‘By Mr Rabbiki, yes.’
‘Up to his usual tricks. But you don’t have to worry. We’ll fob him off.’
‘He may be calling for a public inquiry.’
‘He won’t get one. We have a safe majority. All the same-’
‘Yes?’
‘He’ll get what he wants. Which is public attention.’
‘There’s not much we can do about that.’
‘Isn’t there? How near an arrest are you?’
Owen hesitated.
‘Faltering?’
‘It’s in the hands of the Parquet.’
‘And they are not pursuing it as zealously as they might? My dear fellow, you don’t have to say a word.’ He took Owen by the arm, as Arabs always did when they wished to move towards intimacy, and drew him close. ‘ Entre nous, the Khedive is most unhappy. Dragging their feet, he said; that’s what they’re doing! And, of course, that’s just what they are doing. Nationalists to a man.’
‘Minister, you’re not suggesting that they could be acting in concert with the Party in the House on this matter?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything. But we do have our suspicions. There have been rumours of a big Nationalist move. And it could involve the railway.’
‘Why would that make it big?’
‘Funds, my boy, it’s all to do with funds. Funds from abroad requiring a return on investment, funds for the government-a budget balance, my dear boy, you can’t believe how important that is, to some people, anyway. Funds for the Khedive, although naturally that is a minor consideration. All put in jeopardy if the railway is delayed. Big? My dear fellow, I can’t say how important it is!’
‘Important enough to kill for?’
‘You don’t need to go that far. Arrest will do. Just something to show that action has been taken.’
‘No, no, I wasn’t thinking-I meant on the Nationalist side. Important enough for them to kill for?’
‘Kill? My dear fellow!’
‘I just wondered-’
‘Kill! What can you be thinking of! Our colleagues, the Nationalists? My dear fellow! We’re not savages, you know. We leave killing to the English.’
El-Sayid Ahmad withdrew his arm and turned away. Raoul appeared with a salver on which were several tumblers of whisky.
‘I’ll have one of those,’ said Garvin, standing nearby. He reached out a hand. ‘What was he on about?’ he said to Owen.
‘The railway; he wants me to hurry it along.’
‘Best keep out of it. That’s my advice. Have nothing to do with business. Not in Egypt. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Cheers!’
‘Cheers! I wish I could. But you can’t keep money out of things.’
Garvin peered out of the window.
‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Isn’t that some of my old friends?’
He was looking at a group of singularly rough, tough, battered and scarred individuals.
‘Where do they come from?’ asked Owen.
‘Helwan. I’ve seen them on the racetrack there!’
Garvin had an unrivalled knowledge of all the gangs.
‘What are they doing here?’
‘I don’t know. I’d better find out.’
They were talking to a man in a suit.
‘Who’s that?’
‘One of the stewards, I think,’ said Owen.
‘Already?’ said Garvin. ‘I’ll have to have a word with the managers.’
‘Don’t do that,’ said Owen. ‘Not just yet.’
Garvin moved away to talk to one of the Ministers. Owen decided he had been neglecting Zeinab.
‘She’s over there,’ said Zeinab.
‘Who is?’
Away in a corner Salah-el-Din’s daughter was surrounded by a ring of Pashas.
‘They’re even older than you are,’ said Zeinab.
Owen at last realized what was bothering her.
‘I prefer experience,’ he said.
‘She’s got plenty of that.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘You’re really stupid,’ said Zeinab.
Malik went up to join the group.
‘He made me an offer to exchange you for a Circassian,’ said Owen.
‘Did you accept?’
Nuri, who had been one of the ring of Pashas, detached himself and came across to them, puffing with pleasure.
‘Charming girl!’ he said. ‘I like them fresh.’
Zeinab went off in a huff. Nuri looked after her in bewilderment, then, as Owen was about to set out in pursuit, laid a hand on his arm.
‘My dear boy,’ he said; ‘a word with you!’
‘Yes?’ said Owen, edging after Zeinab.
