Napoleon Must Die (14 page)

“The English may turn at Hiw and go south,” said Roustam-Raza. “One must cross the desert, but it saves many leagues. The guides will not cross the desert without much more money.”

Reluctantly Murat nodded, then called out, “Madame Vernet, will you and Mademoiselle Nusair come here, please? It appears we need expert advice.” He moved stiffly, keeping the fire between him and Lirylah.

“Yes?” said Victoire as if she were unaware of the tension. “What will we have to do?”

“I’m concerned about our progress. This insidious heat has slowed us down and we have not come as far as I might wish,” said Murat, sounding more like a priest speaking to an obdurate sinner than a man seeking information. “Roustam-Raza informs me that the English may not follow the river. Is there another route leading to the south that we can follow?”

Lirylah answered breathlessly. “There is a short caravan route, from Hiw to Darb el-Bakirat, and from there to Medinet Habu, across the river from Thebes. There are temples there on the west bank, or so my tutor said.”

“I see,” said Murat in the same forbidding tone.

“We will have to travel fast and early, or the heat will slow us more, no matter how many leagues we save.” Roustam-Raza blew the fire into greater brightness. “If the English go that way, they will have to be careful. As we must, as well.”

Murat made an impatient gesture. “If I had some idea where this Treasure-chest of Robbers is, we could decide if it is worth crossing the desert, no matter what the English do.” He met Lirylah’s eyes, and for once could not turn away.

She moistened her lips before she could speak. “My tutor said it was near Medinet Habu, a little to the north and east, I think.” She paused. “I know he crossed the desert to get there.”

Murat scowled. “And helped himself to the treasure, no doubt.” He started to pace, more than zeal pent up in him. As suddenly as he had begun, he stopped. “It could be very difficult. We would have to ride like troopers, and you are not ...”

Victoire answered for them. “We are not delicate, silly playthings, Murat. We are women bent on our task.” She indicated the fire. “We will take care of putting the meal together and you and Roustam-Raza can make whatever provisions are necessary for us to cross the desert. He can also,” she added as an afterthought, “pay off the guides and dismiss them. I do not think it would be sensible to keep them with us any longer.”

“Ah,” said Murat, his fascination with Lirylah broken for the moment. “You are very clever, Madame Vernet.”

“I like to think I haven’t wasted my wits completely,” she answered with asperity. “And,” she added pointedly, “I like to think the same of you.”

Murat had no answer for her; he motioned to Roustam-Raza. “Let us attend to the guides.”

Victoire watched the two men move away from the fire. “You know,” she said to Lirylah, “for an intelligent fellow, Murat can be infuriatingly dense.”

Lirylah frowned at this. “I don’t understand what you say.”

“I suspect you do,” said Victoire, turning to her and smiling ruefully. “You are ... you are put at a disadvantage.”

“He will never speak,” said Lirylah sadly.

Victoire was silent for a short while and then spoke her thoughts. “For his sake, if not yours, I hope you are wrong.”

* * *

Through the heat of the day they sheltered in tents and watched the horses consume most of their water.

“We will have to reach Darb el-Bakirat by nightfall. We haven’t enough water for tomorrow,” said Victoire to Roustam-Raza.

“We will ride into the night,” said the Mameluke. Victoire looked at him uneasily. “Won’t we risk getting lost?”

“Yes, but there are signs to read if one has the eyes. And the river is always on our left.” His face was stoic, but Victoire was beginning to understand the fierce Mameluke and she knew he was worried.

“As soon as we can, we must ride.” She hesitated. “I think that the dun mare is becoming sand-lame.”

“Yes. I think so, too,” said Roustam-Raza. “It is unfortunate.”

“But what are we to do?” asked Victoire reasonably.

“Ride her until she drops,” said Roustam-Raza. “We cannot have any horse carrying a double load any longer than absolutely necessary. If we are short of water when she dies, we will drink her blood.”

