And so Hattie waited in a fever of impatience while the men made their painstaking way to the end of the entry hall with nothing to show for it. Dusty and disappointed, they conferred about what should be done next and came to the conclusion they would make inquiries among the locals to determine when and where Hattie’s parents were last seen. As little could be accomplished during the midday heat, they agreed to return to the Priapus until the afternoon, and make some inquiries at the government offices at that time.
As they descended the stairs, Hattie murmured to Berry, “I must speak with you.”
“With pleasure,” he responded, but his gaze was on a fine horse that was tied under the shade of the guards’ awning—apparently Robbie had managed to come by it somehow between the barge and the tomb.
“Beautiful animal,” Robbie agreed as they all walked over to admire it. “A party from the French embassy came to meet with the minister, and I explained that he was here and borrowed the horse to fetch him back—I confess I forgot to mention it, in all the excitement.”
“Very good,” said Hafez, but it seemed to Hattie that the minister was less than enthused about the coming meeting.
Berry drew a casual hand over the animal’s glossy neck but Hattie knew that the news of the visitors was no ordinary happenstance—she could sense it in his posture. He was wary; and she surmised it meant more enemies among them—apparently they were plentiful in this god-forsaken place.
After the men had discussed the horse’s finer points with the guards, Robbie mounted up and the rest of the party loaded onto the cart to make the return journey. Bing, bless her, turned her back on Hattie to engage Mr. Hafez in conversation so that Hattie could speak in a low voice to Berry. “Tell me about these Frenchmen from the embassy—what have they to do with all this?”
But he remained unwilling to give her any insights, and only said with all seriousness, “You must not ask questions, Hattie; I cannot answer them.”
She took this in good part, mainly because she was bursting to tell him her news. “Well then, I have some answers for you, for a change.” At his look of inquiry, she said without preamble, “I think it is all a feint—a farce. I don’t believe there was a mummy—it was all to allow the storage of the weapons without remark, and to create a curse so as to keep the curious away.”
He listened without reaction, his gaze scanning the horizon. “Why do you believe this?”
“Edward had some doubts, but no one would question my parents’ conclusions—do you see? They were the experts and so could create whatever reality they wished. It explains why there are few artifacts and no references to the princess—in actuality, it was probably only a minor find—perhaps not even a tomb at all but an adjunct of some sort.”
Berry turned his head to her, considering. “But if that is the case, why does the false disk refer to the princess in the sarcophagus?”
But Hattie had already considered an explanation and was unable to suppress her excitement. “I imagine Bing made an assumption—the clue probably did not specify the sarcophagus, but the god-king’s daughter, instead. Bing assumed it meant the mummy—”
“But it actually referred to you,” Berry concluded for her, his own eyes mirroring her excitement. “I think you may be right—there must be a clue on your golden disk that is not apparent at first. Do you have it?”
She made a subtle gesture toward her breast. “It is pinned to my shift.”
“Lucky disk,” he said with a smile.
“When are we going to be alone?” she demanded in annoyance. Honestly; it had been far, far too long.
“Soon,” he soothed. “But let us stay focused on the task at hand, if you please. Wait for word from me in your cabin—above all, do not show the disk to anyone.”
“What will you be doing?” she asked with some impatience. She couldn’t imagine what could be more important than an immediate examination of the golden disk or an equally immediate examination of her anatomy.
“Listening.”
“Oh.” She had forgotten that the new visitors from the French embassy were apparently a cause for concern. “May I do anything to assist? Perhaps I could listen, too—they would not guess I was spying.”
Bringing his face very close, he locked his gaze upon hers and said in all seriousness, “Hattie, you must stay well out of it, and do as I ask. It is very important that you do not travel about alone, or speak to anyone who is here—anyone at all. Wait for me to accompany you, always.”
“I will,” she agreed, resenting the implied rebuke when all she had done was offer assistance. “You have already warned me, remember?”
“It is of extreme importance.” After a pause, he continued in a more conciliatory tone, “There is much you do not understand, and I am not at liberty to explain. I must ask that you trust me. Can you do this?”
She nodded, chastened, but felt much better when he clasped her hand, hidden between the folds of her skirt, and they remained thus most of the way back to the river.
Upon arrival back at the Priapus, they were met by the sight of several horses tethered to the palisade, along with the one Robbie had borrowed. Hattie noted with interest that Berry’s assessing gaze rested on them, and she teased, “So—it appears the dogs have horses.”
“They do,” he confessed, and rested his gaze on her lips. “More than a few.”
She primmed her mouth to keep from laughing and said with mock severity, “That only counts as one piece of information.”
“We shall see,” he said with meaning, which brought the color to her cheeks just before they approached the gangway. Hattie noted that Robbie stood on deck, watching them approach, and accompanied by several other men in French uniforms. With some surprise, she recognized Monsieur Chauvelin among them, the Baron’s henchman whom she had met at the Prussian embassy, back when this strange sequence of events first began. Dropping her gaze, she murmured to Berry, “The second from the left—he broke into the townhouse in Paris and I had the felicity of shoving him down the stairs.”
