Whispers in the Sand

by Barbara Erskine

  Hassan had carried one of their bags up on his shoulders. Now he let her start unpacking it whilst he went down to the spot where the donkey boy had left them and brought up the other two with all they needed for their camp. The rug, the tent, food and drink. He had even brought her paints in their woven bag, but she made no move to unpack them and he left the bag at the foot of one of the pillars.

  ‘I am afraid that I will fall asleep and miss the sunrise.’ Louisa had pulled a rug around her as she sat in the centre of the temple watching him unpack the food by the light of a small lamp.

  Hassan smiled. He had erected the tent and leaving the baskets, he came and sat beside her. ‘Do not be afraid. I will watch for you.’

  ‘All night?’ She could feel the warmth of his body close to her and almost hesitantly she put out her hand to touch his arm. Nearby the flame of the lamp flickered and smoked beneath the pillars of the temple.

  ‘All night, my Louisa.’ He caught her hand and brought it inside the neck of the shirt he was wearing under his red woollen burnous, pressing it against his chest. Then he drew her against him. ‘You are cold?’

  She nodded. Her heart was beating very fast.

  ‘The desert is very cold when the sun has gone. Then in the daytime it is more and more hot. And soon the wind from the south, the khamsin, will come with sandstorms. You do not want to be in the desert when that happens.’ He was gently stroking her hair. Nestling against him she raised her face to his and felt the touch of his lips in the dark.

  Dreamily she let him guide her inside the shelter and down onto the pile of cushions he had put there. She felt him drawing a rug around them, then gently, every move a caress, he eased her dress back from her shoulders and pushed it away until she was lying naked in his arms. Closing her eyes she felt her body relax until she was drifting in a dream. His hands, his lips, moved delicately across her skin and she felt herself an instrument touched into wild music at his command.

  Far away across the desert a jackal howled. She tensed but his hands held her and soothed her and as his mouth came down over hers she abandoned herself to the ecstasy which was building in every part of her body.

  Afterwards she slept, secure in the crook of his arm. Faithful to his promise, he lay awake, staring out from under the shelter and up at the stars.

  Sometime before dawn he dozed, then he woke suddenly. The sand near them sighed and hissed under the soft touch of the wind. His eyes opened and he stared into the darkness. Already there was a grey loom in the east from where the dawn would come.

  There was another sigh of movement in the sand and he tensed sharply. There was someone, or something, near their belongings. A jackal, attracted by the smell of food, though he had wrapped it well, or a boy from the village intent on mischief.

  Carefully he drew his arm out from beneath her shoulders. She stirred and her eyelids fluttered.

  ‘Is it dawn?’ Her voice was soft and husky, her naked body warm and relaxed beneath the rug.

  ‘Nearly dawn, my love.’ He spoke in a whisper. ‘Be still. Do not stir.’

  He slid out from the rug and stood up, staring round in the darkness as he pulled his clothes around him with a shiver. The air smelt sharp and cold.

  Nothing moved now. The desert was silent. In the east the patch of grey was lighter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Louisa sit up and crawl to the mouth of the shelter. She was no more than a shadowy outline as she rubbed her eyes like a child, her hair tumbled on her shoulders. The stars were suddenly less bright.

  He took two steps towards the baskets and he stopped again. Some sixth sense told him there was someone, or something there, behind the pillar. He glanced round for a weapon. Piles of stone lay all over the place amongst the ruins and cautiously he bent and picked up a couple of pieces, feeling them reassuringly heavy in the palms of his hands.

  Louisa strained her eyes. It had grown marginally lighter but she couldn’t see him any more. Where, an instant before, she had pinpointed his indistinct silhouette now there was nothing. She wanted to call out but something warned her to be quiet. Cautiously she groped for her gown and carefully, trying to make no sound, she pulled it over her head and, easing herself into a kneeling position, let it fall over her hips.

  Something moved suddenly over towards the food basket and she held her breath, not stirring in the silence.

  Hassan’s sudden shout brought her to her feet as she saw a violent movement near the far pillar, and heard a gasp and then the grunt of men fighting.

