Angeline (10 page)

Angeline could not help but feel sorry for her. She was pleased when Stephen said that he was to go, however. Finally! Finally he would get out and start living again! To her surprise, Father Martin did not disapprove.

“I would go myself,” he said. “I have heard of these wonders in the desert. But I am too ill. I could not make the journey.”

At that, Angeline looked at him more closely. His face was drawn and white. She felt a pang of guilt as she realized that she had not noticed itbefore. She saw Stephen looking at him, his eyes worried.

“Should I stay with you?” he asked.

Angeline held her breath, then let it out with a sigh of relief when Father Martin replied.

“No, my son,” he said. “This is something you must see.”

“What is it?” Angeline demanded. “Zahra will not tell me.”

“Some edifices the ancient Egyptians built. So long ago that no one rightly remembers when. Magnificent structures,” Father Martin replied. “I have heard of them, but cannot begin to imagine what they must look like. I know only that they are a wonder and must be seen.”

“Buildings?” Angeline persisted.

“Buildings, but not buildings,” Father Martin replied. “You must see them,” he repeated. “And when you return, you must tell me of them.”

They left at dawn, just after the morning prayers. Their entourage was made up of an enormous number of people and beasts that wound its way through the wakening streets of Cairo. A party of the Emir’s own Mamluks, his private army of slave soldiers, rode tough, wiry war horses and went first to clear the way. Abd’al Haseeb followed on the most magnificent Arabian stallion that Angeline had ever seen. Thecolour of honey, it had a pale, flowing mane and tail and pranced through the congested streets like a prince amongst beasts. Habib followed him on a frisky pony, sitting tall and proud in his saddle, looking neither to the right nor the left. Small though he was, in his long golden robe and crimson turban, he looked every bit a prince. He even wore a sabre at his waist.

Behind them came slaves and servants, some on donkeys, others on camels. To Angeline’s astonishment, Stephen rode past her on a camel. He did not see her and looked more than a little anxious. Angeline suspected that he was holding on for dear life. In front of him rode Zeid on a mule. As they passed, Angeline saw Zeid turn and call out something to Stephen. Words of encouragement, perhaps, but the general noise and shouting was such that she could not hear him.

The Emir’s wives came next in two litters. Behind Angeline and Zahra walked a multitude of slaves carrying tents and provisions. Zahra was still being mysterious about the whole venture, but she did tell Angeline that they would be staying overnight, returning the next day.

They made their way to the river. Small boats waited for them there, much like the one that had brought Angeline, Stephen, and Father Martin to Cairo. Angeline stopped and stared at them, remembering the day she had first steppedashore here, so long ago, it now seemed. How her life had changed since then! Zahra gave her a little push, and startled out of her memories, she made haste to take hold of the boatmen’s hands and stepped into their boat.

On the other side of the river, the whole procession reassembled itself to resume its journey, but this time the women were to ride in litters fastened atop camels—sturdily Angeline hoped as she looked at them dubiously. The camels lay on the ground, their legs tucked under them. Zahra was handed in, then reached out to help Angeline. Angeline allowed herself to be lifted up. When they were settled, the camel stood up. She screamed. It was truly frightening. The beast straightened up its back legs first and the whole litter lurched forward. Then, with a great heaving, the camel straightened its front legs and they swayed up with it. Angeline could not help herself—she clutched onto the sides of the litter in terror. Zahra, sitting relaxed beside her, laughed. Then the camel started to move with a rocking, rolling gait.

At first Angeline sat hunched up and hung on with all her strength, certain that they would fall, but after a while, she summoned up the courage to look out through the curtains at the passing view.

The passing view was mostly sand.

The sun rose and she began to feel quite warm, but Zahra insisted that it was still cool and kept her shawl tucked around her.

I do not think Zahra would have liked snow very much, Angeline thought.

They travelled for the best part of the morning, then stopped for the midday prayer. The camel driver tapped the beast on its knees and it knelt. The litter lurched forward as it had done before, then the animal lowered its back legs. Once again Angeline’s heart was in her throat until the camel finally settled on the ground.