Berry, though, did not seem overly surprised by this revelation and in reply simply said, “Say nothing, Hattie, and go straightaway to your cabin.”
Further discussion was curtailed as they came to the gangplank, the assembled Frenchmen openly watching her, every step of the way, as she came on board. Embarrassed, she lifted her chin and ignored them as Robbie strode toward her, sunburnt and dusty from his ride. “Come, Hattie, let’s go inside and call for lemonade—it is dashed hot.”
But Bing intervened, “I’m afraid I must insist Miss Blackhouse lie down in her cabin—I believe she feels a bit faint.”
As Bing was well aware Hattie was not a fainter, she inferred there was an ulterior purpose and thus did her best to appear wilted. “A good idea, Bing.” Smiling weakly at Robbie, she demurred, “I will meet up with you in a bit, Robbie.”
However, Monsieur Chauvelin moved to impede her progress, stepping forward to make a polite bow. “Ah—we meet again, Mademoiselle Blackhouse. Monsieur Hafez, I confess I had the honor of meeting this young woman in Paris; a true pleasure.”
Thus reminded, the minister dutifully introduced the gentlemen to the ladies while the Frenchman held her hand overlong, and she sensed that his intent was to make her uncomfortable. But Hattie was not one to be intimidated, and only nodded politely as she resisted an urge to snatch her hand away. A bully, she thought with some disdain; and undoubtedly here hoping to find the strongbox and thus the weapons and the treasure. For two pins I would give it all to the poor beleaguered Egyptians, who surely deserve it more. Hard on this thought she felt Bing’s hand on her elbow, urging her toward their cabin. Willingly, she allowed herself to be steered, wondering how soon she could retrieve the disk and study it. The sooner they could solve the puzzle, secure the trove, and be away from all this unholy scrutiny, the better.
“Monsieur Berry asked that I escort you directly to your cabin,” Bing noted in an apologetic undertone.
“I cannot swim,” Bing replied with much regret.
Chapter 31
That afternoon, Hattie, Bing, and Berry accompanied Hafez to the government offices, Robbie having decided to enlist a translator and return to the site for another search, as there were rumors of a hidden map. No point in asking whether they should take Robbie into their confidence; it seemed clear that Berry would play his cards very close to the vest.
On the other hand, there was no need for the rest of them to accompany the minister when he went over to register the Priapus, but Berry had deftly arranged for it and Hattie surmised that this meant that Berry was monitoring Hafez—who according to Berry, was operating under some sort of duress—and keeping her close at the same time. It did seem that Berry’s manner was more preoccupied, and Hattie wondered what he had learned while eavesdropping on the contingent from the French embassy.
Hafez also announced that he would make another attempt to discover which of the workers from the worker’s village had helped with the Blackhouse excavation in their final days—or at least the days that they were last seen alive.
“I believe you have already performed this task,” Hattie commented to Berry as they were jolted along in the transport cart to the government compound. “And with precious little to show for it.”
But he shrugged and expressed his support for such a plan, “It does no harm to make another attempt, now that some time has passed. The minister has more authority than I, and we cannot overestimate the impact your presence may have.”
“The bereft daughter,” she noted with some irony.
“Burial rituals are important to these people; it may overcome whatever fears they have of speaking out.”
Hattie shifted her gaze to Hafez, who was listening to Bing with only half an ear as the cart made its slow progress. The French visitors indeed had wrought a change in the minister, who appeared distracted and was perspiring more than his usual. Thinking on it, she commented in a low voice to Berry, “All in all, perhaps it would be for the best if the secret chamber remains undiscovered; if no one can find it, no one can put it to its evil use.”
But Berry could not agree. “Such a trove will be very useful to whoever finds it—the weapons and the treasure will be an enormous advantage in the coming conflict.”
Hattie remained skeptical that the conflict would actually take place—although perhaps she was being naïve—and shook her head slightly. “It seems almost unimaginable that anyone would support Napoleon again—not after all that has happened.” Mainly, she didn’t want to think about Berry fighting in another war; there seemed little doubt he would wind up in the thick of things.
“It would be a grave mistake to underestimate him; there are many who only await a chance to support him again, and he is a very dangerous man.” Berry turned to check on their progress and Hattie understood that the subject was closed. I should not tease him about it, she thought—he may regret that he told me about Napoleon’s plans in the first place and so I mustn’t vex him.
The government compound was home to the local authorities who monitored and protected the historic sites as well as enforced the laws. The compound was located near the ruins of the huge Hypostyle Hall, which had served the same purpose forty centuries earlier. By contrast, the visitors’ building was foursquare and simple, with large archways that opened on to a veranda so as to access the river breeze. Several Egyptian officials processed paperwork behind ancient wooden desks while a number of civilians sat along the benches in the shade of the building, most of them elderly men passing the time by observing any visitors and conversing with each other in a desultory manner. As the stone walls made the interior relatively cool, it was with some relief that Hattie waited within for the gentlemen in her party to conduct their business. Hafez was treated with the deference due to his position, and Hattie could see Berry’s point; it seemed likely that more doors would be opened to the native minister in their quest for information.
