“The priest, yes,” replied Xian-Li, falling into step beside her husband. “I remember.”
“You will like him. He’s a wise and gentle man-very high up in the royal family, too, as it happens. His mother was married to Yuya-who was grand vizier of Egypt, second only to the pharaoh, and his sister is great royal wife to the current pharaoh.”
“Brother to the pharaoh,” considered Xian-Li. “He sounds very powerful.”
“It is useful to have friends in high places,” replied Arthur lightly. “There are none higher than Anen. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he became high priest one day.”
They walked easily in the dawn light. The land was dry as sun-burnt bone, and there was not a blade of green to be seen anywhere, apart from a single, blasted, dust-covered acacia bush. The early-morning air was alive with coveys of sparrows and gangs of starlings, and high, high overhead larks sent down their liquid song. “Insects,” said Arthur in answer to his wife’s wondering glance. “They draw the birds but will vanish again before noon and not be seen again until this evening at sundown-the birds too.”
“Where do the insects come from?” asked Xian-Li.
“You wouldn’t guess by looking,” Arthur said, indicating the bleak landscape surrounding them, “but just beyond that line of hills ahead, there is one of the greatest rivers of the world watering one of the most fertile valleys in the world.”
“The Nile,” declared Xian-Li proudly.
“The very same,” confirmed Arthur. “You have been studying.”
When they reached the foot of the nearest hills they found a narrow and very crooked sheep trail winding up the hillside. “Our ladder to the stars,” he said. “After you, my dear.”
They followed the path and, upon reaching the top, paused to survey the landscape. To the north, at the wide mouth of a valley leading back into the desert, lay a jumbled assortment of low stone buildings, some obviously under construction. To the south, asprawl in the brilliance of the early sunlight, spread the city the Egyptians called Niwet-Amun, the City of Amun. Nestled on the edge of the desert between the arid desert hills and the fresh verdant fields of the Nile valley, it gleamed with the lustre of a moonstone. They gazed down upon the tangled clusters of whitewashed houses scattered arbitrarily along the lowland that stretched off toward the majestic river, just visible as a clear blue line dancing on the far horizon. The air was bright and clean, the breeze soft. The sound of barking dogs could be heard drifting up from the houses below.
“It seems our arrival has been noticed,” said Arthur. “Dogs are always the first to know.”
“They are alert to every change in their world,” Xian-Li observed. “In China the old ones say a dog can hear and smell change before it happens.”
They descended to the valley, keeping an eye on the houses below. Though the dogs kept barking, no people appeared until they reached the road scratched on the hard-packed earth. Once on the track leading to the city, they noticed faces appearing briefly at the small dark windows and doorways of the whitewashed mud houses they passed. “We’re being watched now,” murmured Arthur. “Don’t be afraid; just smile and keep walking.”
Glancing behind them, she saw two brown men standing outside their houses, arms crossed, dogs by their sides and children hiding behind their bare legs. Xian-Li was glad for her linen robe-not all that different from what she had worn in China, but more in keeping with the local dress. Arthur had the harder part; even dressed in his loose-fitting full-length shirt, he would never blend in with the locals: he was too tall and, it had to be said, too white.
The farther into the city they went, the closer and more crowded the houses became, the streets and pathways between them more tangled and twisted. They passed through districts of wealth and ease, hard by areas of mean description. In the more affluent quarters the dwellings were made of cut stone, shaded by fig trees or date palms, and surrounded by well-tended gardens; in the humbler neighbourhoods, homes were made of mud brick and plaster, chickens and pigs wandered among rows of cabbages and beans, and the yards were used for small industry: pottery making, carpentry, weaving, and the like.