Victoire did her best not to show any revulsion at this, but there was enough horror in her eyes for the Mameluke to know how much she was repelled by what he said. “I’m sorry,” she made herself tell him. “My reason tells me you are correct but I have not encountered such ... hardship before, and I am distressed.”

“As many others are,” said Roustam-Raza. “It is not easy to stay alive in the desert.”

“No, it’s not,” said Victoire. She looked where Lirylah lay asleep; not far beyond Murat sat near the horses, watching the Egyptian girl with such naked longing that Victoire turned away as if she had intruded on some great intimacy.

* * *

At Darb el-Bakirat there were camels as well as horses, and Roustam-Raza purchased four of the ungainly beasts, insisting that they were the better choice for the remainder of their journey. Murat was intrigued with the camels, but Victoire regarded them askance.

“Guardian angels,” she said as Roustam-Raza led the animals toward them. “They stink.”

“And they spit, too,” said Murat. “But they’ll get us over the desert a deal more handily than the horses will.”

Lirylah, who had been uncertain about horses, watched the camels with dismay. “I do not know how—”

“Roustam-Raza will teach us,” said Murat before she could go on. “And you will ride beside me. I will watch after you.”

Victoire was surprised to hear this, and at once apprehensive and relieved. She went at once to Roustam-Raza and said heartily, “Well, you might as well show me how to go about it. How do you get them to kneel?”

An hour later they were all mounted on their camels, following Roustam-Raza around the perimeter of Darb el-Bakirat.

“This is worse than a sloop in a storm,” observed Murat, laughing in spite of his discomfort. “We leave tomorrow before dawn. If that will not interfere with your prayers, Roustam-Raza.”

“I will pray as I have, pausing in our travels,” warned Roustam-Raza in a steady tone. “You will not have to be concerned.”

“We haven’t been, so far,” said Murat. “But we haven’t had to contend with camels before.” He flashed his smile at Lirylah, and for once did not look away when she returned it.

Somewhat later they dismounted from their practice and left the camels in Roustam-Raza’s care while they set about making ready for their midday rest.

Murat found an excuse to take Victoire aside. “Perhaps you’re right, Madame Vernet.”

“About what?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

“I have no right to speak to her, but ... but I may never again have the opportunity. I want to tell her. I want her to hear me say the words to her. You’re right about that. And I want to hear her say the words to me.” He spread his hands, palms down, and looked at them as if he had never seen them before. “If she is upset, will you tend to her? As a favor to me?”

“I would do it no matter what the case,” agreed Victoire at once. “There is no favor, Murat.”

He nodded, making it a bow. “I am maladroit, Madame. Forgive me.”

She regarded him with concern. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“I pray you are right,” he said with a twitch of a smile.

* * *

“There,” said Lirylah, hanging onto the saddle of her camel. She was exhausted and exultant. “That
wadi,
that is the one. It has the track my tutor described.”

The trek from Darb el-Bakirat to Medinet Habu had gone much more quickly than their ride from Hiw to Darb el-Bakirat. The camels had moved steadily over the wastes, less hampered by the heat than the four persons riding them. They covered the distance in a single day, and by the middle of the next morning their searches had brought them past the half-buried monuments to this long, deep canyon leading back into the desert plateaus.

“You’re certain?” asked Murat, who rode beside her. He was more at his ease now, and more energetic. “There are other ravines—”

“No, this is the one,” she said, her accent growing much stronger with excitement. “He told me about the track and the two ... those.” She pointed. “What do you call them?”

“Outcroppings,” said Victoire.

“Guardians,” corrected Roustam-Raza.

Murat paid no heed. “You’re certain?” he asked again.

“This is the
wadi.”
She tapped her camel and set the beast moving, the others coming after her.

Roustam-Raza fell to the rear, remarking to Victoire as he did, “I have seen your general speaking with the merchant’s daughter. They paid little attention to anything else. We do not know where these English are. We don’t want them coming upon us unaware.”

“I’d say not,” agreed Victoire.

He glanced once toward Murat and Lirylah. “This thing, it is dangerous.”

