by Belinda Grey
‘I’ve been taking riding lessons from Abdul,’ Ellen said.
‘She is doing splendidly,’ Henry said. ‘A horn horsewoman.’
‘It’s a great pity you don’t ride, Mrs. Parry.’
Dr. Ford’s use of the name for the plump woman in the loose gown of white silk may have been correct, but it seemed wildly inappropriate. In the house she was addressed by her Christian name and the servants referred to her as Madam. Seated at the oval table, her lingers already reaching for a thin stick of sesame bread, she looked like the favoured wife in some harem, not the widow of an exiled Welshman.
‘My father believed that females ought to stay within the confines of their home,’ Farida said, motioning the others to their places.
‘And this is a most beautiful home,’ Dr. Ford said. ‘Don’t you think so, Miss Ellen?’
‘Indeed I do,’ she agreed.
‘Ellen has so much energy,’ Farida remarked, looking amused. ‘She spends every morning riding on Hecate, and instead of resting in the afternoon, she has been studying poor Hywel’s notes.’
‘For the book he intended to write? Do you find the subject of archaeology interesting?’ the doctor enquired.
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ she said frankly, ‘but it’s interesting.’
‘You’ve seen the wall paintings in the old temple, of course?’
‘And heard the legend,’ she nodded.
‘A charming myth.’ Dr. Ford nodded towards his daughter. ‘Selina became quite interested in the story at one time. She thought it likely that tales of the priestess having had magical powers might have been folk memories of her medical skills. But then so little evidence is available.’
‘Hywel was so pleased when the paintings were discovered,’ Henry said. ‘We hoped to go further eventually and discover the actual tomb.’
‘If it exists,’ Selina said.
‘And there is no evidence at all to suggest that it ever did,’ Christopher Tyrrell said regretfully. ‘The whole thing may be no more than a series of tourists’ tales.’
‘Nobody has ever come forward to offer to finance a full-scale excavation,’ Henry said. ‘They are too interested in the Pharaohs to trouble about a Nomarch’s daughter.’
‘Yet Hywel was so sure that he was close to finding the tomb of Amentisis,’ Christopher recalled. ‘You remember how he used to ride off to the diggings all alone day after day?’
‘Not a habit to be recommended in these troubled times,’ Dr. Ford commented. ‘Before you joined us, Miss Ellen, your guardian was telling us about your alarming experience on your way here.’
‘I was not hurt,’ Ellen said.
‘Nevertheless the situation is uneasy. Many of the Berbers are solidly behind the nationalistic aims of Arabi Pasha. It’s my belief that there will be a general uprising against the British and French involvement in Egyptian affairs.’
‘Papa, one should not talk politics at a dinner party either,’ Selina said.
‘I am justly rebuked,’ he said. ‘Let us talk of more entertaining matters. You will be going on one of the organised tours, I hope? Mr. Thomas Cook has some guided expeditions up the Nile and to the Valley of the King’s, and you really ought to spend a few days in Cairo in order to see the more modern buildings going up. There is always that contrast in Egypt between the old and the new, between riches and poverty.’
‘And corruption is everywhere,’ Henry said. ‘These natives simply cannot be trusted to rule themselves. They split into warring factions—Moslem against Copt, Pasha against fell akin.’
‘But we surely except our charming hostess from these strictures on her countrymen?’ Dr. Ford said with quick tact.
‘Farida is an ornament to her sex and belongs to the world,’ Henry complimented.
‘My employer always has the right word for the right occasion,’ Christopher murmured.
Again Ellen caught the odd note in his voice, but in the lamplight his features were blurred.
The meal continued pleasantly. The food was a blend of spiced Oriental dishes and French cuisine. Ellen had already spent an afternoon in the big kitchen watching with interest as the two white-turbaned cooks prepared vegetables, grilled meat over the charcoal range, and pounded honey, cream and nuts to make mouth-watering desserts. Low’ bowls of flowers, crystal glasses and a white lace cloth spread over the table gave the scene an air of luxury enhanced by the lamplight and the perfume drifting in from the courtyard through the open windows.
