Touchstone (Meridian Series) (26 page)

       “Forgive
me,” said Robert. “I am…” He suddenly realized that he should not give out his
real name, but could not remember anything about the cover he was supposed to
assume! “Mr. Underhill,” he blurted out at last, grasping at a straw from Tolkien’s
Lord of the Rings
. Maeve’s eyes widened at the name and he blushed red,
realizing the stupidity of the remark. Yet it was the only thing that came to
mind, and so he stuck with it, in spite of Maeve’s withering regard.

       “My
amiable sister,” he smiled sheepishly as he gestured in her direction.

       “Ah,
a great pleasure,” said the man. “I am Khalid al Haram. I trade along the
caravan routes, and have worked this coast for twenty years. Most of the trade
is moving by ship these days, and so a man finds his English useful. The French
are masters of the land, but on the sea, it is the British fleet that holds
sway, and answers to little else but the wind. They fought the French here
earlier, and caught their fleet at anchor. The little general is marooned! He
thought to make his way through
Palestine
and
Syria
, but the Turks stopped him at
Acre
,
and so he returned here to
Egypt
to sulk. Now the British fleet is back
again, and with the Turkish ships as well. They landed at
Aboukir
Bay
.”

       “Yes,”
said Nordhausen. “We saw them. It was quite a sight. In fact, we just came in
from the road west of town, and were looking for quarters here.”

       “You
are right about this man,” Khalid, waved disdainfully at the innkeeper. “He is
greedy at heart. The French have paid him a hundred times with notes, and he
has never raised a stir with them. If you like I will chide him, and demand the
return of your gold. It is unseemly that guests should be treated in this manner.”

       “Well…ah…”
Robert looked at Maeve, wanting to defer the matter to her, but he realized
that he was the man here and, to an Arab, a woman would certainly not be one to
make such a decision. Maeve remained discretely silent, intuitively embracing
the notion that she should be seen, but not heard, as much as it went against
the grain of her nature.

       “Leave
it be,” said Nordhausen. “We have no complaint. The man is entitled to a
windfall now and then, and we can afford to be generous.”

       “If
it were me, I would have him thrashed until he offered the room as a
compliment, but as you wish.”   Khalid smiled, then changed the subject.
“Forgive me for intruding, but I overheard your transaction. It seems you have
been billeted to the room next to mine. I would be most happy to escort you,
and show the way.” He gestured to the back hall, where two French soldiers had
just emerged. They were looking strangely at Robert and Maeve, and Khalid
seemed to quickly warm to the role of host, going so far as to take the professor
by the elbow, leaning in as he spoke.

       “This
way,” and he said it in French, going on to describe the food that would be
served at the dinner hour, and adding a bit at the end about the problem of
trade in time of war. Robert did not get all of it, somewhat surprised by the
switch in languages, but he gathered enough to realize that this man had just
deflected the undue interest of the soldiers, who went about their business
after hearing their conversation, and left the inn.

       Maeve
could not help but notice the easy tact of the man, and the casual manner in
which he maneuvered them safely away. Still, she thought it quite odd that they
would happen upon this fellow, an educated man in the midst of this dry and
dusty trading port.

       They
went down a dimly lit hall, and Khalid gestured to a plain door at the far end.
“Your quarters are here,” he said. “If I may?” He entered and looked about him
suspiciously, checking this way and that to be certain the room was vacant. 
“I’m afraid the previous guests did not leave the room in a tidy condition. I
will have my manservant visit you later to sweep the floors. Alas for me, I
must wait here until this unfortunate business at
Aboukir
Bay
is resolved. There will be a battle, of
course.”

       “I
fear you are correct,” said Nordhausen.

       “It
is very inconvenient,” said Khalid. “I had several business matters pending,
and now I must wait to see who will prevail. The buyers will want to know
whether they can still accept French currency, you see. I suppose that is why
the innkeeper was so difficult with you.”

       “Yes,
I understand.” Nordhausen scratched his head as they stepped into the room
behind Khalid.

       “If
Napoleon wins they will continue to accept French bills with no qualms. Who do
you think will prevail?”

       “Why,
I wouldn’t know the first thing about it,” Robert explained. “I am not versed
in military matters, but if history serves as any guide, the French have had
their way here for the last year or so.”

       “Indeed,
they have. The Pasha is come to correct that matter. He has, by some accounts,
twenty thousand men crowded on the beaches at
Aboukir
Bay
.
Why he lingers there is hard to say. Perhaps he cannot make up his mind whether
to strike at
Alexandria
or to march here to Rashid. I suppose he is
being overly cautious until he can learn what the French might do.”

       Nordhausen
saw an angle in the conversation that could help their investigation. “I have
heard that the French are working on the fortifications in the area.”

       “That
they are,” said Khalid. “A company of soldiers arrived here last week. They
will be digging out the walls tomorrow, clearing away some of the old stone so
they can extend the rampart.”

       “What
a shame,” said Robert, shaking his head. “Some of the stonework here dates back
centuries. I would hate to see it damaged by these petty quarrels.”

       Khalid
looked at him, coming to some quiet inner conclusion.
“Then you have an interest in the stonework?”

       “A
passing interest,” said Nordhausen. “I find it remarkable that all this history
and culture has been baking away in the sun here, largely unknown to the rest
of the world.”

       “
Egypt
is a mystery, to be sure—even to the Arabs who have lived here for generations.
The pyramids sit in stubborn silence. What they have seen; what they have
heard, they will not tell.” Khalid gestured at unseen artifacts beyond the
walls. “Have you seen the ancient writing inscribed on the stonework here? It
is a mystery within a mystery—wholly confounding, even to the learned. But the
monuments within easy reach of the delta are nothing. You should see the tombs
of
Luxor
and
Karnak
!”

