The Mamur Zapt and the Spoils of Egypt (9 page)

‘A pleasure!’ beamed Zeinab. She placed Miss Skinner in the same exotic category as jumping camels.

The two ladies stood together as Garvin brought Abu Rusas back to the starting-line.

Over on the other side of the course, in front of the assembled Arabs, a few motor-cars had drawn up on to the grass. They were still unusual in Cairo and attracted almost as much attention as Abu Rusas. Their owners, wealthy Pashas for the most part, sat on folding chairs in front of them. Several had brought massive hampers. This was clearly a festive occasion.

One of the chair-holders waved his hand.

‘It is my father,’ said Zeinab. ‘Perhaps we will go and talk to him afterwards.’

For the event was about to begin. Garvin touched the side of the camel’s neck with his heel and the great beast moved off at the trot. As they came up to the first obstacle, the trot accelerated to a gallop and then Abu Rusas was flying over the hedge like a bird.

The onlookers broke into loud applause.

‘Incredible!’

‘Bravo!’

‘Bismillah!’

‘Inshallah! God is mighty!’

And then Abu Rusas was speeding down the course, taking the hedges with the aplomb of the favourite at the Grand National.

At the far end Garvin pulled up in triumph and then came trotting sedately back, acknowledging the cheers. Even Miss Skinner was impressed.

‘My goodness!’ she said.

The people who were most impressed, however, were the Arabs on camels opposite, who thought they knew something about camels. Several of them were known to Garvin from his earlier days patrolling the desert and when he reached the end of the course he rode over to them to exchange expert notes.

‘Shall we go over to your father?’ asked Owen.

‘Do come,’ Zeinab said to Miss Skinner. ‘My father will be glad to see you.’

That appeared an understatement as Nuri rose from his chair, clasped Miss Skinner’s hand in his and led her to a chair hurriedly put beside him, giving Zeinab merely an acknowledging gleam of his eye.

‘We will have a picnic!’ declared Nuri, waving one hand enthusiastically. The other continued to hold Miss Skinner’s hand firmly.

Servants spread a car rug for Zeinab, Owen and Paul and opened a bottle of champagne. Nuri, still loosely Moslem, in public at any rate, was not a great drinker but he believed in coming provided.

Paul raised his glass to someone in front of a neighbouring car.

‘Marbrouk,’ he said, ‘the old scoundrel.’

‘The Pasha Marbrouk?’ said Miss Skinner.

‘I will introduce you to him,’ said Nuri.

The Pasha Marbrouk, equally well provided, joined his campsite to Nuri’s. They were old Government colleagues, which meant, of course, that they were rivals.

‘
Chère Madame
,’ said Marbrouk, raising Miss Skinner’s hand to his lips.

Nuri looked displeased. Hospitality was not intended to extend so far.

Once or twice during the conversation Marbrouk’s eyes strayed in Zeinab’s direction. Zeinab, caught without her veil, stirred awkwardly.

Owen felt displeased also. Between old politicians, even rivals, there was always the possibility of attempts to strike unexpected deals and family alliances were sometimes the cement.

‘We have only just returned from your estate, Mr Marbrouk,’ said Miss Skinner.

‘My estate?’ Marbrouk raised his eyebrows. ‘Which one?’

‘Der el Bahari.’

‘Ah, that!’ Marbrouk dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘But that is nothing. Backward! And so hot at this time of year! Come to El Howeini, Miss Skinner. That is far nicer. Yes, do come. I would be delighted to show you my orange groves.’

‘I would be more interested,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘in seeing your famous collection of antiquities.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Marbrouk. His eyes hooded, just for the moment, so that he seemed suddenly like a great, sleek bird of prey. ‘But for that,’ he said, smiling, ‘we don’t need to go all the way to El Howeini. Many of my treasures are in my house here, in Cairo.’

‘I would be most interested,’ said Miss Skinner.

‘Although, of course, the majority are at my house in Heraq.’

‘Heraq?’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Is that on the river?’

‘Almost everything in Egypt is on the river,’ said Mar-brouk, smiling.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘yes, I should like to come to Heraq.’

‘I have treasures, too,’ said Nuri, giving her hand a squeeze.

Miss Skinner gave him an encouraging smile.