‘Don’t do it!’
Owen stopped, surprised.
‘Not even for her! Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. There was a time-I cared just as passionately as you. And there was this other man. Well, I said to her-it was Zeinab’s mother, you know-you can have him. If you like cold meat! I meant it, too, you know. I would have killed him. Or perhaps I did kill him? I can’t remember now, it was so long ago. Anyway, it brought us back together again. Passionate women like passion. You English are too-wait a minute, where was I? No, no, I meant it the other way round! My boy,’ said Nuri impressively, ‘you must not kill him!’
‘Kill who?’ asked Owen, totally confused.
‘Malik.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Zeinab, drawn back.
‘Because he’s betrothed, or nearly betrothed, to that charming girl. Abu Hanafi was telling me. His father objects, of course, but-’
‘Is that why you wanted to kill him?’ said Zeinab dangerously.
‘I don’t want to kill anyone!’ protested Owen.
‘He let it slip,’ said Nuri, ‘when he was talking to el-Sayid Ahmad. El-Sayid Ahmad was shocked. “These English!” he said. “They will fall upon you like beasts!” “It’s only instinct,” I said. “He’s young and passionate. I was just the same. He’s not going to let another man step in, is he?” “Yes, but to go so far as to kill him!” said el-Sayid Ahmad. “It is a bit far,” I conceded. So I said I would have a word with you.’
‘Was it when he offered to exchange me for a Circassian?’ said Zeinab fondly.
‘Whisky, sir?’ said the waiter, going past.
‘A double, please,’ said Owen.
‘There is a problem about the Tree,’ said McPhee worriedly.
‘Tree?’
‘The Tree of the Virgin. The French want to take possession of it.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Owen; ‘the French? What the hell’s it got to do with them?’
‘It was given to the Empress Eugenie by the Khedive when she came for the opening of the Suez Canal.’
‘Yes, I know, but-’
‘Along with the Gezira Palace Hotel.’
‘They don’t want the hotel as well, do they?’
‘They haven’t said so. It seems it’s just the Tree they want. Because of the Roman Catholic connections.’
‘ Roman Catholic?’
‘It’s the balsam, you see.’
‘I thought you told me it was a sycamore? Or a fig?’
‘No, no, it’s the shrubs nearby. They’re balsam-’
‘Where that old goatherd was?’
‘Yes. They used to provide the balsam for nearly all the baptismal services in Egypt. Every Catholic child!’
‘Let’s get this straight,’ said Owen, who was feeling fragile this morning anyway and was still trying to digest everything that had happened to him at the reception. ‘They want the Tree because of the balsam shrubs nearby?’
‘They’d like the shrubs, of course. But, strictly speaking, it was only the Tree of the Virgin that was given them. I think you could make a stand on that.’
‘I’m not making a stand on anything. Certainly not on a bloody tree!’
‘I do think you ought to consult Diplomatic, Owen. The request comes from the Quai d’Orsay.’
; ‘In Paris? How the hell did they get to know about it?’
‘I think’-McPhee lowered his voice, not wishing to speak ill, or, at least, ill loudly of anybody-‘I think it may have got to them through the Syndicate. The Belgians-or, at least, some of them-are RCs, too, you know.’
‘But why-?’
‘Well, if the Tree was gone, you know, it would be, well, gone. Out of the way. Didn’t you tell me it was in the way of the new railway?’
‘Yes, but-you don’t mean they’d take it away to France?’
‘Well, why not? After all, we’ve taken Cleopatra’s Needle to London.’
‘Yes, but that’s a-I mean, this is a tree! It’s even dead. Do they know it’s dead? It’s fallen down.’
‘That makes it easier to take it away. All they have to do is lift it on to a lorry. In any case, Owen, I don’t think you should assume too readily that it’s dead. I’m sure I saw green shoots. And, even if it were dead, Owen, that’s not the important thing.’
‘No?’