Dr. Ford and Selina were to stay overnight, their clinic being several hours’ ride from Wadi Amarna. Two small rooms near to Christopher’s quarters had been prepared for them, and from the conversation Ellen gathered that this was a fairly habitual arrangement.
‘There are so few Europeans in this area that one must keep together,’ Henry said, pouring more wine.
‘And maintain civilised standards.’ There was a faint dryness in Selina’s voice and the glance she directed at Ellen held an unexpected gleam of humour.
‘We do what we can to improve the living conditions of the fellahin,’ Henry agreed urbanely.
‘On the morning after I arrived here I rode through the village,’ Ellen said, ‘and saw some of their houses. I would have liked to go inside one, but nobody Seemed very welcoming.’
‘These people guard their privacy,’ Christopher said.
‘There was one house larger than the rest.’ Ellen paused to glance around but Abdul, having served the meal, had withdrawn, and she continued. ‘The shutters were ajar and a woman was watching me. She was veiled, but I did notice a handsome ring on her finger—emerald, I think. I asked Abdul who she was but he pretended not to know what I was talking about.’ She broke off, for the doctor was chuckling.
‘It doesn’t surprise me that Abdul was disconcerted by your enquiry,’ he said. ‘You asked him about the town bad woman, my dear.’
‘Bad woman?’
‘Nephtari El Said is a dancer. She is also remarkably free with her favours to rich gentlemen. Egypt is now a largely Moslem country where females are expected to be gentle, modest and subservient to men. Abdul would not consider it fitting for a well-brought-up young lady to be told anything at all about Nephtari.’
‘She is a very bad woman,’ Farida said severely. ‘I will not have her in my house.’
But she had known who Ellen was, had been outside the hotel in Alexandria begging her to return home.
Shortly afterwards they rose from the table and went out into the courtyard. Here tiny cups of black coffee and a large dish of the candied fruits that Farida adored had been laid out. Selina, with a lack of fuss that spoke well for her nursing skills, was helping Christopher to manoeuvre his wheelchair. Farida was already dipping into the sweetmeats, and the two other men were discussing the possibility of arranging a picnic before the visit ended.
Ellen had put on the rose-pink dress, but its thin silk and lace was no protection against the chilly breeze that had sprung up to ruffle the waters of the pool. Excusing herself, she went back into the house with the intention of getting a shawl from her room. The outer door of the main lobby was open and she paused for a moment to look down the long avenue of cypresses to where the gates opened on to the sandy track beyond.
The robed figure on the white horse was there, moonlight gleaming on the curved scimitar at his waist. For an instant she was. rooted to the spot with the shock of his appearance and then, with no thought in her head but the determination to clear up the mystery once and for all, she ran swiftly down the path towards the motionless figure.
‘Look, just who are you? Why do you keep following me?’ Her indignant voice ended in a muffled squeak as folds of some thick, black material descended over her head, plunging her into a stifling darkness. She was being lifted and flung none too gently over what her disordered senses told her must be a saddle, for almost immediately she was conscious of being jolted up and down and, muffled but distinct, there came to her ears the pounding
of hoofs.
Her first instinctive struggles were availing her nothing, and panic was causing her heart to beat so rapidly that she could feel consciousness slipping away from her. With a tremendous effort of will she forced her muscles to relax, letting herself slump limply, the blood drumming in her head. The terrible fear of suffocation was becoming a present reality. The material was rough and thick against her nose and mouth, preventing both air and light. She was aware that she was moaning, but the hoofbeats were louder than any sound she could produce, and there was a pain in her chest when she tried to draw breath.
Abruptly, miraculously, the jolting had ceased. She was being lifted down, the suffocating blanket loosened. Anger reinforced fear as she kicked out with both legs and struggled free. The clean, cold air rushing into her face made her dizzy for a moment. She steadied herself, taking deep, gulping breaths, shaking her head to clear it. She was half-lying, half-sitting against an outcrop of rock, and when she raised her head her eyes met higher cliffs pointing up into the dark sky.