“Our quest or their affections?” asked Victoire, who was in no mood to observe the convoluted social forms demanded.

Roustam-Raza made the sign to ward off the Evil Eye. “Both,” he said as he loosened his scimitar in its scabbard.

Ahead of them Murat drew in his camel and pointed down. “Fresh tracks,” he called to the others. “Unshod asses, I’d speculate. And a camel.”

“The English?” asked Victoire, moving her camel closer to him.

Murat chuckled. “I hope so. It wouldn’t do to surprise anyone else.” With that, he gave himself to the task of following the tracks in the glaring dust.

AFTERNOON SHADOWS CAST
much
of the floor of the valley into darkness. It was becoming difficult to see the creases and irregularities in the face of the canyon walls.

“They can’t be far ahead,” Murat said to Victoire.

“Unless they are behind us,” she suggested.

“No,” Roustam-Raza declared. “I would have seen them. They are ahead of us still.” He lowered his voice. “And therefore we must go softly. We do not want to alert them.”

“A wise precaution,” said Murat. “And while we’re employing wisdom, I think it might be best if we find a place where you women can wait for us. And keep our mounts as well.” He glanced at Lirylah. “The English may be armed, and I won’t expose you to that danger.” He tapped the pistol tucked into his belt. “I am prepared for a fight, but you are not.”

“Four is better than two,” said Victoire, feeling cheated of victory.

Murat gave her the courtesy of a candid response. “If any harm should come to either of you, I would find it intolerable. And if either of you were used as a shield, I would have to surrender all.”

Victoire looked at Lirylah, who drooped in the saddle. “Perhaps you’re right,” she allowed. “We’ll conceal ourselves behind those boulders—those three leaning together, can you make them out?—and wait for you. And we’ll hold the animals if that’s what you wish. We’ll stay there all night, if we must. Or until we see the English depart, and then we will look for you.”

Lirylah seconded this. “If you do not come to us, we will find you.” This clearly was intended for Murat alone.

There were a few reservations that troubled Victoire but she did not voice them. Suppose, she thought, the English overpowered Murat and Roustam-Raza, then waited for her and Lirylah to come to them? Or worse, what if they were found first, and used by the English to force Murat to surrender? She knew it was sensible to keep these fears to herself.

“There will be no such trouble,” said Murat firmly. “We have the advantage of surprise and we will be prudent.”

Victoire held her tongue. Murat was noted for many things but prudence was not often numbered among them. She put her hand on Lirylah’s shoulder. “We’ll be careful. Do what you must do.”

“You’re sensible, as always, Madame Vernet,” said Murat, and offered her the suggestion of a salute. He signalled to Roustam-Raza, and the two of them drew in and dismounted. “Keep them concealed as best you can.”

As she took the lead in her hand, Victoire said, “I hope that all goes well for you, Murat.”

“Jesu et Marie,” said Murat, “so do I.” He turned then to Lirylah. “I will be back, never fear. And I will not be gone long.”

“Please, not long,” said Lirylah.

“I will try,” said Murat, and kissed her hand, much to the disgust of Roustam-Raza.

“We’d better hurry,” warned the Mameluke. “Otherwise they will get too far ahead of us.”

“Right you are,” said Murat, and checked his weapons quickly. “Let us proceed.”

Roustam-Raza said nothing; he faded away into the shadows, Murat at his heels.

“I am very frightened for him,” said Lirylah as the sounds of their footfalls faded to nothing.

“As well you might be,” said Victoire, her face set. “I can see why. I am worried for him as well, and I am not in love with him.”

Dark though it was here in the shadow, and although her skin was the color of polished new oak, it was plain that she blushed. “It is my admiration,” she said stiffly.

“In part, most surely,” said Victoire. She regarded Lirylah seriously. “And he loves you as well. It must be very difficult for both of you.”

Lirylah looked away from Victoire. “I’ve said nothing,” she whispered.

“In words, perhaps, but your eyes are eloquent,” said Victoire. “As are his.” She looked about them. “I dislike wild places like this in the dark. Once night falls, I fear I will not be very sensible about it. It’s foolish of me, but ...”

