Whispers in the Sand (48 page)

“It is the temple of Kertassi.” He gestured around with his hand. “This temple too is sacred to Isis. It is very beautiful, is it not? I knew you would like it.” He smiled.

Louisa stared up at the pillars with their long, black shadows running down to the water, where the gleaming reflections were already deep in darkness as the great sleeping river wound steadily back towards its distant source in the heart of Africa, then she turned to look beyond them, across the desert, where she could see the huge, crimson sun rapidly sinking out of sight. She turned again, breathless at the beauty of the view, stepped back, slipped in the soft, constantly moving sand which encroached on every side and nearly fell, grabbed Hassan’s arm and laughed with delight. She could see the donkey boy now in the distance, the animals’ shadows thrown, elongated in front of them as he retraced his steps towards his village. The figures were no bigger than tiny toys in the distance, and as she watched they vanished out of sight into the darkness of the river valley.

“Soon the sun will go down.” Hassan put his arm around her shoulders. “Look, it slips into the world of the gods as we watch.” The segment above the skyline was growing steadily smaller, its crimson darkening imperceptibly.

Louisa watched. She found she was holding her breath as the inverted crescent grew smaller and smaller until there was barely a sliver left. Then it was gone.

There were tears in her eyes as they watched the afterglow disappear, then at last it was fully dark, and the stars appeared. Louisa had pulled off her sun hat. She shook out her hair, staring up in delight. “I can see every star in the firmament! If I stood on tiptoe, I could touch them! The sky is like a black velvet cloak, sewn with diamonds!”

Hassan didn’t speak. He too was staring up, lost in thought. They stood there together for a long time, until her sudden shiver reminded them that the air was growing sharply colder.

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’s 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’s 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.”