‘I would love to see them, too.’

‘Then that is settled,’ said Marbrouk. ‘In a day or two, perhaps?’

Nuri was relieved to see him go.

Garvin brought Abu Rusas over to them.

‘Congratulations!’ said Miss Skinner. ‘A most remarkable spectacle.’

‘The grass was a bit slippery,’ said Garvin. ‘That was the only problem, really.’

He walked Abu Rusas round them, drawing admiring cries from the Arabs behind.

‘May I stroke him?’ asked Miss Skinner, disengaging her hand from Nuri’s.

‘Probably best not. They’re not used to that sort of thing.’

As if in confirmation, Abu Rusas stirred slightly.

Garvin looked up at the line of Arabs on their camels and said something in Arabic. The Arabs laughed and the line parted. A camel backed out.

It was a huge camel, as big as Abu Rusas himself. It seemed to be blowing a bubble, a disgusting, large, pink bubble as big as a balloon, hanging like chewing-gum, bubble-gum, from the side of its mouth.

Abu Rusas lurched threateningly and the rider of the other camel hastily turned it away.

‘Is something wrong with it?’ asked Miss Skinner.

‘Not at all, my dear Miss Skinner,’ said Nuri, shocked. ‘Rather the reverse! It means that it is in rut. Ready,’ he said, seizing her hand happily, ‘to mate.’

‘But where,’ asked Miss Skinner, ‘is the leopard, the dear little leopard?’

‘Leopard?’ said Tomas, taken aback.

They were at the Museum, in the large room downstairs. All around them were what Miss Skinner kept referring to as ‘the Spoils of Der el Bahari’. There were the boxes Owen had watched being loaded on to the carts, there the lotus-wreathed pediments and there the pieces of façade.

‘You remember?’ Miss Skinner said to Owen. ‘The Expedition to Punt. The dear little leopard being led on board? At least, I hope it was a dear little one and not a big one.’

‘Why, yes,’ said Owen, ‘I remember.’

‘Where is it?’

‘It must be here somewhere,’ said Tomas.

He had arrived with the packages that morning. Owen had asked to be kept informed as to when the packages were being delivered. He had wanted to see the whole process. The under-keeper had told him they were being delivered that day. He had gone along first thing and had been a little surprised to find Miss Skinner already there.

And in form. She had, it appeared, taken matters out of the under-keeper’s hands and was checking through the items herself.

‘Something missing?’ said the under-keeper.

‘No,’ said Tomas. ‘I checked it all through yesterday.’

‘Perhaps it was left at Heraq?’

‘No,’ said Tomas. ‘I counted everything on to the boat. And then again at the docks. And here.’

‘Well, where is it, then?’ asked Miss Skinner.

Tomas began checking the individual pieces of façade. ‘Is this it?’

‘No,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Apes, yes, but not a leopard.’

‘Here is a leopard!’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Skinner, inspecting it, ‘but not
the
leopard. A dear little baby cub being led on board. Captain Owen remembers it clearly.’

‘Yes,’ said Owen, ‘I do.’

‘You said you had brought the complete façade,’ the under-keeper said to Tomas. ‘We could try fitting the pieces together and see if one is missing.’

‘It’s not the complete façade,’ said Tomas touchily. ‘It’s only a part of it. The part that covers the Expedition.’

‘Well, we could still see if it fitted.’

‘Yes,’ said Tomas, rather surlily, ‘we could.’

‘I don’t think any other piece has gone missing,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘apart from that. But I remember the leopard cub particularly.’

‘It will be somewhere,’ Tomas said to the under-keeper. ‘Why don’t you carry on with the other pieces and then we can look for that afterwards.’

‘Yes,’ said the under-keeper. ‘We’ll be able to see what we’ve got left.’

‘By all means,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Only don’t forget about it at the end. I am particularly anxious to see what happens to my little leopard.’

‘It’s obviously impressed you,’ said the under-keeper. ‘I’d like to see it, too.’

‘It will be here somewhere,’ said Tomas.

However, it wasn’t.

‘Fallen off the back of a cart?’ suggested Miss Skinner, her face expressionless.

Or off the back of a boat, Owen said to himself. Where was that port Tomas said he took the things to before assembling them together to go to the Museum? Wasn’t that Heraq, too? It was time he went to Heraq.

