Treasures of Egypt
Copyright © 2008
HDKingsbury
Chapter 10
The Eye of Horus
The Nile was Egypt's life's blood, providing both transportation and sustenance, and along its banks were the docks of Luxor, where could be found vessels of every kind – small, dingy workboats and brightly painted pleasure crafts; smelly fishing boats, paddlewheeled cruise boats for the ordinary tourist and private luxury yachts for the wealthy ones. There were small, one-masted falukas and larger, two-masted dahabeeyahs, both perfect for sailing. There were rowboats, sailboats and steamboats. And the smell? It was the same smell found around waterfronts the world over, one that Erik remembered well from his summer on the canal – a combination of dankness, mud, rotting vegetation, fish and fuel. Overhead, gulls circled, piercing the air with squawks and screams.
"She's called the Eye of Horus, and is an excellent choice, Monsieur Rien," Reïs Hassan said as he proudly showed off his vessel. Hassan was a tall, thin man with dark skin and a clean-shaven face. He was dressed in the traditional white galabeya, or tunic, and cotton skullcap. Erik had done business with Hassan in the past, and knew the captain to be a man of honesty and integrity, and his boat more than adequate for their needs.
The two men continued their walk along the wooden pier to where the Eye of Horus was moored. Hassan's boat was a dahabeeyah, a flat-bottomed, shallow-draft vessel of the kind that often took sightseers on leisurely trips up and down the Nile. There was nothing stylish about the dahabeeyahs; in fact, they resembled clunky barges with box-like superstructures setting on the aft portion of the decks. Most were powered either by sail or by muscle. Two masts with triangular sails – a large one near the prow, and a smaller one back by the stern for when the wind cooperated – could catch the slightest of breezes, and there were oars for rowing when they didn't. Some of the newer ones were making use of steam power, but Hassan preferred the old ways.
"She is 113 feet from stem to stern, and is 18 feet across the beam," the captain said, pointing to the freshly lacquered boat with a wadjet – the protective "eye of Horus" – painted on the prow. "How many did you say will be traveling?"
"I believe the number is now up to five – myself, a lady, and three servants," said Erik.
"Then she," Hassan exclaimed, referring to the boat, "will be perfect! See, we have five cabins and can accommodate up to ten passengers." They stepped on board and Hassan gave Erik a tour of the passenger quarters. "The two larger cabins have a private bath, while the three smaller ones share a single bath."
Erik approved. True, he could have chosen a smaller and less expensive vessel, but he had opted for some comfort for the passengers instead.
This way, there will be no need to share quarters, he thought with a sense of relief. Even though he often mingled in public these days, he still valued his privacy. Besides, Mrs. Brackenstall deserved a little consideration. He was trying to understand things from her point of view. The woman had enough on her mind these days, what with her husband missing and all. She deserved a little thoughtfulness on his part, even if she did sometimes annoy him greatly.
Hassan continued showing him around. "We have a galley as well as a salon, which doubles as a dining room, and a small sitting room where guests can socialize."
Erik inspected the interior of the cabins. The walls and ceilings in all were painted a clean, bright white with detailing picked out in gold. The furnishings in each cabin included a bed and chair, and a washstand fixed to the wall. There was also a looking glass – also fixed to the wall – a shelf, a row of hooks for hanging coats and wraps, and two large drawers under each bed, also for storing clothing and personal items. Lighting fixtures – lamps, lanterns, candleholders – were permanently affixed to tables and walls to ensure they did not tip over during the voyage. The smaller cabins were a bit crowded, but Erik didn't think that would pose a problem. It wasn't as if they were going to be on the Eye for months.
"Most satisfactory, Hassan," he said.
"Thank you, Monsieur."
Now they got down to discussing the specifics. Where would they be traveling? How quickly did they need to get there? When would they be leaving?
"We are going to Amarna," Erik said. "This isn't exactly a pleasure cruise, so the sooner you can get us there, the better. I also need to arrange for provisions. Can you be ready in, say, two days?"
