“This staff of Moses’, was he in possession of it during his whole time at court?”
From behind the desk, Miles snorted. “What difference does that make?”
Crispin ignored him.
Her slight shrug only lifted one shoulder. “I would imagine. His mother eventually married her half-brother, Thutmoses II. Some scholars insist she was twelve at the time, others say she was at least eighteen.”
“Ah, the pharaoh of the Israelites’ oppression,” Crispin said with a nod. Thank goodness he’d had the wherewithal to study such history when the scroll came into his possession. Otherwise, he’d look the complete nodcock in front of both her and Archewyne.
“Yes.” Juliana took a sip of her water. “He died suddenly—perhaps contracting the plague if one takes the Biblical account of history for truth.” She eyed him with speculation. “Mummies found around that time bear evidence of cysts which could have been from boils and the like, which confirms events in the Book of Exodus. If Thutmoses II’s mummy is found with the same...” She sucked in a breath. “Can you believe the boon that would be?”
“It’s conjecture, all the same,” Archewyne interrupted.
“Regardless,” Crispin continued, determined to keep the lead on the investigation. “Queen Hatshepsut became First Regent due to his son by a concubine being an infant.”
“That’s correct.” Juliana took up the story. “By that time, Moses had a gift for orating and for architecture, and he used both of those skills copious times throughout his life at court.” She drained her glass and then set it on a small table at her elbow. “At that point, one could argue he was a man conflicted—between the life he’d been reared into and the call of his god. Later in the timeline, he slayed an Egyptian for beating one of what he considered ‘his people’ as chronicled in the second chapter of Exodus—”
“—when he was around the age of forty—”
“—and he fled from Egypt, for his replacement on the throne—Thutmoses III—wanted to kill him. That animosity ushered in another growing pain for the region.”
He again took up the tale, not giving Archewyne a chance to speak. “There are reliefs on tombs throughout Luxor—ancient Thebes rather—that show Moses running from Egypt. I’d venture a guess that those closest to him weren’t best pleased to see their prodigy turn his back.”
She nodded. “And his defection gave his enemies more reason to seize power, as well as obliterate Moses’ name and that of his mother from other reliefs.”
Crispin smiled. It was pleasant, having such a scholarly conversation with her. “He never ruled, but tossed away the life he was born into.”
“He did, and it must have been a horrible decision for him.” She lifted her arms over her head and stretched, which called attention to her breasts and the slim length of her torso. “However, speaking for Queen Hatshepsut, she was power hungry, and everyone knew it. Moses’ defection probably did her a favor, for then—and I know this is only speculation—she wouldn’t need to kill her half-brother’s bastard in order to make way for Moses to sit on the throne.” Juliana rolled her eyes. “Even if Moses had intended to rule, I rather doubt his mother would set aside her own ambitions for that to happen. There would have been stipulations.”
“It’s fascinating to think about just the same,” Crispin added with a grin. “Imagine how history might have looked had things shifted.”
Archewyne softly cleared his throat, and when they glanced at him, he said, “That is all well and good. However, you haven’t discussed the question we most need answered: what happened to the staff when Moses left? It’s doubtful he took such a flashy piece with him to live humbly with the Israelites, for didn’t he act as a shepherd after leaving the court?”
Of course the earl was right. He needed to stay on task. “Good point, Archewyne.” His customary optimism had returned. Then he looked at Juliana. “That is out of my depth, I’m afraid, and since you appear to be our resident expert on all things Moses, do you have a theory?”
“I don’t believe Moses took the staff with him. Hatshepsut concealed herself as a man from her enemies, took up the persona in the public eye, even wore a beard so she’d look more like a male pharaoh. Various reliefs on tombs confirm that fact.”
“Those that weren’t ordered destroyed by her step-son,” Crispin added.
“True.” When she looked at Crispin, he nodded for her to continue. “No doubt she wanted Moses’ staff to ensure a seamless change and a powerful rule, not to mention to ease her acceptance and solidify her stance.”