There were several small ports on the southern side of the city, but Heraq, if he remembered rightly, was several miles further on upstream, not part of the city at all. It would take about half a day to get there and he would have to go by boat.

His day brightened at the thought. He would take a felucca, one of those small, graceful river craft which skimmed over the surface of the Nile like a bird and would do the journey in a couple of hours. He would loll back in the stern and enjoy the river breeze.

That seemed a particularly good idea this morning as he sat in his airless office in the sweltering heat. Normally, Der el Bahari was so much hotter than Cairo that on his return to the city he would have found it pleasantly mild.

He seemed, however, to have brought the heat back with him. The temperature in Cairo had suddenly risen and the cabmen, as he had left the station, were complaining bitterly. He had arrived in the evening, which was fortunate as otherwise he wouldn’t have found any cabmen at all. By about ten in the morning the heat was so overwhelming that the streets were deserted. Everyone downed tools and returned to the shade and complained.

Except, of course, in the Bab el Khalk, where the British affected to be impervious to the heat and the great fans whirled continuously and the sweat ran down your arms and on to the papers on your desk, making them unpleasantly soggy. The ink ran and the edges of the papers turned and within about half an hour you needed to change your shirt.

Yes, it would be nice to be on the river.

‘I shall be going to Heraq,’ he informed his clerk, hesitated between sun helmet and tarboosh, chose the sun helmet—the tarboosh was a thing of the city—and went out.

What he had overlooked in his pleasant vision was that for the first four miles of the journey upstream the river ran between steep levees, mudbanks of silt which over the centuries had built up to such an extent that it was like sailing between walls.

If you were sitting on the top deck of one of Mr Cook’s new steamers you might be able to see something of the surrounding countryside. Down on the waterline, as you were in a felucca, all you could see were the tops of the palms.

Still, there was the breeze and he happily made the most of it.

After a while the levees dropped and he was able to see something. Over to his left was a mountain of white stone on which he could see the occasional puff. This was the quarry of Tura, which produced the fine limestone which faced Chephren’s pyramid. In Chephren’s time it had been on the river. Now it was half a mile away.

The river began to pass through plantations of date palms and lines of delicate green tamarisks. There was a huge dovecote with massive mud walls and domes and minarets and little ledges for the birds. There were donkeys and women washing clothes and men moulding mud bricks.

And then the trees fell away and there was a cluster of mud brick buildings and a brickyard beside a wharf. The felucca turned in.

‘Heraq,’ said the boatman.

Owen was a little surprised. He had expected a working port—that, after all, was why he was there—but he had also expected something a bit more rural. Hadn’t Marbrouk said his estate was there? This was almost industrial. There were piles of mud bricks waiting to be loaded and on beyond the main wharf another one for loading the limestone from the quarry.

He stepped out of the felucca and asked one of the men working where the main warehouse was.

‘Warehouse?’ said the man. He pointed to the bricks and the stone. ‘We don’t need one.’

‘What about when the antiquities come?’

The man didn’t understand him.

‘When Tomas brings his things.’

‘Tomas?’

The workman called across to some men piling mud bricks.

‘The Pasha’s man, isn’t he?’ one of them said.

‘A Copt,’ said Owen, though they would know that from the name.

A man came out from behind the wall of piled bricks.

‘Here, Ali,’ they said, ‘he wants to know about the Pasha’s man.’

‘Why?’ said the man.

Owen found the question unexpectedly hard to answer. He could invoke authority, but here out of Cairo the Pasha was the one with the authority.

‘He thinks he’s left one of the things behind,’ he said.

‘Well, that’s easy enough,’ said the man. ‘There were plenty of them.’

He turned on his heel and led Owen up behind the bricks to a beaten earth square in which there were sacks of dates and packages of various kinds. Leaning against the wall were some of the objects from Der el Bahari: among them the piece of façade with the leopard cub.

‘That’s it,’ said Owen.

The man shrugged.

‘I expect someone thought it was meant to go up to the house with the others,’ he said.

‘Why, Captain Owen,’ said a familiar voice behind him. ‘I see you’ve found our dear little leopard.’

Miss Skinner had just come into the yard with Marbrouk and, somewhat to Owen’s surprise, Nuri.