Hassan bobbed his head up and down as he listened, reminding Erik of a shore bird spearing for fish. "The Eye of Horus will be ready by then. This time of the year, the trip should take the better part of a week. We sail only during daylight. No sailing will be done at night because of the danger of running aground on a sandbank or one of the low islands. Also, it will be slow going when we get to the great bend near Qena. There, the current changes directions, flowing first from west to east and then back from east to west. We may have to row much of that portion. As for whatever stores and provisions you order, have them sent here. My crew will load them for you."
The price was quickly negotiated. Satisfied on all counts, Erik made for his next stop – the provisions bazaar.
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"See that these are sent to the Eye of Horus," Erik told the fruiterer.
It had been a long day – first, hiring a boat, now shopping the bazaars. Normally, Erik would have sent A'aqil to procure the stores and provisions needed for the expedition, but he thought it would be better to give A'aqil the day off so that he could rest and recuperate. Safa was also engaged, dividing her time between looking after her older brother and packing for the three of them. That left Erik to do the shopping.
He looked at the list of foods Safa had prepared, satisfied that he had everything well in hand. Fresh foods were the last item. Earlier, he had purchased tents, ropes, bedding, pots and pans, dishes, utensils, dry goods, and anything else he could think of that would be needed on the trip. Oh, and a surprise for Mrs. Brackenstall. A niggling voice inside his head told him that what he was doing would, under most circumstances, be considered overstepping his bounds, but he had a suspicion that Mrs. Brackenstall would appreciate the gesture nonetheless.
"Going somewhere?"
Erik looked and found Earhart Riemenschneider at his side.
"Who said I'm going anywhere?"
"You did. You told that man to send the food you bought to the Eye of Horus." The German put his ever-present cigarette to his lips and inhaled. "Are you taking the delectable Mrs. B. with you?"
"How do you know I'm not just making arrangements…for a friend?" Erik asked, annoyed.
Riemenschneider barked out a laugh and slapped Erik on the shoulder. "How does that old saying go? Don't try to kid a kidder?" He saw the murderous glare in Erik's eyes. "Oh, forgive me. I forgot. You don't like to be touched." He put his hand at his side, but other than that, made no effort to leave.
"I've got work to do, Riemenschneider. What do you want?"
"Me? Nothing. I was taking a walk, stretching my legs, when I happened to see you. 'Look,' I said to myself. 'It's my old friend, Rien.'"
Erik let out a snort and started walking away. Riemenschneider matched him, step for step, the two of them jostling their way through the ever-crowded streets.
"Do you plan on being gone very long?"
"I have no idea. A week. Two weeks. Maybe a month."
"And you're leaving the lovely Safa all alone in that big house of yours? That will not do, Rien."
"Who said I was leaving her behind?"
"Ah! Then she is going with you. Wise man."
"What is it to you if she stays or goes?" Erik snapped. Damn it, would the man not take a hint and leave him alone?
"I was going to offer to keep an eye on things for you while you're gone."
Erik looked at the German with suspicion. "In exchange for…what?"
"Nothing," Riemenschneider said innocently. "I heard your shop was broken into, and if you are leaving, I was concerned that something equally bad would happen while you are away. And even if that comely girl of yours is not there to alleviate my boredom in your absence, I am still more than willing to make good on my offer. No charge. None whatsoever. Just one friend doing a favor for another."
Erik surprised Riemenschneider by slapping him on the back and taking him up on his offer. "I'll hold you personally responsible if anything happens to my home or my business during my absence, Riemenschneider." And he said it in such a way that the German squirmed, much to Erik's satisfaction.
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Two days later, the travelers were assembled on the dock, waiting to board the Eye of Horus.
Elizabeth arrived wearing her typical field clothes – a simple, light-colored blouse and skirt without frills, and no bustle. Her shoes were practical, too – boots that laced up and provided sure footing. Her hair was pulled back in a bun and tucked under a broad-brimmed sun hat. She frowned. Practical clothes, practical hat, practical shoes. That's what she was, a "practical" woman.
At her side was Ra'id, carrying a couple of small bags with last-minute items that had not been sent ahead the previous day with the rest of their meager luggage, including a couple of her books.
"I shall see that your cabin is properly prepared for you, Sitt," he said to her.
"I'm sure everything will be fine," she replied.
A few minutes later, Erik Rien arrived, accompanied by Safa and A'aqil. He nodded to Elizabeth, noting that she was plainly dressed, but in this instance, that was a positive thing. He approved her no-nonsense approach to clothing for this trip.
