by Sandra Heath
Amanda’s lovely eyes swung coldly toward her. “Oh, do be quiet, Church Mouse, for what would you know about gentlemen, or indeed about civility?”
Martin intervened hastily. “It is not important. After all, the circumstances are extenuating.” For a moment he looked into Tansy’s expressive gray gaze, but almost immediately his attention returned to Amanda.
Tansy felt his lack of interest in her very keenly. Yes, the circumstances were extenuating for Amanda, as they were for everyone, but what he did not realize was that Amanda was as disagreeable as this all the time, no matter what the circumstances. The future Countess of Sanderby was haughty, attitudinizing, and vindictive; yet men were always prepared to make excuses for her! In that respect at least, First Lieutenant Martin Ballard was no different from all the rest.
Amanda enjoyed Tansy’s discomposure and rightly guessed the full reason, that the Church Mouse was drawn to their handsome rescuer! It always pleased her to make Tansy as aware as possible of being inferior, so to make her point she began to get up from the floor, extending a little white hand toward Martin, who immediately took it and assisted her. Tansy put the bronze cat down on the floor again, and got up on her own, as did Hermione.
Amanda’s fingers closed trustingly over Martin’s as she made sure of his continued full attention. “How do you mean to save us, Lieutenant Ballard?” she inquired, with a skillful flutter of her long lashes.
“In a royal barge fit for Cleopatra herself,” he replied.
“Really?” A spark of true interest flashed through Amanda, but Tansy was more practical.
“Do you mean the vessel moored outside, Lieutenant?” she asked.
He nodded, and Amanda’s face fell immediately. “Oh.”
By now Tusun had seen enough of Miss Amanda Richardson to take a dislike to her. “The lady should be pleased, for it is a very fine canja.”
“Yes, I’m sure you think it is,” Amanda murmured in a crushing tone that was meant to take the insolent Mameluke down a peg or two.
Tusun merely looked at her, managing to make it quite clear that although Martin might be taken in by her arts, he, Tusun, was not. Tansy found herself warming to the Mameluke. It did not often happen that anyone of the masculine gender proved immune to Amanda’s magic, and when it did, the moment was to be savored. It was a pity that Lieutenant Ballard numbered among the foolish majority, because Amanda would treat him badly. She always did.
Tusun noticed the cat at last. “God have mercy! There is a cat here!” he gasped, stepping swiftly backward and making the same superstitious sign he had earlier.
“Oh, yes, there’s one here all right,” said Martin, gathering the tabby from the floor and holding it in his arms. “And quite the little flirt she is too!”
Amanda’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “Ugh, horrid furry thing,” she muttered, and the tabby put its ears back and spat at her.
Tusun was most perplexed. “I tell you all, there is not supposed to be a cat at Tel el-Osorkon. It is an omen. Something bad is to happen.”
“Or something good,” Martin reminded him.
“I remember the great black bird,” Tusun answered solemnly, not convinced that the cat augured well for anything.
Amanda was a little alarmed. “What great black bird?” she asked.
“It is nothing, Miss Richardson,” Martin replied firmly, then gave Tusun a meaningful look.
Hermione changed the subject completely. “Lieutenant Ballard, I don’t suppose you happen to have a tinderbox, do you?”
“A tinderbox? Why, yes, I do, for lighting camp-fires. Why do you ask?”
“There is a wall painting here that I would dearly like to see properly before we leave,” she explained. “I have a candle in my reticule. I always needed one on the Gower to find my way around in the dark. All those hatchways and so on.” She took the candle out to show him.
Tansy was eager too. “Oh, yes, Lieutenant. Please light the candle.”
Amanda looked at them as if they were mad. “A wall painting? How very boring,” she declared disdainfully.
Martin made to give the cat to Amanda, but she recoiled with a shudder of absolute horror. “Don’t bring it near me. I hate cats! Give it to Tansy; after all, cats like mice.”
Tansy felt humiliated color warming her cheeks as she took the cat from his arms. Why, oh why, couldn’t Amanda be amiable for once? Why did she always have to be so unpleasant?