“Yes, yes, we are all aware of the queen’s thirst for power. It is history that she enacted plenty of change throughout the region,” Archewyne interrupted with a wave of a hand. “Where is the damned staff now? Did it go into her keeping?”
Juliana blew out a breath. “There is a relief in Hatshepsut’s mortuary temple—or so I am told—of Moses breaking the staff in half and removing the golden tip.”
“Told by whom?” the earl asked.
She shrugged. “The director... the man my father has been allegedly accused of murdering.”
“I see.” Crispin exchanged a look with Archewyne, who then nodded. “That is what is purported to have been scrawled in the scroll we’ve found.”
“What scroll?” Juliana stood and bounced her gaze between him and the earl.
“The one dumped into my lap nearly two weeks ago. The one I’d made an appointment with the director in order to discuss and confirm the contents.” Crispin moved to the desk where the sheet of papyrus waited, its edges held down with an inkwell, an old cup of tea, a stack of books, and a statuette of Isis, the Egyptian goddess of magic, marriage, healing, and protection. Telling, that. Did Archewyne worry over his family being in the field with him? When Juliana joined him at the desk, he indicated with a forefinger the passage in question. “Translate this and confirm that it talks of the staff.”
For a long time, she studied the ancient, faded symbols and scrawls. “Yes, there are a few passages that have to do with the Staff of the Gods. In fact, it tells of the exact location of where the pieces were. The rest of this text talks about how the Israelites were thrilled to find freedom, and that they wouldn’t waste this chance.”
“What of the staff, Miss Barrington?” Archewyne resettled in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
She kept her focus on the yellowed page. “It seems that a handful of slaves absconded with some treasures of the pharaoh, which they then hid on their flight from Egypt. These fellows were palace slaves, so they had access to the wealth of the nation, and in the chaos of the change in leadership, they were able to access whatever they wished.”
Crispin fairly vibrated with excitement. “Were the staff pieces with them?”
“I believe so.” She glanced at him, but it was impossible to tell what she thought, for her eyes were blank. “They carried the treasures through Heliopolis and then just east of Cairo.” Juliana bent lower toward the papyrus. “But wait.” She gently scratched a fingernail at a smudge. “The bulk of the slaves went on with the rest of the exodus toward the Sinai Peninsula, but there was a small group of them who didn’t wish to leave, for life in Egypt was all they’d known—most had been born here—and some of them had families intermingled with what they called different tribes.”
“And?” Archewyne had risen to his feet as they stared at the scroll in unison.
“They went south down the Nile and got as far as Thebes before their luck ran out and the pharaoh’s minions caught them up.” She tapped a forefinger at a few lines of writing near the end of the document. “See how the writing style changes and is sloppier as if the author were in a hurry and is perhaps desperate to finish?”
“Yes?” Crispin couldn’t breathe. He felt as if he teetered on the edge of something unbelievable.
“Three different slaves each carried a piece of the staff. They scattered those pieces throughout sites in West Thebes, and made careful rec
ord of locations.”
“Why?” Excitement danced in the earl’s eyes.
“They figured God would prevail and back the Israelites’ cause, that Moses would return to wreck further vengeance upon Egypt, and when he did, he would retrieve the Staff of the Gods, thereby destroying all that the pharaohs valued.”
Together, both he and Archewyne said, “Where is the missing piece?”
“Patience, boys.” Juliana snorted. A smile curved her lips, and Crispin’s gaze dipped to her mouth. “Lost to the sands of time, so it would seem, but if two pieces have already been found, I’ll wager the other has to either be in play or someone knows where it is.” Then a frown creased her forehead. “Where did the scroll come from?”
“One of our agents in the area discovered it within a cache of a tomb robber, hidden in a hole near Luxor, so the account on the scroll is accurate,” Archewyne stated as he crossed his arms at his chest. “The agent followed the thief from one of the markets, for no other reason than he seemed shifty. Turned out, they were both right.”