‘You will feel better in a moment,’ a voice said.
It was a masculine voice, deep, amused, and with only the faintest trace of accent. Its owner sat on a large flat rock a few yards from her, his face and form still draped in the white burnous. His hands were playing idly with the gleaming scimitar whose scabbard hung still at his waist. With a kind of terrified fascination Ellen watched him run his finger very lightly along the blade. Then his dark eyes were lifted to her face again and he said, in an easy, conversational manner that made her more furious than ever, ‘I do apologise for your uncomfortable ride.’
‘Uncomfortable!’ She struggled into a sitting position, pulling down her skirt. ‘You could have killed me! There was no air to breathe!’
‘Not a great deal, I admit, but you did panic, you know.’
‘Most people would,’ she said cuttingly, ‘if they’d been overpowered in such a fashion!’
‘My men did act with commendable speed,’ he observed. ‘We were wondering how to lure you out when you came running towards us, for all the world as if you intended to invite us in.’
‘I ran out to ask why you’ve been following me, warning me to leave Silver Moon. You have been following me, haven’t you?’
‘You have sharp eyes, Miss Ellen.’ He gave a slight, mocking bow.
‘And you know who I am. You knew I was coming here!’
‘It has been fairly common knowledge in the district that Hywel Parry’s daughter was coming out from England.’
‘From Wales, actually,’ she corrected coldly.
‘As a citizen of a conquered nation myself, I stand corrected.’
‘You don’t sound like an Egyptian,’ she said suspiciously.
‘My mother was French, and I used to spend my holidays in England with some friends of hers.’
‘Did you do them the courtesy of revealing your identity?’ she enquired sarcastically.
‘Oh, my men call me Hawk. You may call me that too,’ he said.
Unwillingly she thought that the name suited his intent, brooding gaze.
‘Why am I to return home?’ She repeated her question sharply.
‘I regret I’m not at liberty to give you a reason.’
‘Not a—?’ She stared at him, her temper bubbling.
‘Do you seriously expect me to cut short my visit and go meekly back to Cwm Bedd without even knowing why?’
‘In this country females do as they are bidden,’ he said.
‘By their lords and masters who are men, I suppose? I call no man “master”!’
‘Of course you have no husband to tame you yet,’ he said.
‘Tame me! If that’s how you regard marriage then I’m exceedingly sorry for your wife!’
‘I haven’t taken a wife yet,’ he contradicted, his voice more lazily amused than ever.
‘Haven’t taken—!’
‘And if you always repeat what someone else says then your friends probably call you Echo, instead of Ellen.’
‘You must be the rudest person I’ve ever met in my life,’ she said.
‘My dear Ellen—you must allow me to call you that ‘
‘I’ll allow you nothing!’ she interrupted. ‘I’ll thank you to take me back to Silver Moon immediately. By now they’ll be looking for me.’
‘I doubt that. The house is quite large enough for a bored guest to hide away in for an hour or so.’
‘I wasn’t bored,’ she said tightly.
‘Then you disappoint me,’ he said lightly. ‘I cannot imagine a daughter of Hywel Parry’s being content in such a perfumed paradise.’
‘You knew my father?’
‘Well enough to recognise that he was a man with a dream. He would have sacrificed much for that dream.’
‘The tomb of Amentisis,’ Ellen said,
‘You went to the diggings with Abdul,’ he said. ‘You saw the foundations of the Outer Court and the paintings in the cave. Hywel was convinced the tomb of Amentisis was there, still undiscovered after three thousand years.’
‘Nobody can prove such a person ever really existed. I here are only legends—’
‘Legends are what men remember of history,’ he interrupted. ‘And the Temple of Isis was there. Your father was sure he’d find the tomb as well. There are those who believe that he did find it.’
‘And said nothing?’
Perhaps he was not certain whom to trust? Perhaps he sent some clue to the one person who might be trusted not to despoil his find?’