If Martin noticed anything, he gave no sign of it. As soon as his arms were free, he searched in his robes for the tinderbox. “Only light the candle for a few moments,” he said, “in case the glow is visible from outside. I don’t think it will be, because of the oleanders, but it won’t do to test the point for too long.”
Seconds later the candle flame swayed as Hermione held it up to the wall. They all gazed at the painting.
Amanda wasn’t impressed by the ancient work of art. “It’s not even very good. The man is looking sideways, yet his eye is looking straight at us. And whoever heard of a retriever cat? It’s stupid.”
“The Ancient Egyptians always painted eyes like that,” Hermione said. “And the scene is from a myth that involves just such a cat.”
Tansy smiled. “And even if you don’t like it, Amanda, I certainly do.”
“You would. It’s just the sort of dull thing I’d expect would impress you,” Amanda answered ungraciously.
Hermione extinguished the candle, and Martin went to the entrance to look down at the river. Then he nodded at Tusun. “I fancy the time is right to set about our act of piracy.”
“I think so too, Effendi.”
Martin turned to the women. “I want you to wait until you hear the sound of an owl calling. Three notes—two short, one long. The moment you hear it, you are to leave here and go down the steps to the canja. Keep your heads covered, for you must appear to be Egyptian women from the camp. Don’t wait, don’t dither, just board the canja. Tusun and I will deal with anyone who tries to stop you.” He smiled. “We’ll soon have you safe,” he said, then stroked the tabby’s head one last time before going out, Tusun at his heels.
Chapter 9
Martin and Tusun moved secretly along the riverbank under cover of the thick reeds; then without a sound they entered the chilly water upstream of the canja. Their robes tugged in the current as they floated downstream to cling to the vessel’s stern by some trailing ropes. Their breath was silvery in the bitterly cold air as they listened carefully for any sounds from the cabins or deck. Ashore there were lamps on the loggia, but not a soul moved; nor was there any sound from the encampment. The statue of Bastet gazed serenely from the summit of the temple mound, her stone surfaces seeming almost silver in the moonlight.
The two men pulled themselves aboard, then crouched low between the tiller and the superstructure. A single infantryman was seated on a piece of granite column among the looted antiquities. His rifle was at his side as he dozed. Tusun caught Martin’s arm, and they moved silently toward the hapless sentry. A blow from Tusun’s fist laid him unconscious on the deck, and Tusun immediately purloined his uniform to replace his own dripping clothes. He was very careful to transfer all his jewels, even to putting the spray of jewels from his turban in the sentry’s shako.
Martin checked the cabins, and there was no one there. They were packed with more stolen antiquities, and behind a door he found some robes. When he too had changed, he rejoined Tusun on the deck and together they checked all the mooring ropes. It was a large vessel for only two men, but the current was favorable, and once they had slipped away from the temple, perhaps they could hoist the sails. First, however, they had to get the women aboard. They unfastened all ropes, except one at the stern, and the canja rocked slightly as the flow of the river sucked at her, but she remained close to the bank. Only then did Martin put his hands to his mouth and make the owl signal.
Tansy was waiting at the entrance, with the bronze cat in her hand and the tabby at her feet. As soon as s
he heard the signal, she nodded at the others and they all pulled the hoods of their robes over their heads, then picked up the bundles containing their European clothes. One by one they moved out to the oleanders, and Tansy was dismayed to see the tabby slip away into the shadows, for she had secretly hoped it would come with them.
The loggia remained silent and deserted, so Hermione led Amanda up the steep slope to the steps. Tansy lingered a moment in the doorway. She still held the figurine, which suddenly became much warmer. Something made her turn to look back at the wall painting. In the uncertain light she thought the retriever cat was more faded than before, as if several centuries of sunlight had shone upon it in the last half hour. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again the cat had disappeared.
Hermione’s anxious whisper drifted down from the steps. “Tansy? Is something wrong?”