“It’s extremely valuable, and I’m certain historians will wish to see this,” Juliana said with one last look at the scroll.
“Does it say what happened to the slaves?” Crispin wanted to know, for he needed an end to the story.
“Death was imminent and that Egypt was intent on slaughtering the Hebrews, for Moses had proved an embarrassment to them.” She peered again at the scroll. “But they put all of their hope into the staff.” Juliana drew a fingertip along the torn edge of the papyrus, scooting the inkwell out of the way. “There are fragments missing, but the gist of it says the whomever wields the staff shall rule over a united Egypt, and it would rise into a nation of unsurpassed power and might. But beware...”
“Of what?” Archewyne asked, his intense gaze on her.
She shrugged. “We’ll never know. That part of the papyrus is torn away.”
“Typical for this country,” Crispin said with a chuckle. “Perhaps it was a warning or a curse on any of us who seek the staff.” He narrowed his eyes. “And given the opportunity, you would try to beat Archewyne and I to that goal.”
Miles threw himself into his chair once more. “Only you, Herrick. I’m on holiday.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Does this constitute a case now?”
“It could, but that all depends on Miss Barrington.”
“How do you figure?” Crispin’s stomach muscles clenched, whether in excitement or alarm, he couldn’t tell.
Archewyne remained silent.
Was this another test? Damn the earl and his games. He shoved a hand through his hair, upsetting his valet’s styling. But the moment that he looked at Juliana, the nerves calmed. It was nice to trade historical data with someone of her knowledge. He cleared his throat. “With a mind like yours, why the devil are you hidden away in Cairo? Surely the duke could have overlooked the mistake you’d made and could have given you a better assignment.”
Whatever happiness she might have had while translating the scroll vanished under the weight of despair she’d known when he’d first entered the study. “I lost the trust of my brothers and sisters-in-arms,” she said in a quiet voice as she peered at Archewyne. “I lost faith in myself, didn’t push back when Rathesborne berated me.” She pressed her trembling lips together. “I deserve this.”
“It was one mistake, Juliana! No one could fault you for that.” He heaved out a breath. “We are human, and we all make them.”
Her chin quivered and she adverted her gaze. “It was a bit more than that, the enormity of it told to me by the earl.”
What the devil did that mean?
Before he could ask questions, Miles cleared his throat. “We’ve come, once more, to the problem of Lord Ramsay and the fact you haven’t told us how he fits into this little drama.” He drummed the fingers of one hand on the leather folio in front of him. “Does he still have his piece of the staff?”
“As far as I know, he does.” She stumbled across the carpet, her footfalls muffled, and then more or less collapsed into her chair.
“Does he know that it’s a bigger part of a powerful relic?” Crispin was quick to ask.
“I’m not sure.”
“Does he realize that you have a piece of the staff?” Archewyne continued as he stared.
“No. Of this I’m certain. If he did, he would have demanded the statuette back.”
Crispin exchanged a glance with the earl, who shrugged. Then he returned his attention to Juliana. Her downcast face and slumped shoulders tugged at his heart. This woman was in sore need of a protector, at least for a little while, until she could find her confidence again. “Yet, from your own admission you meant to meet him last night. Why?”
A blush raged in her ivory cheeks. She swept her gaze up at him. “To use him in order to gain entry into the clandestine black market antiquities trade.”
“For what purpose?”
“To see if I could find the third piece. If the two others are in circulation, there is every possibility that the third is as well.” She inclined her chin a fraction of an inch. “So you see, I am attending to the mission, whether you believe it or not.”
“I never doubted you,” Crispin said in a soft voice. “In fact, contrary to popular opinion,” he resisted the urge to look at the earl, “I feel you’ve done extraordinary work since you’ve been here. From what little I’ve seen, life in Egypt moves at a slower pace.”