Unable to resist, Bing wandered over to one of the open-air arched doorways to gaze upon the famous ruins next door, and Hattie strolled toward the west side of the building so as to feel the breeze from the river. In doing so, she passed by several of the old men seated on the benches.
“Halima,” cried one in surprise as she walked past. He then added an unintelligible sentence in Arabic, addressing her with some excitement.
I am definitely too brown, Hattie thought in amusement, and faced him to smile and spread her hands so as to indicate he had mistaken the matter.
The old man regarded her, the emotion in the rheumy eyes fading. “Your pardon,” he said in halting English, shaking his head. “There are times I forget how the years have passed.”
“No matter,” she said with a smile, and made as if to move on.
Bing appeared in an archway to ascertain her whereabouts and then indicated with a gesture, “I shall be just over here, Hathor,” before she ducked outside again.
“Hathor?” asked the old man in surprise. “Can it be that you are little Hathor?”
“My name is Hathor,” Hattie disclosed, thinking to humor him. She had little experience with the elderly, but she understood that sometimes their minds drifted.
Scrutinizing her, his grizzled face broke into a delighted grin that revealed yellow and broken teeth. With some satisfaction he nodded. “It is indeed you—the Blackhouse girl.”
Hattie stared. “I beg your pardon?”
Pleased with his role as the bearer of information, the old man continued, “You stayed here—with Halima and the soldiers. It was when I worked here—oh, many years ago. You would not remember; you were very small—hardly walking.” He indicated with his hand.
Hattie blinked, completely at sea. “Truly? I never knew I had been in Egypt; my parents never mentioned it.”
“You stayed here, with Halima. And the soldiers, who guarded you.” He paused, and nodded. “Yes; many soldiers.”
Enrapt, Hattie stepped toward him. “Who is Halima? Did she care for me?”
Enjoying her attention, the man displayed his broken teeth again. “Yes, she was your nursemaid, your amah—a beautiful girl. While you learned to walk she would hold both your hands over your head.” He demonstrated with a gesture, rocking back and forth, smiling in remembrance. “She delighted in you.”
Hattie smiled in delight herself, fascinated by this glimpse into her childhood. “How extraordinary—how long was I here?”
The old man tried to remember, raising his eyes upward in calculation. “A month—perhaps longer.”
“That long.” Hattie was amazed; her parents must have left her behind with this Egyptian girl while they went on an excavation—the surprising fact was that they had taken her to Egypt at all, especially as an infant.
“Yes—it was a sad day for many of us when your parents came to claim you. Halima wept for days, but she was set to wed one of the soldiers. We told her she would soon have children of her own to make her smile again.” He beamed, misty-eyed. “Little Hathor—how wonderful that you have returned to us for a visit.” Shaking his head in apology, he confessed, “I was confused—I thought you were Halima.”
But Hattie’s smile had faded, and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. This man had mistaken her for her former Egyptian nursemaid and Hattie could not be said to resemble either of her fair-skinned, thoroughly English parents. Had her father fathered an illegitimate child?
She was dimly aware that Berry touched her arm. “Hattie? Come away, now.”
But Hattie was staring out the archway, unseeing. Her parents had been married from the first—they had been married years before she was born. This visit to Egypt would have been around the time of—she closed her eyes with the effort to remember—their dig at Rashid.
“Let us go outside.” The
re was an edge to his voice—almost a desperation. With a firm grip on her arm, he swung her out through the archway and onto the deserted veranda.
She looked up into his face without seeing it because a black, black thought was hovering around the edges of her mind and she refused to give it entry. Impossible to believe her father, devoted to his wife, would father a child on a local girl. Even more impossible to believe they would bring a baby with them to Egypt, especially on one of their earliest excavations. Indeed, it must have been just when Napoleon had begun his campaign—about the time her parents had made their bargain with the devil. Their bargain.
Hattie stood very still and the black thought could be refused entrance no longer. She remembered Eugenie’s sly comments and the scrutiny of the Frenchmen today. She had been heavily guarded when here as a baby, when the French had held Egypt—no, not exactly the French—it was Napoleon who held Egypt. She swayed slightly, and through the roaring sound in her ears she heard Berry speaking intently to her as he supported her in his arms, although she could not comprehend what he said.
Suddenly she was furious, and lashed out at him, hissing through her teeth, “You knew.”
“I love you, Hattie.” He pulled her close.
“I was a joke,” she rasped out into his shoulder, clinging to him so as to remain upright. “They named me after Hathor, the goddess of fertility—they said I was the daughter of the god-king—it was all a joke to them and nothing more.” Maddened by the horror of it all and perilously close to hysteria she gasped, “Oh, God.”
“I love you, Hattie,” he whispered. “It does not matter.”
She pounded her small fists against his chest, emphasizing the words. “You knew this—everyone knows—”
“No.” He took her hands and folded them into his, against the chest she had been abusing. Pressing his cheek against hers he spoke gently into her ear, “Few know. You must hush, Hattie; we will marry and I will send you to my sister’s home until this is over and then I will come for you.”
Daughter of the God-King Page 20