No lace, no rouge, no high fashion. She'll be no trouble at all.
"Good morning, Mrs. Brackenstall."
"Good morning, Mr. Rien," she said, returning his greeting.
She noticed that today he was a blend of East and West. He was wearing a khaki-colored shirt, the top two buttons left open, and matching trousers tucked into his calf-high Eastern-style boots. Over this, he wore a cream-colored robe and turban. As always, the lower half of his face was covered.
An unmarried woman might find his appearance romantic, she thought, rather like one of the last of the Barbary pirates. He certainly looks the part. No wonder Ra'id is suspicious of him.
Erik introduced his fellow passengers to Reïs Hassan, who assigned the cabins – Erik and Elizabeth to the larger ones, and Ra'id, A'aqil and Safa each a smaller one.
As they boarded the vessel, A'aqil hung back with Erik and leaned close so that his words would not be overheard.
"I shall make friends with Ra'id," A'aqil whispered, "and learn what I can about Mr. Leonidas."
Erik agreed. "Good idea. The more we can learn about Mr. Brackenstall, the easier it should make our job."
"And what is our job?"
"Find the missing husband. Find him, and we find out the rest."
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Once aboard, the captain briefly explained that the crew would consist of himself, a steersman, and twelve sailors. "Since this is not a pleasure voyage, I have dispensed with a head cook and steward," Hassan said. "One of the crew will be happy to cook meals for you, or, if you prefer, one of you may do so."
The sailors were all young men who came from around Egypt. Five of the crew were local men. Four more came from Philae, near the first cataract; another came from near Kom Ombo, a place north of Aswan that was famous for its ancient temples; one was from Cairo; and two were Nubians from Aswan. Their complexions varied from bronze to near black.
"If the winds do not cooperate," Hassan explained, "my crew will row you to your destination."
"They look like the young men one sees portrayed in ancient Egyptian statues," Elizabeth murmured to herself, noting their broad shoulders, their slender hips, and powerful builds. "They might have stepped forward through time."
"Or, we might have stepped back," said Safa.
Elizabeth started. She hadn't realized the young Nubian girl was standing so close to her. "Yes, this is true."
Passengers and crew settled in for the trip. More than one young man tried to catch Safa's attention, but she paid them little heed. "It is true that they are pleasing to the eye," she admitted confessed to Elizabeth, taking advantage of the opportunity to share such confidences with another woman. "But I do not think I would like a husband who sails on a boat and is away from me for days and weeks, sometimes even months at a time."
With no cook, Safa volunteered to prepare their meals. "This way, I know that the food will be edible," she said, casting a glance at her brother.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked. "I wasn't planning on cooking. I'm still recovering from my concussion."
She laughed. "How convenient!"
Safa spent the afternoon preparing supper. She made some aish – a dark flat bread – a spicy bean stew, some rice, a salad of chickpeas, cabbage and diced tomatoes topped with a zesty dressing, and falafel made with veal, lamb and pigeon. For dessert, there was a variety of fresh fruits.
All the passengers except Erik were eating in the salon, and one of the young sailors helped Safa carry in the food. When she finished serving everyone else, she took a tray to Erik's cabin.
"Thank you for remembering that I don't eat in public," Erik said, accepting the tray from her. Since arriving in Egypt, he had become more comfortable about going out in public, but to eat, he still had to uncover his face and that was something he was not willing to do.
Among the canal men, his story of being scalded in a boiler accident had been accepted, but in a land such as Egypt – where superstitions could still run rampant among the natives – there was a greater chance of some ridiculously false notion taking hold. While Europeans might gawk and point at one such as him, the locals here were more likely to equate his face with something evil, possibly demonic. Even A'aqil had originally taken him for a leper. So he took his meals in private, where he could eat with his face uncovered, and not have to worry that somebody was going to jump up and scream.
"Yes, I understand." She remained standing in the doorway.
Erik lifted the cover from the dish and made a face. "Is this what we're having for supper tonight?"
"What were you expecting? Filet mignon?"
Erik shot her a look. "There's no need to be sarcastic."