Xian-Li found fascination in everything she saw. Even the smallest glimpse brought a frisson of excitement as some new surprise revealed itself: young girls dressed in sky-blue shifts carrying reed baskets of laundry wet from the river; little boys herding flocks of geese with willow switches, stirring up more chaos than order; women spinning raw flax into thread and weaving at outdoor looms; all-but-naked youths working in dye pits, their limbs stained bright blue and green and yellow; stonecutters roughing out grindstones for hand mills; a butcher cutting up the carcass of a cow with an axe and hanging the bloody pieces on hooks all over the front of his house; a potter and his wife toting their wares to the oven on boards balanced on their heads. All of the life of a busy city was on display.
“It is wonderful!” she breathed. “The people are so… so beautiful.”
They were slender and lithe, with black hair and eyes, their skin colour darker than her own-as dark as some of the folk from the islands in the South China Sea-and Xian-Li swiftly formed the opinion that they were the most attractive people she had ever seen.
“They are a handsome race,” Arthur agreed. “Very peaceable, in the main. Inquisitive as the day is long too. Very little passes their regard, and they’re terrible gossips.”
“Just like in China.”
“Worse,” laughed Arthur. “They will all have noticed that we are here, but they don’t want to be seen to notice. I can tell you they’re all itching with curiosity right now, but they prefer to pretend otherwise. That’s why they’re making such a show of ignoring us.”
The roads and paths grew more crowded as they approached the centre of the city. Here also, the Egyptians maintained a polite distance and their air of indifference towards the obvious strangers in their midst. At the heart of Niwet-Amun lay the sprawling Temple of Amun, a square building on a low platform of three tiered steps; an odd conical pillar stone stood before the entrance. Three young priests dressed in loincloths were busy anointing the surface of the pale stone; their hands and arms glistened with oil; their cinnamon-coloured skin gleamed with sweat.
Arthur stopped. “Here’s our man,” he whispered, watching the priests slather oil over the rounded column, rubbing it slowly over the smooth surface.
“Which one?” wondered Xian-Li.
“The one with the flowers.”
A little apart stood a fourth priest: tall and elegant in a pale blue, pleated robe of crisp linen and a chest plate and belt of gold discs, his head newly shaved but for a thick braided queue that hung down his back. He held a garland of yellow flowers looped around his outstretched arms, which were decorated with many golden bracelets and armbands. He called a word to his fellow priests, who straightened from their work, then bowed and, extending their hands, palms horizontal to the ground, backed away. The gold-belted priest stepped forward and placed the garland over the freshly oiled stone. He raised his hands to shoulder height and chanted in a loud voice. Then, stepping away, he bowed, then turned and with his fellow priests started back to the temple.
“Anen!” called Arthur.
The priest halted and turned around, scanning the people milling around the temple square for the one who had called his name. His large dark eyes swept the crowd, falling eventually on Arthur and Xian-Li. “Artus!” he cried.
A moment later, the priest was before them. “Artus,” he said, seizing the forearms of his friend. The two men brushed cheeks on each side, and then the tall priest turned to Xian-Li. Smiling, his eyes merry with delight, he took her hand. “Iaw,” he said. “Jjetj! Jjetj! Nefer hemet.”
Although she could not understand his speech, the man’s voice was nicely modulated and gentle, and the goodwill shining from his gleaming countenance was unmistakable. She felt instantly at ease and comfortable in his presence.
“He says you are welcome here, beautiful lady,
” Arthur explained. “He wishes you peace.”
“You speak Egyptian?” Xian-Li asked, her eyes growing round.
“I spent many months here a few years ago. I was assigned a young priest to teach me their language. I learned as much as I could in the short time I had.”
The two men spoke briefly to one another, whereupon Anen called out to his fellow priests who had been participating in the ritual with him; they were dressed in simple yellow robes now, and they hurried to meet their master. The priest gave them a series of rapid commands, then turned to his visitors and explained.
“He has ordered the guesthouse to be prepared for us,” Arthur translated. “We are to stay with him in the temple precinct while we are here. He hopes we plan a lengthy visit. He has much to show us.”