“The dead are all around us here, hidden in the face of the cliffs, or so my tutor said,” Lirylah said, doing her best to conceal her fright. “They say that grave robbers can find wealth beyond imagining, if they are not killed by rock slides or the curse of the dead kings.” She shuddered, then made herself stop.

“Dead kings. A strange place to bury dead kings,” said Victoire. “Merchants, perhaps, but kings?” She spoke in a rallying tone. “Don’t be downcast, Lirylah. They’ll be back shortly and we will—”

“But they might not escape!” Lirylah cried out, then once again silenced herself. “What then, if they do not?”

“I don’t know,” said Victoire candidly. “What did you fear would happen?”

“The curse of the ancient kings,” she said very somberly. “Many have died of it. Perhaps even my old tutor.” She looked around nervously. “The English might hurt them, too.”

“Now that’s a danger I can readily accept,” said Victoire with energy. “And I think we must take action before dusk. Most of the valley is in shadow already. Only the rim shows light. If we don’t act now we will not be able to act until morning.” She had been searching for an excuse to do just that, and suddenly she felt she had sufficient reason. She started forward, then swung around to look at Lirylah. “It could be risky.”

“It would be riskier without Murat, wouldn’t it?” asked the Egyptian girl.

“Yes, it certainly would,” answered Victoire with feeling. “You are right about that.” She reached up for the reins of their mounts and went about securing them to a single, long line. “Help me with this,” she said to Lirylah as she knotted one end around an outcropping of rock.

“There could be scorpions,” said Lirylah uncertainly as she took the other end of the rope.

“So there could, but this way we’ll have something to ride when we’re ready to leave. Otherwise, the animals will wander off, and what will become of us then?” She finished securing one end, and, with an exasperated sigh, took the other end from Lirylah and searched out a similar boulder to tie it to. “We know which way they went, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do,” said Lirylah softly, as if ashamed of her hesitation.

“Then we must follow them, and quickly.” She gathered up her skirts, wishing for the hundredth time that she could wear britches like men did. But the Egyptians were offended already at the immodest dress of European women. If she were to scandalize them even more by adopting men’s riding apparel, Berthier would no doubt order her back to Paris. That is, if a ship were ever able to sneak into Alexandria and then slip past Nelson’s ships to get back to the capital. When they had left, rumor had said they were cut off from all contact with France. She strode over the rough ground, Lirylah struggling to keep up with her. Victoire slowed to allow her to catch up, then said in an undervoice as they continued on their way, “Pick up rocks and keep them in your skirt. None too large, but not so small that they are nothing more than pebbles. You want to be able to throw them.”

“Throw rocks?” repeated Lirylah.

“Why not? There is nothing else we can throw, is there? And neither of us carries a pistol, worse luck.” She increased their pace a little, stopping from time to time as she came upon fist-sized rocks to toss into her skirt, which she now held basket-style in front of her.

Dutifully Lirylah did the same thing, though her eyes were distressed and she frowned at the rutted track. It was growing darker now, and it was increasingly difficult to pick out the way. “I have never thrown rocks,” she said a little later.

“This is a good time to begin,” Victoire stated.

They went on a short way in silence. Then a figure loomed out of the dark. “What?” whispered Victoire.

“I said you would not be content to wait,” replied Roustam-Raza. “At least you left the camels behind.” He indicated a place off the track. “We have been watching them. They will leave shortly.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Victoire as she followed after the Mameluke, Lirylah trailing behind.

“Their guides will not remain when the sun is gone. They are afraid of spirits of the dead and of robbers who are alive.” Roustam-Raza laughed very softly. “They are not very brave men.”

“Apparently not,” said Victoire, and found herself facing Murat.

“You’re a handful, Madame Vernet,” he said, but with approval in his brown eyes. “And you’re probably right to come. I’ve been thinking that I did not want either one of you becoming hostages.”

“I should think not,” said Victoire.