It was good to walk and get the stiffness out of her legs, but they were deep in the desert here. There was no green anywhere, just shades of brown and yellow and rolling dunes stretching as far as she could see. The sun beat down and a slight breeze sifted sand into her face, down the neck of her shift, and into every fold of her skirt. She drew her scarf more tightly around her head, but she could feel sand in her hair as well. The ground beneath her feet burned through her light slippers. A slave brought a bladder of water. Zahra drank and then handed it to Angeline. Angeline tilted it up gratefully and gulped the water down. Her throat was dry—it felt as if
it
were coated in sand. Sand even gritted between her teeth.

And then, in the distance, through the haze ofthe noon heat, she saw a strange, sharply pointed shape shimmering in the sunlight, towering toward the sky. She turned to Zahra.

“What is that?” she asked. “Is that where we are going?”

But Zahra would not answer. “Wait and you will see,” was all that she would say.

After the noon prayers, they ate some fruit and cheese, drank more water, then climbed back into the litter and started off again. The land rose sharply. Angeline rode peering out of the curtains, her eyes fixed on the strange shape in the distance. Soon she could detect two other similar but smaller shapes. Nothing could have prepared her for what she beheld when they reached the site, however: a huge three-sided edifice built of stones so big some were as tall as a man. She could barely contain her impatience while Zahra was helped out, then she leaped to the ground. She looked up at the pyramid towering above her and could not breathe for the awe of it. It seemed to pierce the sky itself. Never had she seen anything so immense! She felt drawn up into it—dizzy with the height of it. She had to tear her eyes away in order to regain her balance.

Two other triangular buildings sat behind the first, each slightly smaller than the previous one but, even so, they were enormous. The middle one had a rough cap of stone over the peak of it.

How could men have possibly built such structures?

She felt an irresistible urge to run over to the pyramid. To look at it more closely, to touch the stones and imagine what the weight of each one might be, but Zahra called to her.

“Stay here with me while the servants erect our tent,” she ordered.

There was no disobeying Zahra of course, no matter how reluctant Angeline was, but it seemed that Habib was labouring under no such restrictions. He dismounted his pony and ran to the base of the great pyramid. He looked up, then unfastened the sabre at his waist, let it drop into the sand, and began to climb. Within seconds he had scrambled up the uneven stones, out of reach of the slaves who accompanied him. The slaves began to scramble after him, but theycould not climb nearly as quickly as he could. He soon outstripped them.

Shouts and calls rang out, but the little prince paid them no heed. As Angeline watched, he climbed higher and higher. Though Angeline found herself admiring his nimbleness, she realized how foolhardy the child was. Surely he would have enough sense not to climb too high—but it seemed he did not.

Then it happened. He slipped and fell. Down onto the stones beneath him, then farther down onto a narrow ledge. Angeline heard a scream—she was certain it was Nusaybah. There was a moment of deathly silence as they all stared at the small, still figure lying motionless so far above them.

Someone broke away from the crowd and began to climb up to Habib. It was Stephen. Higher and higher he went, passing the slaves who were labouring so uselessly. Finally, he reached Habib and knelt beside the prince. Habib lifted his head and there was a collective sigh of relief from all those watching.

It was not to be so easy, though. Habib tried to stand, then crumpled back onto the narrow ledge. There was another gasp from the watching crowd. Another scream.

Stephen put an arm around Habib, under his shoulders, and helped him back to his feet. Then, carefully, they began the descent. Angeline held her breath until they were finally on the ground. The little prince was immediately surrounded by people. The Emir himself strode over to them. Abd’al Haseeb bent down, picked Habib up, and carried him back to where his tent had already been erected. He disappeared inside.

Stephen was left standing at the base of the pyramid, staring after them. Zeid went up to him, touched him on the elbow, and led him away. Only then did Angeline see Nusaybah with her hands to her mouth, her shoulders bowed and shaking.

Zahra sent Angeline to fetch her evening meal from the cook tent; lamb that had been roasted over a pit and bowls of rice, beans, and vegetables. The scent of spices perfumed the air. While she was there she saw one of Nusaybah’s servants make her way over to Zahra’s tent. With news of the little prince, perhaps?

