I’ll shoot you where you lie, if you won’t get up,” said Gregson, chuckling mirthlessly.
“We ought to stop this,” whispered Victoire to Murat. “We need to catch those men. We must have them alive.”
“I agree, but I don’t want to get between them,” he whispered back to her.
Gregson shrugged and took a step closer to Hazlett, toeing the scepter away from where they fought.
And Hazlett kicked out, catching Gregson on the shin just below the knee with the full force of his leg.
Screaming, Gregson doubled over, falling as he tried to pull his own foot up off the ground. As he struck the ground, his pistol went off. Gregson stiffened, then died, his contorted limbs twitching eerily.
The guides were nowhere to be seen.
Very slowly Hazlett got up, his face set. “Bad luck, old son,” he said to Gregson’s body and then proceeded with his own task, taking the scepter and carrying it to the new break in the wall of the canyon. He stumbled once, as if the many blows he had been struck were only now finding their targets on his body
. He all but vanished into the face of the cliff, but emerged again shortly, his clothes covered in fine sand. He slapped at the front of his Egyptian robe and coughed as more sand roiled.
“We could take him now,” said Victoire very quietly to Murat.
“It would not be wise,” said Roustam-Raza behind them, so softly that the wind off the distant river was louder. “He will leave and then we will have the scepter.”
“Do you suppose so?” asked Victoire, but knew better than to dispute with Roustam-Raza.
“If he wants to keep the thing hidden,” said Murat, “he’ll have to do something about the guides. We’ll have the way clear as soon as he leaves, as leave he must.”
“And what about the dead man?” asked Lirylah, speaking a little louder than the others. “Will he be left?”
“We’ll do something with the body,” Murat promised her, “if Hazlett doesn’t.”
She seemed satisfied with his assurance and lapsed into stillness while the other three watched closely.
Hazlett went to grab Gregson’s hands, but could not bring himself to touch the corpse. He looked down at his former comrade and shook his head. “I haven’t the time to do it right, Gregson.” He bowed over his folded hands for a moment, then hurried away into the night.
“I will follow the guides,” said Roustam-Raza, speaking quietly. “I will learn what I can.”
Victoire was tempted to stop him, remembering what had happened at the villa, but she knew better than to question the Mameluke. She kept her attention on Hazlett as he picked up the lanterns. “I wish,” she said very softly to Murat, “that he would leave one behind.”
“So do I,” said Murat. “But I have flint and steel and paper enough to kindle a torch. If we must enter the cave—”
“And we must,” said Victoire, steeling herself for the task. If the truth were to be told, dark, enclosed places made her edgy and unhappy.
“Yes, if we are to recover the scepter,” said Murat, backing away from his vantage point on the ledge as the light of the lanterns faded.
Victoire scrambled after him, cursing as she heard the hem of her skirt tear on the rocks.
Napoleon Must Die Page 14