He stared at Lirylah, his gaze eloquent, then shook himself. “We’ve found a very good position to watch from,” he told them. “You’ll see.” He indicated a narrow footpath up the side of the cliff. “It doesn’t go very far, but it overlooks the cave where they are busy.” He had dropped his voice to little more than a murmur.

“Can you see what they are doing?” asked Victoire urgently, speaking quickly and softly.

“They are widening the entrance to a cave,” said Murat, and motioned her to be quiet and follow him.

It was difficult to climb the steep, narrow trail, and Victoire was more than once tempted to swear aloud when her foot slipped or her hold on an outcropping of rock slipped. Yet somehow she made it to the narrow shelf that overlooked the place where the English and their Egyptian guides worked.

“You understand them,” Murat whispered in her ear.

“A little. Not very much,” she warned him, and gave herself to the task of listening to what they said.

Below them the activity centered around three lanterns and a number of picks. The work was done hurriedly and stealthily, convincing Victoire more than ever that the men were up to no good. She caught a few words, but not enough of them to be able to guess what the purpose of this hasty digging might be.

“There!” whispered Murat, pointing to a canvas satchel containing a long, heavy object. “That’s what they’re—”

Roustam-Raza, looming behind him, reached out and put his hand across Murat’s mouth, glowering at the men beneath them.

Victoire tried listening again, and learned just enough to realize that the main purpose of this activity was to embarrass the French and make it possible for the English to claim a remarkable discovery at a later, more fortuitous time. Most likely a time when the scepter would act as a rallying point for the Egyptians to revolt against French rule. That made very little sense to her, but she continued to listen, although she learned nothing more.

It was almost completely dark now, and the Egyptian guides were restless, anxious to be away from the place.

“We’re almost done,” said one of the English, the one who had been in charge of the party. His Egyptian accent was heavily distorted. His manner betrayed his military background. “We will be gone in an hour.”

“The path is almost wide enough,” said the other Englishman, a bearded man with a patch over one eye and the bearing of a scoundrel. “If you will work with us, we’ll complete this later.”

“How much later?” demanded one of the guides, making the sign to ward off the Evil Eye. “There are many spirits of the dead in these places.”

“If they’re dead, they’ll be pleased at what we’re doing,” said the first Englishman. “We’re returning what’s rightfully theirs.”

“It is a bad place to be,” insisted the guide.

“Then with your help we will be out of it the sooner,” said the second Englishman with asperity. “Lend your back to it, man.”

Victoire translated this for Murat, speaking so softly that only with an effort could he understand her.

The men continued to work for ten more minutes, and then one of them gave a grunt of satisfaction. “There.”

“You’re through?” asked the first Englishman.

“So it appears,” said the second, standing up and putting his hands against the small of his back. “First asses and now this. You have much to answer for.”

The first Englishman paid no attention. He took the canvas satchel and opened it quickly, drawing out the treasure inside.

In the lantern light the fine gold of the royal flail seemed to be doubly alive. The guides stepped back in awe, and one of them reached for an amulet hung on a cord around his neck.

“I know where we could dispose of that and make ourselves rich as a nabob,” said the second Englishman.

“That would cost too dearly: you would never live to spend your fortune,” said the first.

“There are places the British lion does not hold power,” said the second with a sneer. “Who is to say we could not learn to like the Americas? Or the islands in the Pacific Ocean?”

“Where the cannibals are?” the first challenged. “No, thank you. The captain said that all was arranged. If I am to enjoy the fruits of this night’s work, I must be patient, and so must you, Gregson.”

Gregson shrugged. “Who else might come here, and find this? There is a good reason this valley is called the Treasure-chest of Robbers.” He nodded toward their guides. “They have relatives, and those relatives have relatives. This scepter will not be a secret for long, Hazlett. And I doubt it will be here when you come back for it.” He folded his arms and favored his compatriot with a long, hard stare.

“You’re mistaken,” said Hazlett. “Look at the guides. They will not bring anyone here. They’re afraid of the curse.”