“No…. I’m all right.” Tansy looked back at the wall for a last time. The retriever cat was no more, and the bronze cat now felt quite cold. Imagination and a trick of the light? Yes, for what else could it be? Gathering her skirts, she started up the slope, aware as she did so that a little tabby shadow was at her heels.
Hermione and Amanda waited nervously, and as Tansy joined them she knew how very exposed and visible they all were. They would be seen by anyone who happened to come out onto the loggia. Quickly they went down toward the river, but saw a French sentry standing on the canja’s deck. Their progress faltered and came to a disconcerted halt. Maybe the owl had been a real one, not the signal! Maybe Martin and Tusun weren’t ready for them yet! Then a Frenchman shouted from the loggia. “Istanna! Wait! Who goes there?”
Amanda panicked, and she would have run on had not Tansy caught her wrist and forced her to stay. Hermione rose to the occasion, having noticed from the corner of her eye that the sentry was suspiciously like Tusun in appearance. She turned to look coolly up at the officer who had challenged them, and said good morning to him in a calm, clear tone. “SabãH an-nur, Effendi.”
“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded in the same language.
“Why, to see what business we can do with your sentry,” she replied.
He spat roundly on the floor. “Bedowé!” he said. Peasants!
Hermione was admirably unruffled. “Ma’as salãma,” she replied. Go in safety.
The officer scowled down at them, but to their relief he went back into the residence, and all was quiet again, except for Tusun’s harsh whisper from the canja. “God’s grace is with us, ladies. Come quickly!”
They hurried onto the plank of wood that led from the bank to the deck, and Tansy was overjoyed to see the tabby dash aboard as well, but Tusun wasn’t so pleased. He made a sign to ward off the evil eye as the cat disappeared among the crates; then he drew the plank onto the vessel and laid it quietly on the deck. Martin waited at the stern, and the moment the women were aboard, he cast off the remaining rope and took the tiller.
Time seemed to stand still for a long moment. The canja did not move, and Tansy feared it was caught fast among the reeds, but then, gradually, the bow inched away from the bank. The reeds rustled as the vessel nosed through them toward the open water in the middle of the channel. Everything remained quiet behind them, although at any second Tansy expected to hear shouts. But none came. Tusun appeared at her side, looking very odd in his stolen French uniform. “God is merciful, is he not, lady?” he whispered.
“It would seem so, Tusun,” she replied softly.
He glanced at the bronze cat in her hand. “You have no fear of such things, lady?”
“Fear? No. I love cats, whatever and wherever they are.” She put the bronze cat to her lips and kissed it, for if this particular cat had not tripped Amanda, they would have taken refuge in the residence itself, and by now would be prisoners of the French.
Tusun’s eyes glittered as much as his diamonds in the moonlight. “Lady, in a moment I will see that your companions go into the cabins, where they will be safely out of the way. But for you I have a task.”
“Task?”
He smiled. “The lieutenant needs your assistance, I think.”
“In what way?”
“He cannot look ahead and behind at the same time, and I have other things to do if this vessel is to reach the sea intact. So, lady, use the opportunity. Without your cousin’s false smiles to blind him, maybe he will judge for himself which pretty face is more worthy.”
Tansy felt embarrassment rush into her cheeks. Had she been that obvious?
“I am very observant, lady, and consider myself a just man. It would not be right for the lieutenant to fall prey to such as your cousin. So take the help I offer you. Go to him. Make him see the worthiness in your eyes.”
Before she could say anything more, he stepped lightly away toward Hermione and Amanda, who were standing nervously together forward of the cabins. After glancing back toward the still-silent riverbank, he ushered them inside. Tansy hesitated about going to help Martin, but then thought again. It would be craven indeed to draw back and not only do nothing to help her own cause, but at the same time allow heartless Amanda to toy with him for the sheer spite of it. Even Church Mouse could fight. So she made her way to the stern.
Martin smiled as she approached. “This is almost too smooth a getaway, is it not?” he breathed, following Tusun’s example by glancing warily over his shoulder at the shore, where all remained miraculously calm.
