CHAPTER TWELVE
The Grayson Pub, September 23, 1940, just before David's late bedtime
"Tell me a story, Arthur!" David asked of his new friend, leading him by the hand to a couch nestled cozily by the fireplace. Ardeth was babysitting, for Martha had gone to saddle up the stallion Ardeth had rented from her. He'd paid her with the gold pinky ring he had worn on his right hand.
Ardeth smiled. There was something totally irresistable about David which struck a chord in Ardeth's heart. And Ardeth couldn't help but respond warmly. Perhaps it was the irresistable lure of the very young which had caused Ardeth to express more emotions than he'd expressed to anyone. In the few hours which had passed since his rescue, Ardeth had found himself smiling at, hugging, and singing to this irresistable young child.
"What story shall I tell you?" he asked David as the two sat down on the couch. David looked at Ardeth, then decided to sit on his new friend's knee.
"Stories about Egypt!"
Should he tell a myth? Or stories from his childhood travels across the Sahara? He looked at the smiling blonde youngster and remembered that four year olds liked stories about magic.
Making his decision, he replied, "This is a story about magic spells."
"Yeahhhhh!" David cheered, clapping his hands.
"It's called Siosire and the Magician of Nubia:"
"Holding a sealed letter up to Rameses, a Nubian boy asked, "Can anyone here read this letter without opening it? If there is none wise enough to do so, all of Nubia shall know of Egypt's shame."
Perplexed, and still distressed over the recent death of his father, Seti, Rameses, the second to hold that Throne Name, called for Prince Setna, the most learned of his sons. But Setna was baffled by the puzzle.
Not wanting to shame Egypt, he parried and asked for ten days' grace so that he may solve the puzzle put forth by the Nubian. But he was worried and fretted during the ten days of grace that he had been granted.
Setna's son, Siosire, had asked his father what was wrong. When he was told of the Nubian puzzle, Siosire said, "Why Father! I can read that letter!"
Setna was puzzled even more but he got a papyrus scroll from his wooden chest and Siosire read the contents without unrolling it."
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"What's a papryus?" David interrupted.
"It's Egyptian writing paper," Ardeth explained, then continued his tale.
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"Setna was astonished and the next day Siosire and Setna went to Rameses and the young Nubian. Siosire proceeded to tell the court what the Nubian's scroll contained."
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"What's Nubian?" David interrupted again.
"Nubia is a country just south of Egypt and the citizens are referred to as Nubians," Ardeth replied. He softened his voice, in order to relax the child for sleep.
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"One thousand, five hundred floodings ago, the Prince of Nubia had used the powers of his great magician Sa-Neheset to bring Egypt's pharoah to the Nubian court. The Prince of Nubia then administered a brutal beating to the pharoah.
Shamed, the pharoah sought help from his own magician, Sa-Paneshe and the two great magicians began a great struggle.
In the end, Sa-Paneshe triumphed and the Nubian sorcerer vowed not to return to Egypt for one and a half thousand floodings.
At the end of his reading, Siosire said, "This Nubian boy is really Sa-Neheset reincarnated after one and a half thousand floodings. But I am the reincarnation of Sa-Paneshe and I challenge him once again!"
Immdiately, Sa-Neheset began to recite spells, which were countered by Sa-Paneshe. Thunder roiled, lightning struck, and the earth shook but the two magicians were locked in a great battle.
Finally, the reincarnation of Sa-Paneshe sent a fire-spell which rendered Sa-Neheset's magic useless and Sa-Neheset was consumed in the flames.
But as Setna and Rameses watched, their faces full of pride for Egypt, Sa-Paneshe disappeared. The voice of Osiris said that he had called Sa-Paneshe back to the underworld."
Martha cut in, "Time for bed, David," she said, reaching out for her son. David allowed himself to be picked up. Her cheeks were ruddy from the chilly night. "The horse is saddled up and ready," she told Ardeth. Ardeth hadn't heard her come in the front door of the pub.
"That was a good story, Arthur! Good night, Arthur! You need to come back soon!" David said cheerfully, then yawned. He'd been forgiven for purloining the telescope, he'd learned a new story tonight and his new friend Arthur had said he'd try to come back and see David. All this put David in a fine mood to go to sleep and it showed on his four year old face. He yawned again.
"Good night, David. I will try to come back here as soon as I can," Ardeth softly replied, smiling again at David. In the past few hours, he'd found he couldn't help but smile whenever David was the room--somehow David managed to dispel the gloom Ardeth's heart had felt everytime people were wrenched from their lives and suddenly transported through the Crossroads of Time.
"He'll miss you, Arthur," Martha said, settling David on her left hip. For his part, David put his head on his mum's shoulder. "When there's a need for overnight messages or deliveries, we have a network of riders who bring food, letters and supplies along the Cornish coastline," she said.