  After only a second’s hesitation Louisa bent in her turn to pick up a piece of fallen sandstone as a weapon and ran towards the sound.

  Hassan was wrestling with another man, a man dressed in European clothing. As she drew closer she gasped. It was hard to see in the strange pre-dawn twilight, but she knew who it was. She recognised his shape, his hair and now as he groaned his fury, his voice. It was Carstairs.

  Almost at the same second that she recognised him there was a sharp cry from Hassan and he reeled to the ground and lay still. Louisa froze then she threw herself towards him. ‘What have you done? Hassan, my love, are you all right?’ Dropping to her knees she touched his head, her eyes fixed on Carstairs as he stood over them. The wound on Hassan’s head was wet and sticky. Without looking she knew it was blood.

  Carstairs was holding a knife. ‘The sacred ampulla. Or I kill him.’ His eyes glittered as he stepped towards her.

  ‘You’re mad!’ She was trying to protect Hassan with her hands.

  ‘Quite possibly.’ Carstairs was regaining his breath rapidly. ‘My sanity need not concern you, Mrs Shelley. Give me the bottle and I’ll leave you in peace, otherwise I’ll be forced to kill him. Are you insane coming out into the desert alone with only a peasant to guard you? Have you not heard of the bandits who rob travellers out here?’

  ‘There are no bandits here, but you!’ she shouted at him desperately. ‘And you will answer before the law.’

  Hassan was trying to move. He groaned and she pushed him back gently. ‘Don’t move, my love.’

  ‘No, don’t move.’ Carstairs smiled. It had grown lighter, she realised suddenly. She could see his face quite clearly now. ‘And as for the law, who would believe you, crazed as you would be with horror and thirst and the ravages of the men who had captured you and taken you out into the desert and left you to the noonday sun?’ He slowly tucked the knife into his belt. He was wearing, she realised, a broad embroidered sash over his English trousers. ‘In a minute the sun will come up, and with it will come the heat.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘The ampulla, Mrs Shelley.’

  ‘I don’t have it.’

  ‘Oh, come.’

  ‘Of course I don’t. Would I bring it into the desert?’

  He smiled. ‘I can see I am going to have to persuade you to take me seriously.’ He took two steps away from her. ‘Have you seen the temple decorations, Mrs Shelley? Have you seen the carvings of the uraei along the wall, the sacred cobras of Egypt? Have you seen the asps up there on the altars above the goddess? This is a desert temple, Mrs Shelley. A temple where the lioness follows the wadi out of the desert to come to drink at the river and where the king snake waits to protect her!’ He turned to face the east, his arms upraised. ‘Great Sekhmet, hear me! Sister of Isis and of Hathor, Eye of Ra, mighty one, goddess of war, breath of the desert wind, ruler of the serpent Apophis who fights the sun god at his rising, send me the uraeus, your flame-spitting servant, that it may protect your priests and the container of their magic! Send it to me now!’ His voice was echoing amongst the pillars, making them ring. Louisa stared at him unable to look away, Hassan’s head in her lap, his blood seeping onto her skirt.

  Behind them, on the far side of the river the first thin, blood-coloured segment of the sun, mirror image of its setting self the night before, appeared, sending horizontal rays of red and gold shooting towards them across the sand, turning the shadows of its undulations black, reflecting crimson and gold in the water
at their feet.

  ‘Dear God, please save us,’ Louisa heard the whispered words from her own lips as though they came from someone else.

  At Carstairs’ feet she saw a shadow move. A shape was appearing on the sand. She could see it clearly now, the long brownish body, the gleaming scales, the small beady eyes. It moved towards him with one or two sinuous movements then it stopped. It seemed to be watching him and as he gestured towards them it reared up and spread its hood, swaying gently from side to side, its eyes fixed on his.

  She heard Hassan groan. ‘Move back, slowly. Move very slowly, my Louisa. Leave me.’

  Carstairs smiled. ‘Mrs Shelley is not in danger, you dog. The servant of Isis would never harm a woman. But men. Men are different. No man but a priest may touch that bottle. If they do, the servant of Isis and of Ra will kill them. That means you, you worthless son of a dog. It is you who is going to die.’