Miss Skinner came up to him.

‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at the façade. ‘Captain Owen and I both remarked this dear little cub,’ she said, turning to Marbrouk. ‘That was at Der el Bahari. We looked for it at Cairo. I dare say it’s on its way, is it?’ Marbrouk stepped forward and inspected it.

‘A fine piece of work,’ he said. ‘Yes, it’s on its way.’

‘Is it on the list?’ asked Owen.

‘The façade is certainly on the list,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Of course, the fragments are not listed individually. One just has to be sure that they all get there,’ she added, smiling. ‘Doesn’t one?’

‘It should have gone with the other pieces,’ said Marbrouk. ‘An oversight. I’ll see it is sent on. These people! You can never rely on them.’

‘I thought Tomas was pretty reliable,’ said Owen.

‘He’s all right,’ said Marbrouk. ‘He’s probably arranged for these to follow separately for some reason.’

‘I’m so glad,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Captain Owen has become quite attached to that little leopard.’

‘Why don’t you come up to the house,’ said Marbrouk, ‘and have some refreshment?’

‘I don’t want to interrupt you,’ said Owen.

‘I was just showing Miss Skinner around the estate. This bit is not very pleasant. But it makes money.’

‘I prefer the orange groves,’ said Miss Skinner.

They walked back to the house. It lay among orange groves and date plantations and was completely shielded from the dock. It was a large, single-storey, white, mud brick house built around a courtyard in which a fountain was playing. The courtyard was like a Greek or a Turkish garden, densely packed with shrubs for shade. The scent of oleander hung heavily in the air.

They sat down beside the fountain and servants brought them lemonade and dates and little sweet, sticky cakes.

‘You see I have been taking Mr Marbrouk up on his kind offer,’ said Miss Skinner.

‘And did you find his treasures interesting?’

‘Oh, most interesting. Most interesting.’

‘I would like to see them, too, if I may,’ said Owen.

‘Of course,’ said the Pasha, but remained seated.

‘I have fine treasures, too,’ Nuri said to Miss Skinner. ‘You must come and see mine.’

Guessing, perhaps, that Owen was puzzled by Nuri’s presence, Miss Skinner said:

‘When I asked Mr Nuri how to get here he very kindly offered to drive me here in his car.’

‘A pleasure,’ said Nuri, smiling sweetly at Marbrouk. Marbrouk did not reciprocate.

‘It is so nice,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘to see inside people’s houses. It really helps me to feel I’m getting to know the country.’

‘This is just a weekend retreat,’ said Marbrouk. ‘I come up here with a friend or two when I need privacy. A special friend, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Miss Skinner, smiling encouragingly. They left shortly afterwards. Nuri did not offer Owen a lift. As he shook hands with Marbrouk, he said:

‘So glad we’ve been able to have a word about that other thing, too. It’s been in my mind for some time.’

‘Yes,’ said Marbrouk, brightening. ‘Yes.’ He had appeared rather cast down.

‘I’m so glad we were able to locate that leopard,’ Owen said to Miss Skinner.

For a moment Miss Skinner seemed startled.

‘Leopard?’

She seemed to have forgotten all about it. Then she remembered.

‘Oh, yes. Our dear little cub. Though I’m sure it would have caught up with us later.’

The car drove off. Owen half expected Marbrouk to invite him in. Instead, he shook him firmly by the hand. ‘Goodbye, old chap,’ he said. ‘
Bon voyage!’

Owen retraced his steps through the plantations, glad of the shade. As he emerged into the heat of the port he saw, standing on the wharf where the stone was loaded, a figure he recognized. It was the Italian girl from Alexandria, Francesca.

She looked up at him, surprised.

‘We meet again,’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘I did not expect so soon.’

‘But what brings you to a place like this?’

‘The stone,’ she said, with a gesture. ‘We need some occasionally for our workshops. I like to choose it myself because it has to be good quality. They know what I’m looking for and put some aside for me. But what are you doing here?’

‘I’m looking for a leopard.’

He took her into the yard and showed her the sculpture. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘But isn’t it part of something bigger. I’ve seen it before. Isn’t it… The temple at Der el Bahari! The Expedition to Punt!’

‘That’s right. At Der el Bahari no longer.’