‘No. The thing is, it has symbolic life. It’s very important to RCs, Owen. The Young Mother is said to have rested in its shade. Then she took the Child, hot and weary from the journey, down to the well and bathed it; and instantly the water became fresh and clean. I must say, I do think that is a point we have to consider. I mean, the water is strikingly fresh and clean and all the other wells round there are rather salty. How is that to be explained?’
‘Well-’
‘And then, while the Child was capering about, or perhaps just lying there, she washed its clothes. I mean, that’s what they often do, you see them doing that today, then the child can put them on again. But then, do you know, when she wrung the clothes out, wherever the drops of water fell, balsam trees sprang out of the earth! So you see, in fact there is a connection between the Virgin Tree and the balsam-’
‘I think that point may be disputed.’
‘The lawyers may well make a meal of it, I know, but symbolically-’
‘Yes. Well. I’m sure. And you say’-grasping at straws-‘that this has come formally from the French Consulate?’
‘Direct from the Ministry in Paris, they said.’
‘Ah, well, then,’ said Owen. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to refer this to our own Consulate.’
Back came the answer, sooner than he had wished.
‘We’ve referred it to our lawyers,’ said Paul.
‘Great!’
‘They’ve warned us that it could take some time.’
‘Marvellous!’
‘However, they have suggested that you put a guard on the Tree.’
‘How long for?’
‘Until the issue is resolved.’
‘How long could that be?’
‘Ten years.’
‘No, the British are not seizing your property. The guard is there merely to protect it.’
‘It’s been all right for two thousand years,’ said the Copt. ‘Why does it suddenly need protection?’
Owen pointed to the names carved on the bark.
‘It’s being defaced.’
‘That’s how I make my money,’ protested Daniel indignantly.
‘Ah, yes. But you shouldn’t. Not while ownership of the property is being disputed.’
‘It’s not being disputed. It’s mine.’
‘Apparently it was given to the Empress Eugenie in 1869.’
‘This is a Muslim plot!’ cried Daniel, reeling back.
‘The Muslims are nothing to do with it,’ said Owen sternly. He wasn’t going to have this adding fuel to the fire.
Or so he thought.
‘A deputation to see you,’ announced Nikos, his Official Clerk.
‘Deputation?’
‘From the Patriarch.’
The outer office was full of Copts.
‘This is outrageous!’ said their leader, one of three bishops.
‘What exactly-?’
‘The seizing of Coptic property.’
‘Ah, the Tree? I have explained that the guard is there merely to protect it.’
‘It certainly needs protection; but who from?’
‘Well-’
‘First you let the Muslims defile it. Then you let the Catholics take it away!’
‘We’re really not at that stage yet.’
‘Ah! Then it is true? The Catholics are going to take it at some time?’
‘The Tree, apparently, was a gift to the Empress Eugenie-’
‘Yes, but who gave it?’
‘The Khedive Ismail-’
‘But did it belong to him?’ Seeing his advantage, the bishop pressed home. ‘Was it his to give?’
‘Well, I-’
‘It has belonged to Copts for over a thousand years.’
‘Look, this is a matter for lawyers-’
‘One would think so. But the judgement has, apparently, already been made.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Why, then, has a guard been placed at the Tree?’
‘To protect it pending a resolution of the issue. Until then the assumption is that ownership remains as it is at present.’
‘We demand that the rights of Coptic citizens be protected!’
‘I give you that assurance.’
‘What is it worth, though?’ asked one of the other bishops. ‘Will Britain stand up for Copts the way France does for Roman Catholics?’
‘The policy of His Majesty’s government is not to interfere in religious matters. In the case of Egypt, it has consistently urged the Khedive not to discriminate against particular groups of his subjects-’
‘He has given away our Tree!’
When Owen next visited the Tree he found not just the guard he had posted but also six other men.
‘Who are they?’
‘Friends,’ said Daniel, grinning.
They were all Copts. Copts tended to be small. These weren’t.
‘What are they doing here?’
‘Helping to protect the Tree. You said it needed protection.’