“Was Habib hurt badly?” Angeline asked once Zahra had finished. She took her own portion then, sat herself down on cushions piled up on one side of the tent, and began to eat, greasedripping down her fingers. She licked them one by one, savouring the richness.

“No,” Zahra answered. “But his pride was.” The tone of her voice left no doubt as to what she thought of the prince’s impetuous behaviour. “Your friend, Stephen, was very brave. The Emir has told me about the journey that led you here,” she added. “Your priest told Zeid the story. A foolish endeavour it seems to me, yet your friend was very courageous to take on such a challenge.”

“Yes,” Angeline answered. “He was.”

She finished her meal in silence, grateful that Zahra said no more. She did not want to speak to Zahra of their crusade. How could she?

The sun was setting behind the pyramids now, casting an air of mystery over them and over the plateau on which they had camped. Someone in one of the other tents was plucking the strings of an ‘oud. Its deep tones seemed to hover and dance around the ancient stones. Then a woman took up the melody and her voice wove more magic into the air.

“Who built these wondrous buildings?” Angeline asked.

“People who lived here in ancient times, so the Emir has told me,” Zahra replied.

“How?” Angeline asked. “How could they have possibly raised such huge stones? Howcould they have formed them into such perfect shapes? And for what purpose?”

“No one knows,” was all that Zahra could say.

Zahra stayed in the Emir’s tent that night, but Angeline was not called to attend her. She lay alone in Zahra’s tent. She had not seen Stephen since his rescue of Habib. I wonder how he is feeling, she thought. I wonder if Habib is grateful? Probably not, she thought with a wry smile. That prideful young boy is probably furious at having to be rescued. I hope the Emir is grateful. I’m sure Nusaybah is.

The next morning, after prayers and after they had broken their fast, they made ready to return to Cairo, but when Angeline and Zahra took their places in the litter, to Angeline’s surprise they did not turn back the way they had come.

Zahra smiled. “There is still one more marvel to behold,” she said.

As they made their way down from the height on which the pyramids stood, Angeline could make out another enormous stone shape. Not a pyramid; as they drew closer she could see it was a gigantic head set on massive shoulders that disappeared down into the sand beneath them. There was a hint of a colossal body crouching out behind it. The head was that of a man wearinga curious kind of headdress. His face was pitted and scarred by the ravages of time.

“What is that?” Angeline asked again. “Did the same people make this? Whose face is it?”

“Another mystery,” Zahra said. “Our land is full of mysteries. But they say the face is the image of one of the ancient rulers of this land—Pharaohs, they were called. And there are old stories that say this is but the head of some unimaginably great animal whose body has been covered with sand over the years since it was carved. A lion, perhaps, such as you have seen in pictures in the Emir’s books.”

There was a stillness to the face that mesmerized Angeline. She allowed the camel driver to help her down from the litter and stood in the sand to stare up at it, entranced, unaware of the others who chattered and milled around her. When Zahra called to her to come back, it was as if she had been awakened from a dream.

She spoke little on the return to Cairo. Her mind was too full of what she had seen. A land full of mysteries, indeed. But such a land. And such a people those ancient ones must have been. No wonder Ibrahim was so proud of being descended from them. A strange feeling was growing inside her. At first she could not recognize it but then, as the rolling motion of the camel’s gait rocked and soothed her, as she stared out at the endless dunes of sand, she realized what it was.

She felt at peace.

When next Angeline saw Stephen there was a difference in him. He rose when she entered the classroom and greeted her with a smile and eyes that were brighter than she had seen in a long time.

“I am released from my duties with that evil old tyrant, Kareem,” he said. “The Emir was so grateful for my saving his son that he has liberated me from that hateful job. Mind you, I am now to be nursemaid to the boy!”

“Not nursemaid,” Father Martin put in. “You are to be his guardian. It is a great honour, Stephen.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Stephen replied. His mouth twisted and his eyes dimmed for a moment. “A great honour for a
slave.
”

But not so great an honour for one who was to lead thousands to the liberation of Jerusalem, Angeline thought, and knew that Stephen was thinking the same. He said no more, and Father Martin summoned them to work.