She waved a hand in dismissal. “Unless one is a part of the illegal antiquities game. Then time is most assuredly of the essence. I tried to capitalize on that by forcing a meeting with Andrew, er... Lord Ramsay.”
“If I may ask this one personal question?” When she nodded, he continued, “When that same peer showed up at dinner, you were outraged to see him as well as a bit fearful. Has he intimidated you?”
“He has not, but he is aware I’m hunting a valuable piece.”
“Of which he wants to know, because he enjoys the challenge,” Crispin said to no one in particular. “Did you tell him why you wished to meet him last night?”
“No.” Juliana shook her head. “I merely meant to gain access to the market in any way that I could.” Again, a blush raged in her cheeks. “For the good of the mission.”
The heat of anger rose in his chest. Why did female agents think they needed to offer their bodies in order to manipulate a mark? Is that what they were taught, or was the thought insinuated when they signed on with the King’s agents? “I hope you realize such behavior is not necessary any longer.”
Abruptly, Archewyne stood. He rapped his knuckles on the leather folio. “Neither of you leave this house until I return.”
“Where are you going?” Crispin frowned. That didn’t bode well.
The earl scooped up the folio. “To invite Lord Ramsay here as soon as possible. We need to have a conversation.”
Both he and Juliana offered protests, to which Archewyne ignored.
In fact, Miles’ grinned and mischief glinted in his dark eyes. “There is a plot afoot and I want to know why before I leave for my dig.”
Once alone with Juliana, the silence brewing was almost deafening. Archewyne intended to bring her ex-lover here. Did that mean he wished for the man to work with her to find the staff piece? Crispin didn’t know, wasn’t privy to his thoughts, but surely such a move was pure madness. Damn, but the earl knew best. Why couldn’t he share his thoughts though?
Not having the answers, he reseated himself on the chair beside her. “Your familiarity regarding the Hebrew language, as much as your rattling off the history of Egypt like you did was impressive.” His laughter was a bit self-deprecating. “I’m rather dismal in that arena.”
“That’s a lie and you know it.” She turned to face him, but her smile was sad. “When you were a pawn broker, you were quite knowledgeable... at least you were to me.”
He snorted. “When you came in on the pretense of chatting but in reality, you were searching for
staff pieces.” It was all so clear now. And it didn’t sit right. How could she let a man like Lord Ramsay close when she only indulged in flirting with him? “Lesson learned. Next time I won’t be so naïve.”
“Oh, Crispin, it’s not like that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. Then he peered at her, and the lack of emotions in her eyes made something inside him snap. “Devil take it, Juliana, what is wrong with your eyes? I cannot read them or you. It is quite disturbing.”
For long moments, she stared at him. Then she launched from her chair. “I’m tired of pretending. It has been another mistake in a long line of them.” Before he could question her, she delved her fingers into her hair and began plucking out pins, letting them fall willy nilly over the carpet.
“What do you mean?”
“Just this.” Juliana pulled at her locks, and when he expected they would tumble down about her shoulders, instead, a carefully crafted wig came away in her hands. She tossed it into her abandoned chair. A tight knot of blonde hair lay against her skull. With nimble fingers, she pulled the pins from that as well and then ran her fingers through the strands until the blonde tresses he remembered fell about her shoulders. The slightly curling hair had him itching to touch the locks. Were they as soft as they looked?
“I don’t understand,” he whispered, not daring to take his eyes from her lest she magic herself from the room.
A trace of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “The hair was easy to disguise. My emotions were not, but it was one thing Rathesborne was adamant about. Female agents were sent into specialized training where we learned to mask emotions, reactions, anything that might betray a mission or weak us in the field. It wasn’t a pleasant process, but it was effective.”
“Good God.” He couldn’t help his stare. This was the woman he’d known a year ago; this was the woman who’d driven him mad with her casual flirting, and she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered. “That you would do such things to yourself. It couldn’t have been comfortable.” He’d had no idea female agents were treated any differently than their male counterparts.
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 9