"Well, you wouldn't be eating millet and lentils if you hadn't bought moldy flour! And that fruit you bought? It was inedible. Did you buy it early in the morning as I recommended you do?"
"No," Erik mumbled.
"No wonder! You bought them at the end of the day, didn't you? That seller saw you coming a mile away." Safa stood with her hands on her hips, looking her master up and down as if he were a naughty schoolboy.
"Sorry," he groused. "I did the best I could."
"You don't look sorry, but why should I worry? It's your money wasted."
Erik raised an eyebrow at her. "Maybe I'm not sorry. Maybe I only thought you'd enjoy hearing me say it."
"Men," Safa said, laughing all the while she chided her master. "It's no wonder you need us women around. If left to your own devices, you'd all end up starving to death. You need to check the goods more carefully. That man who sold you the fruit? He put nice, ripe pieces on top, but underneath he mixed in rotten ones."
Erik pretended to look hurt. "Were my choices really that bad?"
She broke out in a grin. "No," she said, bringing in a dish she had hidden outside the door while she played her little trick on Erik. "Here's your real supper. Forgive me, Master, but you've been looking far too serious of late and I thought you could use some cheering up. But next time, stick to the list I give you. Fewer mistakes that way."
She made to leave the cabin, but stopped at the door as she pondered a thought.
"Was there something else?" Erik asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I was wondering if I might take the leftovers and offer them to the crew. While we eat only the best of foods, the sailors sit on deck and eat only bread and lentils, with a little coffee – two times a day – along with a handful of dates," she said. "Surely we can share some of our bounty?"
The girl hardly ever asked a favor, and when she did, it was almost always for someone else. "Yes, Safa," he said. "By all mean, let us share our bounty."
Later that evening, the day's work done and the boat safely moored for the night, the crew gathered on deck to relax. They sat cross-legged in a circle; their faces illuminated by the glow of lanterns hanging from the masts, and entertained the passengers with their music and songs.
Instruments were brought out. There was the tar, a kind of native tambourine that was held upright with one hand and struck with the fingers of the other, and the darbookah, or goblet drum, with its funnel shape and distinctly crisp sound. And the cocoanut fiddle, also known as the kemengeh, a small two-stringed fiddle. It had a body made from half of a cocoanut shell, a very long neck, and a long foot that rested on the ground. The strings were made of twisted horsehair, and it was played with a bow that was about a yard in length.
The musicians thrummed and their voices quavered in plaintive airs. The fiddler was a master of his art and made many extemporaneous variations on the melodies and embroidered them even further with difficult and sometimes extravagant cadenzas.
Erik stood on the upper deck, watching and listening. He thought of other warm evenings in France, and a fiddle player named Aldric. A faint smile formed on his face. Footsteps approached from behind. He was surprised to find Elizabeth join him on the deck.
"Many Europeans find the native music unpleasant," she said, leaning against the rail and looking down at the performers. "But you appear to be enjoying it."
"It is certainly different from what Westerners are used to hearing, but it has its own haunting beauty."
"You're a music lover, aren't you," she said.
"What makes you say that?" Erik asked. "Because I stand here and listen to them?"
"Not only that, but your house. The day I called upon you, I remember seeing a wall covered with a variety of musical instruments."
"I have an interest." Erik was impressed. Not only was she intelligent, but observant, too. "You appear to have a fondness for it, too – the Eastern music."
"Standing here on a dahabeeyah, listening to the men sing and play, brings back many wonderful memories."
"Of your husband?"
"No, my father." She lowered her eyes, almost ashamed to admit that it was not her husband she was thinking of. "When I was growing up, my father often brought me to Egypt with him."
"He was a scholar, too?"
She smiled. "Still is, although he's retired now. He is a professor of Egyptology, and he taught me to love this land with its stark desert beauty, verdant river valley, and ancient, mysterious temples and pyramids."
Erik looked over at the western landscape, the steep cliffs in the distance, silhouetted in the moonlight, the myriad of stars winking above. "It is a place one can learn to love with all one's soul," he said more to himself than to Elizabeth.
It was a perfect winter's evening. The air had cooled and the wind, which had helped them along their way during the day, had died off with the sunset. The two of them stood in comfortable silence for several minutes, listening to the music, not feeling the need to say anything.