“May it stay that way,” she whispered back. “Lieutenant, I’m here because Tusun said you needed help. Two sets of eyes being better than one, or some such thing?”
“He’s right. You keep a watch astern.”
She did as he instructed. The temple mound rose darkly against the predawn sky, but the statue of Bastet now caught the first rays of the rising sun. As the canja slid slowly downstream she saw some of the campfires for the first time, but just as the escape seemed to have succeeded without detection, someone raised the alarm. Suddenly there was pandemonium as French soldiers poured toward the riverbank, firing at random so that shots whined all around. Martin shoved Tansy down on the deck so roughly that for a moment she lost her grip on the figurine. As she grabbed it, she became aware of the frightened tabby pressing against her.
Further along the deck Tusun took aim with his rifle and began to return the fire. Martin bent low at the tiller, trying to present as small a target as possible as he guided the canja. The current seemed so slow that he could almost have sworn the Nile had ceased to flow, but gradually, oh, so gradually, the vessel glided on. The French ran along the bank, still firing. Frightened birds rose from the reeds and palms, their cries vying with the gunfire, and throughout it all Tansy pressed so flat against the deck that she almost became part of it. Only once did she dare to raise her head, to see that the canja was moving toward an area of wild marshland, with reeds and dense bushes. On the far shore, away from the French, there were a number of small channels that offered hiding for even a large vessel.
Martin swung the tiller toward a narrow neck of water that disappeared beyond clumps of date palms and sycamore figs. The furious French fired indiscriminately after the canja, and some of the shots struck the timbers, sending splinters flying. There was a rustle of foliage as the vessel nosed into the channel. Tansy stared behind, watching the rifle flashes through the dawn gloom; then reeds and branches closed like curtains, and the stolen vessel vanished into the oblivion of the marsh.
Chapter 10
As the canja slid further from the French, Tansy got to her feet again. She shook out her robes and tried to compose herself, only too aware of having just been shot at. The tabby was aware too, and it ran back to its hiding place among the crates.
Martin straightened and reached out impulsively to pull Tansy close. “It’s all right now; we’re safe.” It was a natural action on his part, a desire to console her after a harsh experience, and she knew no more than that could be read into it. But she wanted to rest her head against his shoulders a
nd close her eyes, wanted to slip her arms around him and take far more than consolation from his closeness. She pulled away self-consciously, afraid she might give in to the temptation. He immediately became self-conscious as well. “Please don’t misinterpret, for I meant nothing….”
“I know you didn’t, and I haven’t misinterpreted,” she replied quickly. “It’s just that I felt a rather childish urge to cling to you for comfort, and that would indeed have been open to misinterpretation.” She managed to give him a quick smile, but she felt dreadful. Childish was the very last thing her stifled urge had been!
The smile was reciprocated. “I’m sure I would have taken the impulse for what it was, because I am equally sure that you would never behave forwardly or improperly in any way.”
No, but I would like to, she thought ruefully. When he walked into the hidden room at Tel el-Osorkon, her senses had awakened from a lifetime of slumber. One arresting glance of his dark eyes had sealed her fate, sending abandoned emotions leaping through her veins that still coursed through them now. Oh, such wonderful, spellbinding emotions. As if she had been waiting for him. Just for him….
The canja glided on into the depths of the marsh, finding a way through rich foliage that sometimes brushed audibly along the deck. Tel el-Osorkon slipped further and further behind, and with it the sense of danger. Tusun went quietly about his tasks, tightening a rope here, loosing one there, making sure everything was secure. To the east the sun rose steadily, sending blinding flashes of light through the leaves and branches. A flight of waterfowl flew high against the early morning sky, and Tansy gazed around, thinking how romantic it was. But Martin’s next words were a douse of cold water on thoughts of romance.
“Lord Sanderby is very fortunate to be marrying a bride as beautiful as your cousin. Has she known him long?”
“She does not know him at all. It is an arranged match.”
Martin watched her. “Am I to understand your cousin doesn’t want the match?”