  Hassan was struggling to sit up, but Louisa pushed him back. She took a step forward, refusing to look at the snake as it swayed at Carstairs’ feet. ‘If you kill Hassan, you will never see the bottle again. He has hidden it somewhere in the fields along the Nile. No one else knows where it is, not even I! Don’t let it touch him my lord, or you will be very, very sorry.’

  Carstairs smiled, but she saw a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because it is the truth.’ Her shoulders back, her fists clenched, she held his gaze for several seconds.

  He looked away first.

  ‘So be it. But what has been called forth, cannot be sent away!’ he said softly. ‘Wherever you go my servant will follow.’ He gestured down at the snake. ‘Until I have the sacred tears of Isis in my possession, it will guard them. Do not think this dog will escape me. I shall be watching him.’ He smiled grimly. ‘For all eternity, if necessary.’

  The book fell from Anna’s hands and she stared blankly ahead of her.

  ‘The cobra in Charley’s cabin. Carstairs conjured it up, not the priests!’

  Toby reached across and taking the diary from her lap he closed it and put it to one side. ‘Possibly. On the other hand, there are still cobras in Egypt.’

  ‘But in the cabin of a pleasure cruiser? In a drawer in the cabin of a pleasure cruiser?’

  He shook his head. ‘I concede it does seem to be more than a coincidence.’

  They sat in silence for a while, staring at the river. It was Anna who spoke at last. ‘The tears of Isis. It sounds romantic, doesn’t it? That’s the first time I think there has been a specific clue as to what is actually in the bottle. I’ve held it up to the light, of course, but the glass is completely opaque. It’s impossible to see if there is anything in it.’

  ‘How scientific-minded are you?’ Toby lay back and put his arm over his eyes. The shadows of the palm fronds over their heads played across his face. ‘You could take it to the British Museum when you get back to London, tell them the whole story and ask them to unseal it. They could do it under sterile conditions and find out what, if anything, is in there.’

  Anna was staring dreamily into the distance. ‘Science versus romance. That seems somehow a very modern solution to the problem. Shall we read some more?’

  Toby glanced at his watch and shook his head. ‘We promised Ibrahim we’d be back before sunset so he can cook for us and then go off duty. We could read it later.’ He frowned. ‘Ibrahim knows the cobra is magic, doesn’t he? Look how he reacted when we asked him if the bottle was in the safe. Shall we tell him the story of how it got here?’

  Anna nodded. ‘He is very wise. I think he knows quite a bit about this sort of thing; a lot more than he lets on.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t know whether it’s better or worse to find the cobra was put there by a nineteenth-century occultist or by the priests themselves thousands of years before that.’

  ‘I think that’s a technicality which is relatively unimportant at this stage.’ Toby grinned. He sat up. ‘Egypt is a magic place. Its past is so much around all the time. Someone who knows what they are doing can probably summon things from the past very easily, be it priest or serpent. You said Serena nearly succeeded last night.’

  Anna nodded. She drew her knees up to her chin, hugging them thoughtfully, her eyes on the distant, coffee-coloured hills.

  ‘Come on.’ Toby stood up and reached down for her hand. ‘Let’s go call a cab to take us back.’

  She laughed. The ease with which they could summon a boat enchanted her. She watched as Toby gathered up their belongings and put them in his pack. ‘You do think Serena is genuine then?’

  ‘Yes.’ He paused, and then frowned. ‘Don’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘She’s going to do another ceremony. At Philae. In the temple of Isis.’ She shivered. ‘But she’s almost afraid of Andy.’

  ‘Aren’t we all!’ He looked grim suddenly. ‘In her case it’s because Andy bullies her. If you ask me there’s some Freudian thing going on there because Charley lives with her and clearly respects and likes her and I suspect Serena has told Charley on more than one occasion what a prat she thinks he is! Anna, what are you going to do about the diary? When he comes back?’