Elizabeth eventually broke their silence. "By the way, I wanted to thank you for your very thoughtful gift."
Suddenly, the ease that had developed between them evaporated. The mention of his gift left Erik uncomfortable.
"I apologize for being presumptuous. I was thinking only of your comfort on the trip…when we'll be out in the desert."
"Yes," she said, and he saw the faintest touch of a smile playing on her face, "I imagine most would consider a relative stranger buying clothes for a woman presumptuous, but I found the split skirt to be the perfect thing for our expedition. I'm only sorry I hadn't thought of it myself."
Erik felt relief settle back in. "Then…you're not offended?"
"No, I am not, Monsieur Rien, although when we find my husband, it would probably be best not to mention this to him."
Erik looked her in the face, and with that impish smile on her lips, she looked…well, she looked quite beautiful. Funny he hadn't noticed this about her before.
Must be the soft glow of the lanterns.
"You understand, of course, that my only concern was for your comfort and ease of travel when we're out in the wild."
"Of course." She realized he must be smiling beneath the scarf that covered his face. He looked …well, he looked quite dashing, with his smile showing in his eyes.
Why didn't I notice this before? she wondered. Must be the soft glow of the lanterns.
"Yes. Of course," he repeated mechanically, an odd sensation taking hold of him.
Stop being a fool! She's only being polite.
"I am curious, however, about one thing. How did you know what size to get? You didn't happen to ask Ra'id, did you?"
"Do I look like a fool?" Erik asked. "If I had gone to your man with such a request, he would sooner have chewed my head off than speak to me. Even now, I suspect he doesn't care for me."
She laughed again, a delightful, sparkling sound. "You're right. He probably would have done just that, but I don't think he doesn't like you, just that he doesn't know you, and is wary. Ra'id worked for my father and can be very protective of me. But…how did you know whether the skirt would fit? I mean…oh blast, perhaps it's best I don't know." She felt her face grow warm.
Thank goodness he can't see me blushing like this.
Erik raised a shoulder, and let it fall eloquently. She must have assumed he had plenty of experience with women's clothing. "There was nothing improper involved, I assure you. The simple truth is, I guessed."
"Well, you made a good guess. Thank you – again."
"By the way, I am curious. Why are you always blowing things up?"
"What? Oh, you mean when I say 'blast it'? Simple, really. My father taught me to say that rather than use other, more unladylike expressions."
Erik let out a chuckle. "Thank you for explaining. At least I won't be worrying about you planting explosives under my bed."
"We women are more subtle than that," she said, teasingly. "My husband likes to make fun of me, says he imagines there are times when I want to plant snakes or scorpions in his bed when he makes me angry." Then she became more serious. "Mr. Rien, I…this is rather awkward, but it's something that has been troubling me. I hope you don't think that the only reason I am being nice is because I am indebted to you." She halted. "I will confess that it is certainly a relief not to be alone in this search for my…Oh, that didn't sound right, either. What I mean is, I wish we had met under happier circumstances. Perhaps, if we had met by chance, we might have been…friends. As it is, we are allies, seeking to solve a mystery in which we have become entangled."
"Can't we be both?" Erik offered.
Elizabeth paused, considering the ramifications. She hadn't intended it, but she found she was drawn to this strange man, this man who refused to show his face and who kept his distance. Her resolve to remain wary began to wane and she found herself nodding in agreement. "We can," she said, with more confidence than she felt.
The music came to an end, the lanterns were turned down and everyone began to make their way to their cabins. The crew grabbed blankets and through a prearranged order, settled down on the deck to sleep. From below, Ra'id called up to Elizabeth to inform her that her cabin was ready.
"I suppose that's my cue to turn in as well," Elizabeth said. "I shall wish you good night, Monsieur Rien."
"And you as well, Mrs. Brackenstall."
"You know, you're not such a bad person…when you make an effort to be friendly," she said, and walked away.
Erik stood on the deck and continued staring at where she had been, long after she had gone. What a contradiction she was – one time snappish and quick-tempered, and the next, kind and friendly. "You're not such a bad sort, either," he said after she left, echoing her words. "When you make an effort to be friendly."
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Note: Reïs means Captain