       “I
haven’t had time to see much more than this roadside inn and the local souk,”
said Robert with a smile. “But perhaps tomorrow—when the French dig out their
walls. Perhaps then I might get a look at some of the old stones rumored to lie
at the foundation of the fortifications here.”

       “Oh?
But this is not an ancient fort,” said Khalid. It is
Borg Rashid
, the
tower
of
Rosetta
, an old fortress to be sure,
but one built in the fifteenth century by the sultan Qa’it Bey. The French
renamed it after one of Napoleon’s aides-de-camp, and so, for the moment, it is
called
Fort
Julien
. The man was killed here, along with his escort, not but a year
ago. In ancient times, however, this area was covered by the sea.”

       “I see,” said Nordhausen. “But undoubtedly the sultan got
his stone from some location near by. It is speculated that the stonework may
have come from ancient temples.”

       “Perhaps,” said Khalid. “I see you have an interest in
these things. Would you like to go to the fort tomorrow and see for yourself?”

       Robert tried to hide his excitement. “That would be quite
interesting,” he said. “What do you think, my dear?” He looked at Maeve, who
was quietly fanning herself as she listened to the conversation between the two
men. She smiled, nodding in the affirmative.

       “Then I will take you!” Khalid beamed, stroking his beard.
“There is still a small Mosque at the center of the fortifications. The French
will no doubt desecrate it with the business of war, but it is still there. I
must meet someone there in the morning and, if you will be so kind as to
accompany me, perhaps you can get a look at the foundations of the walls. I
will call on you with the new sun. Until then,” he bowed, “I am very pleased to
meet you… Mr. Underhill.” He said the name slowly, as if struggling to remember
it, then made a gracious bow and left.

       Nordhausen waited until the man was gone before he spoke.
“What do you make of that?”

       “Very unusual,” Maeve said quietly.

       “You believe his story?”

       “Not a word.”

       “What? Then you think he’s—“

       “Oh, he’s a clever one, that’s for sure, but he’s not who
he seems.”

       “Who then?”

       “You tell me,” Maeve folded her arms. “This was all too
convenient. Either he’s part and parcel with LeGrand, or he’s working for the
other side—one of those Assassins Paul stumbled on. But he’s certainly not the
humble and amiable trader he claims to be.”

       “Good lord. Do you think the Assassins could be privy to
our mission here as well?”

       “Anything is possible,” Maeve concluded. “We would be
foolish not to assume as much. It seems we’ve got a date with this man for the
discovery tomorrow. I wonder if he’s here for the same reason we are: to keep
watch on the stone.”

       “Yes,” said Nordhausen, “and don’t forget LeGrand. He’ll be
there as well. It should give us an opportunity to watch the two of them. Could
make for some interesting chemistry if they are both agents in this Time war nonsense.”

       “You have a knack for understatement,” said Maeve. “Well,
we may as well rest here for the heat of the day. But lock the door. I don’t
trust either of these men—LeGrand and Khalid alike.”

Part VII

Discovery

“Then I felt like
some watcher of the skies

When a new planet
swims into his ken;

Or like the stout
Cortez when with eagle eyes

He star’d at the
Pacific—and all his men

Look’d at each
other with a wild surmise—

Silent, upon a
peak in Darien.”

—
Keats:
Sonnet:
On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer

19

The
morning sun
was already
promising cruel heat as the last of the wagons pulled into the work area. All
about the walls of
Ft.
Julien
the labor party of local peasants worked to
remove the hard, sun-baked stone that jutted from the base of the aging
rampart. A French officer of engineers stood watching as three men strained against
a long iron bar wedged in the rock. From the early hours of the morning, the
men had been clearing the base of the wall, hauling the smaller stone away to
be mortared on to the higher sections above.

       There
was an urgency and sense of haste in their movements. A large Turkish force had
landed at Aboukir bay, days ago, and quickly overcome the French garrison
there. Now the threat to both
Alexandria
and Rosetta was quite real.
At Rosetta, the French found the
ruined walls of an old fort, eighty meters on a side. The wall towers had  four
movable turrets for the mounting of artillery, but the French officers quickly
noted that they would not be fit to mount even one of their smaller guns, an
eight-pound cannon. The crenellations on the ramparts connecting the turrets
were in decay, and  the tower keep at the centre of the fortress still harbored
a small mosque.

       Living quarters, a hospital, ovens, guard units and
ammunition dumps were quickly established at the site by a battalion of
engineers. They were ably assisted by a dedicated Lieutenant, one Pierre
François Xavier Bouchard, and Robert spied him at once as he turned to squint
at the labor detail.

       Bouchard was a tall man, still young at the age of
twenty-eight, and well suited to the task. He had first come to
Egypt
, not as a soldier, but as one
of the many savants that had accompanied the expedition. With an interest in
the ancient carvings and archeology, Bouchard realized he might best serve his
own curiosity, along with the French interests, by joining the corps of
engineers. He had only lately been assigned to the Rosetta work detail, and
now, Robert knew, he was about to make the single most important discovery of
his life—The Rosetta Stone; it was lying somewhere in the dry, cracked soil of
the embankment at the base of the wall, waiting to emerge from centuries of
silence and darkness, and enlighten the whole Western understanding of the
ancient Egyptian culture. It was the key to deciphering the hieroglyphics, for
it would bear a message in each of three languages, and serve as a primer for
scholars in decades to come.