  She took off her sun hat and fanned her face for a moment or two. ‘I don’t know. It would be awkward to make too much fuss. I don’t want the police involved. Heaven knows what would happen, and I have a feeling it wouldn’t be wise to make an issue of it. He would only deny it and say I had lent it to him or something, and it would be very difficult to prove that I hadn’t. I’ll keep it locked up or with me at all times, and probably leave it at that.’

  He stared at her. ‘Anna, he tried to steal something which could be worth thousands of pounds.’

  ‘I’ve got it back,’ she said firmly. ‘And he’s got to live with the fact that you and I and Serena know he’s a thief. He won’t know who else we’ve told. He’ll be sweating.’

  ‘And that’s all you are going to do? Watch him sweat?’

  She nodded. ‘As long as we’re in Egypt, yes.’

  He exhaled loudly and shook his head. ‘OK. If that’s what you’ve decided. It’s your diary.’

  They had walked down the path towards the landing stage. When they reached it several small boats were already clustered there, just off shore and on the landing stage dozens of men and boys milled around selling every shape and size of souvenir and tourist bric-a-brac. Somehow Anna and Toby pushed their way through the crowd and beckoned one of the boats. Toby, after a swift good-humoured exchange of figures and a lot of gesticulations managed to clinch a deal on the price back to The White Egret and they scrambled aboard, fighting off the plastic gods and heads of Rameses and the tin Bast cats until the last possible moment, when the vendors, holding them out enticingly, were wading thigh deep in the water.

  ‘I hated this when we first arrived, but I’m getting used to them now.’ She shrugged, turning her back on the island and the men who had abandoned their efforts to follow them and withdrawn to besiege another group of tourists. ‘I’m sure people would buy more if they were allowed to look quietly. As it is one has to run away. Even a second glance is a disaster!’

  Toby leant back on his seat, staring up at the sail. There seemed to be some kind of wind, as they were making good speed towards The White Egret, although the tall sail was hardly bellied as it hung at the masthead. ‘It’s all good-humoured, though. I like the people here.’ He glanced at the man at the helm who having captured them from the competition had settled calmly and seemingly indifferently to his job without giving them a second glance. ‘I suspect it is only this bad around the tourist honey pots. In the rest of Egypt it’s probably possible to move around without being followed. After all no one followed us on the island itself, did they?’

  They dined alone in state by candlelight on Ibrahim’s speciality, something he called mulukhiyya, which turned out to be a herb soup poured over white rice, followed by fried perch and vegetables. For dessert they were given dates and soft cheese and the
n Egyptian coffee. Only when they assured him they could eat no more did Ibrahim bid them goodnight and leave.

  ‘And so,’ Toby turned to Anna and smiled. ‘We have a boat to ourselves.’

  She nodded. ‘Don’t forget the captain is still on board.’

  ‘But we don’t see him. He is the éminence grise.’ Toby smiled. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t exist. Or perhaps he is Ibrahim too, with another hat on!’ He glanced at her and slowly his face became thoughtful. He led the way out on deck and went to lean on the rail. There was a long silence after Anna joined him and she found herself wondering if he was trying to make up his mind whether or not to tell her something. Leaning on the rail beside him, she waited quietly, content to watch the evening drawing in.

  It was several minutes before he spoke at last. ‘What did Andy tell you about me?’ He didn’t look at her.

  She bit her lip. For a moment she didn’t answer, then she turned towards him. ‘He seemed to think you had some kind of a scandal hanging over you.’ She shrugged. ‘Under the circumstances I didn’t take much notice. I think I could accuse him of what is known as the pot calling the kettle black!’

  He grimaced. ‘Why haven’t you asked me if it’s true?’

  She hesitated, scanning his profile. ‘Because I believed – hoped – it wasn’t.’

  He still hadn’t looked at her. There was another long silence, then at last he glanced towards her. ‘It is true. Anna, I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.’

  She waited, aware that there was a sudden knot of anxiety somewhere in her stomach. Her mouth was dry with fear when at last she managed to ask, ‘What happened?’

  ‘I killed someone.’

  There was a long silence. She bit her lip. ‘Why?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘He raped my wife.’

  Anna closed her eyes. Her hands had gripped the rail until her knuckles were white.