When they had finished and Father Martin left, Stephen reached out to Angeline and caught her by the arm.

“Will you stay a moment?” he asked.

As soon as Father Martin was out of earshot he spoke again.

“Do you still see that boy? That Coptic boy?”

“I do,” Angeline replied. “Quite often.” She had been back several times since she had told Ibrahim the tale of their journey and they had talked much. She had come to think of him as a good friend. She was still anxious to arrange a meeting between him and Stephen, but had not been able to figure out how it might be done. She so rarely had the opportunity of speaking alone with Stephen; Father Martin was nearly always with them and she did not want to speak of the Coptic boy in front of him. The priest was often out of sorts these days and she feared his disapproval.

“I have some mornings to myself now,” Stephen said, “when the Emir takes Habib hunting with their falcons. If I met you in the suq, would you take me there?”

“I most certainly would!” Angeline exclaimed. “When will you next be free?”

“I will let you know,” Stephen replied.

At last, Angeline thought. At last Stephen was taking an interest in
something!

It was not long until the opportunity presented itself.

“Tomorrow,” Stephen whispered to her one afternoon as they finished up their lessons and prayers with Father Martin. His eyes were gleaming.

By great good fortune, Zahra had no errands for Angeline the next day, so after leaving Aza with her teacher, Angeline made her way to the suq. She saw Stephen waiting for her and ran to him. Then she forced herself to slow down and walk discreetly. It would not do to draw attention to themselves.

“I hope Ibrahim will be there,” she said, but even as she spoke the words she saw the boy coming out of the church.

Ibrahim brightened as he saw her.

“Welcome,” he called out as they approached him. “Have you been well?”

“I have,” Angeline called back. “And I have finally brought my friend to meet you.”

The two boys looked at each other a little warily, then Ibrahim smiled. “Angeline has told me about you,” he said.

At that, Stephen’s face clouded.

“Has Angeline told you of our journey and why we undertook it?” Stephen asked.

“Yes,” Ibrahim answered. “I wish that you would tell me more.”

“Perhaps … In time …” Stephen answered.

Ibrahim seemed to sense his reluctance. He quickly changed the subject.

“Will you come into the church?” he asked. “Our priest is there—I’m certain that he would like to meet you.”

“No,” Stephen replied, too hastily. “I thank you, but I would rather talk here.”

They found a patch of shade and sat, chatting, while the sun rose higher in the sky. Angeline marvelled at the ease with which Stephen spoke. He had learned far more Arabic than she, and often interpreted something for her that she had not understood. Truly, Stephen must have a gift for learning languages, she thought.

Stephen avoided any mention of their journey. Instead, he asked Ibrahim about his life. “My father works at the Citadel with the Sultan al-Adil himself, Ibrahim said with pride. “I will work with him next year when I have learning enough.” At that he glanced skywards and added quickly, “And I must be going to my school now. I have overstayed my allotted time here.” He rose to his feet. Angeline and Stephen got to theirs as well.

“Will you return?” Ibrahim asked Stephen.

Stephen hesitated, then answered. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I will.”

“Good,” said Ibrahim. “It will be interestingto have another Franj for a friend. Quite unusual.”

Angeline leaped in at that. It reminded her of something Ibrahim had said at their first meeting and that she had forgotten.

“You said that the Copts do not like the Franks,” she said. “Why is that?”

“We Copts have been much oppressed,” Ibrahim replied, his face suddenly serious. “But as I said, we are the true Egyptians, descendants of the Pharaohs. St. Mark himself brought Christianity to us in the thirty-fifth year after the death of our Lord Jesus. The Romans ruled us then, and they persecuted us until they, too, converted to the true faith. Now you Franj and your Pope do not wish to recognize us. You say we are not true Christians, that we are heretics. The Arabs who came with the religion of Islam are the only ones who have not persecuted us.”

“But we believe in the same God,” Angeline said.

“We do,” Ibrahim agreed.

Stephen stared at Ibrahim, brow furrowed, but he said nothing.