‘That is a shame. It seemed so right there. Of course in the Museum more people will see it.’

‘If it gets there.’

‘If it gets there?’

He indicated the leopard.

‘Oh, I see. And that’s why you’re here, of course.’

‘And then it might not stay in the Museum.’

‘True. But then, the country needs the money.’

‘The country may. I’m not sure all the individuals do.’ She laughed.

‘I don’t think I’d better enter into that discussion. Especially as I’m just going to see the Pasha Marbrouk.’

‘Really? What—?’ He stopped.

‘About the stone,’ she said reprovingly.

‘He handles the business side himself?’

‘No.’ The idea amused her. ‘I think,’ she said drily, ‘it may be because he fancies other things besides antiquities. But weren’t you saying that recently about yourself?’

Paul rang up mid-morning to ask if Owen could get over to the Consulate-General immediately. Since he had to get there by arabeah, the answer was no; but he arrived soon after.

He found Paul talking to Abu Bakir, the tall Egyptian he had met in the discussion with Peripoulin about the export of antiquities. They had, apparently, been following up the licence idea.

‘And then Abu Bakir raised this —’

‘In passing,’ said the Egyptian hurriedly.

‘—and I thought that as you had actually been there at the time, it might be worth having a little private discussion. It’s the Parker business. The two accidents.’

‘I wasn’t there at the time. It was afterwards. You were, too.’

‘You were there during the investigation, that’s the point,’ said Abu Bakir.

‘What’s the problem?’

‘Mr el Zaki’s approach has been challenged.’

‘Ignore Parker.’

‘It’s not so much Parker, it’s—well, it’s higher up.’

He did say he had friends, thought Owen.

‘How high up? And where? In the Ministry?’

Abu Bakir hesitated.

‘Leaning on the Ministry,’ said Paul.

‘What exactly is the issue?’

‘Mr el Zaki recommended that the licence to excavate be withdrawn. It is that recommendation that is being challenged. On the grounds that Mr el Zaki was biased’.

‘I was there,’ said Owen. ‘I would be prepared to testify that Mr el Zaki’s approach was entirely in order.’

He suddenly remembered, however, some of the exchanges between Parker and Mahmoud.

‘Oh, good,’ said Abu Bakir, clearly relieved.

‘Parker is a bastard.’

Paul tapped a pencil on the writing-pad he had in front of him.

‘It’s not so much the particular question of Parker himself, though, incidentally, I agree with you. It is, I’m afraid, the more general question.’

‘What general question?’

‘Of bias against foreigners.’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ said Owen, ‘Come on, Paul: you know Mahmoud yourself!’

‘Of course I know Mahmoud. And of course I know it’s ridiculous. But, you see, the issue then becomes different.’

‘Why does it become different?’

‘Because it relates to the Administration’s own attitudes. To its policy, if you like.’

‘Does the Government welcome foreign investment?’ said Abu Bakir. ‘Or does it wish to discourage it?’

‘This isn’t investment,’ said Owen. ‘It’s bloody robbery!’

Abu Bakir roared with laughter.

‘You’d better not testify to that!’ he said.

‘That’s the thing we’re trying to stop,’ said Paul. ‘What we don’t want to stop, though, is
bona fide
excavation. Especially with other people’s money.’

‘It’s mostly American money these days,’ said Abu Bakir. ‘That’s the point, really.’

‘Can’t you make a distinction between
bona fide
excavation and Parker’s sort of stripping?’ asked Owen.

‘The Americans don’t know the difference,’ said Paul, with Oxford superciliousness.

Abu Bakir smiled.

‘It’s not that easy,’ he said. ‘Parker probably does some genuine work as well as the stripping. It’s the price we have to pay.’

‘It’s a question of proportion,’ said Paul. ‘Parker goes too far. Other people have got more sense. Or less greed. The trouble is, it’s hard to draw an administrative line beforehand. You rely on people’s judgement.’

‘Anyway,’ said Abu Bakir, ‘that, strictly speaking, isn’t the issue. The issue is the accidents, or at least the investigation into them.’

‘It’s not even that, strictly speaking,’ said Paul. ‘Mahmoud was unable to establish a basis for pressing a charge on the grounds of negligence. What he got him on was exceeding the terms of his licence.’