Turning to Anen, he relayed their acceptance and thanks, whereupon the priest pressed his hands together and then turned, indicating to the two travellers to follow him. He led them past the temple entrance to a gate set in a low wall, through the opening and into a compound containing an assortment of squat buildings. It was paved with white stone, but with numerous islands of greenery resplendent with flowering bushes and small trees; larger trees planted along the periphery wall shaded the open places, keeping the whole area cooler and a world away from the crowded, dusty streets outside. Iridescent blue peacocks strutted in the sun and roosted in the lower branches. Four skinny youths with shaven heads, bare to the waist in short knee-length yellow kilts, swept the pristine pavements of errant leaves and peacock droppings. From somewhere close by, the trickle of water into the bowl of a fountain lent the compound a calm and soothing air.
“This reminds me of the prince’s gardens at the Jade Palace in Macau,” Xian-Li said. “So beautiful.”
While the two men talked, Xian-Li strolled around the grounds, feeling the sunlight on her hair and skin. After the cold and rainy winter in England, the sun felt like a long-absent and much-missed companion, and she luxuriated in the warmth. Even as she was enjoying the garden, she was reminded once again how utterly unimaginable her life had become. When Arthur had shared the secret of his tattoos with her, she had believed him-in the same way that a child, not understanding anything of the world, will believe its parents when they tell it that money is valuable; but like that child, Xian-Li did not, could not, begin to imagine the fathomless implications of what he had told her.
To take even the first shaky steps toward understanding, she had to experience ley travel for herself, although it had to be admitted that the experience raised many more questions than it answered. This was her third time-the first two were but short hops within England and were mere rehearsals for this trip. Those first two modest leaps had shocked her enough for her to take it all very seriously. And now, as she looked around, what she saw simply beggared belief. Nothing in her previous life could have prepared her for the things she was learning, seeing, living under Arthur’s tutelage. She had no words to describe it-at least, any description she attempted always fell far short of the staggering astonishment she felt. Enthralled, enchanted, reeling with wonder, she loved it-almost as much as she loved the man who had opened this fantastic universe to her.
In a little while, she heard Arthur call her back. “The guesthouse had been made ready,” he said. “We can rest a little if you like. There will be food later. They tend to eat their largest meal at midday, but Anen has ordered some light refreshment for us.”
“I am not tired,” Xian-Li replied. “And I could not eat a thing right now. I want to see the city. I want to see everything.”
Arthur laughed. “Then let us take a walk. I can show you around a little. Anen wants to take us to the royal palace to meet the royal family. Tomorrow, maybe. Pharaoh is travelling upriver, but his return is expected any day. Wait a moment; I’ll tell Anen that we’re going for a short walk in the city.”
The priest would not hear otherwise but that his visitors should be given clothing more suitable for their station, and for the weather. When they had changed into their lightweight robes, he seconded one of the temple acolytes to attend them as guide and interpreter, and the three ventured out from the temple compound and proceeded around the public square. Arthur’s intent was to let his young wife get her feet under her a bit and learn something of the land and its people. Once she had the measure of things, he would take her to see the Nile where they might sail with the gentle Egyptian winds.
After making a circuit of the square, they started up the single main street. “These are the dwellings of the wealthier merchants,” Arthur explained, pausing before a line of large stone houses either side of the wide, palm-lined street.
“And the small huts?” wondered Xian-Li. Squatting in the shade of the expensive houses with their well-appointed gardens were simple hovels of mud brick thatched with palm leaves.
“For the slaves,” replied Arthur. “All higher-caste Egyptians keep slaves-Nubians, Ethiopes, and others. All in all, it is not so bad for them. Life in Egypt is very good.”
“Aha!” cried their guide suddenly as Arthur made to continue up the street.
Arthur halted in midstep, putting out his hand to stop Xian-Li. “Wait,” he said. They turned as the first of a long line of fully laden donkeys passed, their drivers walking beside them with corded whips. The bundles heaped high on the beasts’ strong backs contained cut cane, raw flax, and produce-melons, leeks, nets of radishes and beans and chard-and lengths of aromatic wood.
“They’re heading for the marketplace,” Arthur told her as they watched the passing train. “Tomorrow is market day, I should think. Would you like to see it?”