‘That’s nonsense.’ She scrambled to her feet, pulling the blanket around her shoulders.
‘Is it?’ He slipped the weapon he was holding into its scabbard and rose. ‘It makes no matter. We will ride on towards the river. A boat is waiting to take you to Alexandria and then you can get the next available ship to England.’
‘And leave the clue behind me at Silver Moon for others to find and ponder over?’
‘So it was a clue!’ In two quick strides he had crossed the intervening space and gripped her by the shoulders, his eyes blazing down into hers. ‘Hywel gave that parcel to one whom he trusted to be sent to his daughter. It was later that we discovered it would be dangerous for you to come here!’
‘Dangerous for me? Why, what threatens me?’ she demanded.
‘I cannot accuse without definite proof. You will have to trust me.’
‘In that case,’ Ellen said breathlessly, ‘I’d like to see whom I’m supposed to be trusting!’
She flung up her hand, tugging the concealing scarf from the lower part of his face. For an instant her eyes met a darkly handsome countenance, firm-chinned and wide-mouthed, and then that same mouth fastened upon hers with a suddenness and savagery that robbed her of all her resistance.
One or two of the boys at school had taken their girl friends up into the fields below the quarry, and she had occasionally come upon them embracing clumsily and ardently, and wondered wistfully what it would be like to have a sweetheart. And now she was being held and kissed with a thoroughness that had nothing clumsy about it, but inflamed her whole being with an answering passion that welled up from the depths of her unawakened nature.
When he released her she stood, trembling, as he turned and swiftly readjusted his headdress. ‘You shouldn’t look so enticing when you are angry,’ he said, turning to her again.
‘Enticing! You have no right—’ she began.
‘And you’re echoing me again. What a docile wife you’ll make for some husband who enjoys obedience in his women.’
‘You attacked me,’ she said faintly.
‘I was tempted,’ he replied, ‘but my respect for the fair sex prevented me. But if you wish to continue—’
‘I wish to be taken straight back to Silver Moon.’ She closed her mind against the teasing in his voice.
‘But I already explained to you that it’s dangerous—’
‘You explained nothing,’ she said, desperately trying to regain her composure.
‘You tell me there’s danger, but you don’t tell me what threatens me, save that it has to do with the parcel my father sent to me.’
‘Which you apparently brought with you. It would be safer in my possession.’
‘So I am now to trust you, am I?’
‘It would be wise,’ he said sombrely, his voice no longer mocking. ‘Believe me, Ellen, it would be wise. There are problems here of which you know nothing, an overriding ambition you cannot conceive.’
‘Even if you could persuade me to return home at once, the parcel from my father is at Silver Moon,’ she said. ‘After I’d gone it would be found.’
‘I’d give much to know the contents of that parcel.’
‘You must give me time to think,’ she protested. ‘You spy upon me, leave cryptic warnings, abduct me—you surely didn’t expect me meekly to board the boat?’
‘I hoped you would be reasonable.’
‘Then you don’t know much about women,’ she interposed. ‘They are only reasonable when everything is explained properly to them.’
‘But you believe me when I tell you there may be danger for you here?’
‘Danger from where?’
‘That I cannot tell you, for it concerns the honour of my own house.’
‘Then it’s stalemate,’ Ellen said. ‘I won’t leave until you explain what threatens me, and you won’t do that.’
‘At least promise me that you will think about what I have said.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘And decide to trust me?’
‘Let me go back now, and I’ll be more inclined to trust you,’ she said. For a moment the dark eyes held her own in a long glance of curious intimacy as if both were already linked by more than an impulsive kiss.
Then he turned and called, and two figures emerged from the surrounding rocks and approached them. Muffled to the eyes and robed as he was, they listened, impassively as he spoke to them in what was evidently their own tongue.
‘My men will take you back.’ He turned back to her. ‘You see, I force you to nothing.’
But if she had not told him that she had brought her father’s gift with her to Egypt she doubted if he would have let her go back at all.