Owen had managed to arrive just before Sheikh Isa. The sheikh descended from his donkey and looked at the men. ‘Who are these men?’ he said.
‘My assistants,’ said Daniel.
‘What do you need assistants for?’
‘To hold the knives. See?’
The men produced daggers from their clothes and brandished them ostentatiously.
‘We’ll have no trouble!’ Owen warned.
‘Trouble? This is just in case anyone wants to carve their name. A knife is available at a fee. And without one, if that’s absolutely necessary.’
‘This is a Muslim tree,’ said Sheikh Isa.
‘You reckon?’ said one of the Copts.
‘The ownership is under dispute,’ said Owen, ‘and will be settled in the courts.’
‘So you don’t own it then?’ cried Sheikh Isa.
‘I certainly do,’ retorted Daniel. ‘And no Frenchman is going to take it away from me.’
‘Frenchman?’ said Sheikh Isa, bewildered.
‘The Tree was given to the Empress Eugenie,’ Owen explained. ‘Or so the French say.’
‘Frenchmen? Foreigners?’ said Sheikh Isa incredulously.
‘Catholics!’ spat Daniel. ‘They’re all Catholics!’
‘Christians? Not more Christians!’ cried Sheikh Isa.
‘They’re not taking my Tree away!’ said Daniel.
‘Take it away?’
‘No one’s taking it away,’ said Owen, intervening swiftly. ‘The French have just made a claim for it, that’s all. It will be settled in the courts.’
‘It will be settled on the battlefield!’ shouted Sheikh Isa. ‘Take it away? The desert will run with blood first!’
The next day, in addition to the guard and the six Copts, there were another six men.
‘Who are you?’ said Owen.
‘We are Sheikh Isa’s men. The Sons of Islam.’
‘What are you doing here?’
; ‘Looking after the Tree. The Catholics are coming to take it away. These Copt bastards are going to give it to them.’
‘I’m going to give it to you!’ said Daniel, getting to his feet.
‘Cut it out!’ snapped Owen. ‘Any nonsense from any of you and you’ll all be in the caracol! You!’ he said to the guard. ‘See there’s no trouble!’
‘What, me?’ said the guard. ‘On my own?’
The next day, in addition to the guard, the six Copts and the six Sons of Islam, there were three other guards.
‘Four men?’ said Garvin, the Commandant of Police, whose men they were. ‘For how long? How long did you say it was going to be before the case was decided?’
The village was got up as if for a festival. Banners were hung across the street, bunting festooned all the houses. Holy texts dangled from the windows.
‘What’s all this?’ said Owen to his friend the barber.
‘It’s the pilgrims,’ said the barber. Any day now they’ll start arriving.’
‘On their way to Birket-el-Hadj?’
‘That’s right. It’s where they all gather.’
Owen frowned. He had forgotten about the Mecca caravan.
‘They pass through here?’
‘And through the other villages. They come from all sides.’ Owen’s frown deepened. The last thing he could do with just at the moment was hordes of the devout converging on the neighbourhood.
‘When does the caravan leave?’
‘Oh, not for several weeks yet. It takes time for them all to assemble.’
Sheikh Isa stood at the door of his house.
‘Is there not joy in your heart, Englishman?’ he demanded, gesturing at all the decorations.
Not a lot, thought Owen. Out loud he said:
‘It is always a pleasure to see the signs of joy.’
‘There is joy in our hearts. For this is the time when the faithful gather to make the Great Journey.’
‘Happiness, indeed,’ said Owen, bowing his head politely.
‘We rejoice with them.’
‘Quite so!’
‘But mutedly.’
‘Mutedly?’ said Owen.
‘For three reasons.’
Owen tried to edge past.
‘First,’ said the sheikh determinedly, ‘because they are only on their outward way. Their hearts have not yet felt the holy touch. It is only on the return journey that their joy, and ours, knows no end.’
The Fig Tree Murder mz-10 Page 11