“Oh, yes! I want to see everything.”
“Then in the morning we’ll go,” promised Arthur.
They continued their walk into the city, but did not get much farther because Xian-Li, dazzled by the diversity of this strange and exotic culture and overwhelmed by all she saw, grew fatigued. “I am sorry, husband,” she confessed. “I think I must rest a little.”
“Of course, my dear. It can be daunting-so much all at once. We’ll go back now, rest, and have a little something to eat. You’ll begin to get used to it. Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”
But the promises of tomorrow, however sincere, are fragile paper boats launched on a vast and uncertain sea: easily swamped by the least rippling wave or ocean breeze.
CHAPTER 29
In Which Dragons Are Not Confined to Statues
The coach rumbled over the bridge, and Wilhelmina received her first good look at the Emperor’s Palace. A massive, looming presence-more bunker than castle-it put her in mind of the stolid, grey eminence of Buckingham Palace back home in London. Uniformly lacking in charm and elegance, Emperor Rudolf ’s palace was a colossal stone crate devoid of towers, keeps, battlements, or outward decoration of any kind, presenting a brooding blank aspect to the world.
Directly across from the palace, setting it in sharp relief, soared the serried spires of the cathedral dedicated to Saint Vitus. Glowing ruddy gold in the early morning light, the great church appeared an almost magical construction in comparison with its hulking neighbour. Clinging to the highest point in the city-for all its chapels, steeples, and the colossal copper-domed bell tower-the heroic structure seemed poised to take flight into the heavens.
Once across the bridge, the palace was momentarily hidden from view even as their carriage climbed steeply towards its destination. Mina turned to her companion. “You’re smiling, Etzel,” she observed. “What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking that, whatever happens, today I will stand before the emperor and give him some of my baking.” His smile grew into a wide and easy grin. “That is something even my brother and father cannot take from me.”
In the time they had worked together, Wilhelmina had formed a picture of Englebert’s life before she met him. “It was hard for you-living under the thumb of your father and brother.”
He gave a little shrug. “I suppose it was hard
for them, too, maybe.”
“Well, I wish they were here to see you. Wouldn’t that be something?”
He laughed. “Their eyes would fall from their heads to see their Englebert serving pastry to the emperor.”
She glanced at the box of equipment and supplies on the floor of the coach next to her-she would not allow it to be placed on the baggage carrier, out of her sight-and wondered if she had remembered everything. Was anything missing?
Etzel followed her gaze. “It is all there, Schnuckel,” he said. “We made a list, and we put everything in the chest. We have forgotten nothing.”
They had checked and double-checked the items that went into the box-everything they would need to make coffee for the emperor and a few select members of his court. “Today,” she said, gazing back at Etzel, “is one of the most important days of my life. I just want to do well. Our future depends on it.”
“No,” replied the gentle man, “our future is in God’s hands. Nothing can change that. So, let us just enjoy today and be happy.”
“I am happy, Etzel,” she said, reaching across the space between their seats to squeeze his hand. “I want you to know that. I am very happy to be here with you today. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
He made as if to speak, but could not find the words, so instead raked his hand through his blond hair and nodded his round head in agreement.
The royal coach crossed another bridge-this one separating the upper town from the lower-and continued up increasingly precarious streets on its climb to the palace precinct. Eventually the carriage approached the palace walls and the grand gatehouse guarding the entrance. The gate was open, and guards waved the vehicle through. Mina felt the butterflies in her stomach lift off as the horses clattered into the yard and came to a stop. Soldiers with long pikes and crested silver helmets and breastplates stood either side of the red lacquered doors between stout pillars that supported a pediment with a statue of Saint George, who, with a hideous and extremely realistic dragon curled about his feet, stood with one foot on the angry beast’s neck, his gallant sword upraised to deliver the killing stroke. The dragon-all teeth and scales and slashing claws-writhed in its dying rage, while the sainted George gazed down with implacable sternness of purpose.
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