"That would work with physicians as well," Ardeth commented, thinking of a young child living more than a few kilometers from the nearest physician.
Martha nodded and took off her heavy pea jacket. Placing the jacket over the top of the couch, she replied, "With the fuel war rations and the blackout restrictions, we found that horses are the best way to transport lightweight loads."
"I am at home with horses," Ardeth replied easily, then made his next request. "Would you send a telegram to London, attention of Rick O'Connell?"
"What shall I tell him?" Martha asked.
"Just that I'm on my way to London," Ardeth replied.
"That I will do, Arthur Bey. Good luck," she said, turning to walk out of the room, David's head on her shoulder.
"Thank you, Martha."
David twisted around and called sleepily over his mother's shoulder.
"Arthur, would you tuck me in?" David inquired as his mother walked towards the second staircase located next to the kitchen.
"If your mother says yes, then I would be pleased," Ardeth replied.
"Mummy?" David entreatied his mother. She chuckled and nodded her head. "Yeaaah!" David's soft voice, full of sleep, replied. Ardeth followed Martha up the stairs towards the pub's front apartment.
Martha pulled the covers up under David's chin and Ardeth leaned forward to kiss David on the forehead. "Sing me a lullaby," the four year old murmured as he settled back into the warmth the bed provided.
Martha chuckled softly. "Insistent, aren't you?" she asked of her son as a soft humming was heard.
David nodded his head as he simultaneously gave a big yawn. He'd never been awake this late before and Ardeth's soft humming was soothing. David settled back into the fluffy pillow, closing his blue eyes. Memories of the day's events flashed before his eyes and softly, David heard Ardeth sing in another language.
David's eyes fluttered as soft humming began again. Ardeth's soft voice filled David's ears as Ardeth sang,
What is it, little one?
My good little one,
My brave little one
My dear little one
What is it, little one?
Be still, I will stroke your fingers
I kiss the sweat from your brow
I will stay near you
You and I belong together
Martha put her finger to her lips and motioned Ardeth out of David's room. The child was fast asleep, Martha softly closed the door and caught up with Ardeth.
"What language were you singing in?"
"Tamasheqt. It is the language of my people, the Tuareg."
"It's beautiful. That was a Tuareg lullaby you sang?"
Ardeth nodded, a smile playing on his red lips. "And one my mother used to sing to me when I was little. She always hummed the lullaby before starting to sing," he said. "I translated the words into English when my friends Rick and Evie O'Connell had their son Alex," he finished.
"Tuareg," Martha said thoughtfully. "Do they have a king?" she asked as they descended the stairs back to the pub's main level.
"Not a king, a commander. My tribe is a confederation and we are part of the Tuareg people known as the Medjai," he replied as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned to look at Martha. "The Medjai now protect Hamunuptra and in the time of the Pharaohs, the Medjai were the Pharoah's sacred bodyguards," he finished.
"You would have protected King Tut?" she asked, disclosing her unabashed interest in things Egyptian and this was interesting information Ardeth was telling her.
"Yes. As the Medjai, my ancestors protected the boy-king," Ardeth said, knowing the English fascination with the tomb of King Tut. He looked in Martha's eyes. "I thank you again, Martha. I owe my life to you and your son David. You and your family have earned the eternal thanks of my tribe."
Martha didn't know what to say, so she said the obvious. "You're welcome."
He picked up a leather satchel that Martha had provided which contained extra blankets and a supply of food until he reached the next stop nearly seventy kilometers down the coastline. Opening the door, a chill wind blew into the pub.
Martha shivered. "Cold night out," she commented.
"The Sahara, at night, gets so cold that ice forms in the tea pots," he told Martha. The Tuareg were predilected towards their foaming tea ceremony--and the Tuareg preferred green tea in particular--and Ardeth's statement was true: at times, the Sahara could get so cold at night ice formed from water and people were known to have frozen to death in the desert night.
Ardeth's stallion mount saw him and neighed a greeting. Ardeth chuckled. "Good evening to you!" he said as he stepped through the door and turning one last time to look at Martha, he smiled at her and shut the door.
Ensuring the satchel was secure on his mount, he swung himself into the saddle. Ardeth was about to nudge the horse into action when the pub's door opened.
"I won't forget to send a telegram to Rick O'Connell in London!" Martha said.
"I appreciate it, Martha," Ardeth replied.
Martha started to shut the door, then her curiosity got the better of her. "Ardeth? Who is the commander of the Medjai?"
"I am," he replied as his heels came down on the stallion's flank and the magnificent horse galloped towards London.
"Commander of the Medjai," Martha repeated as she looked after Ardeth. She shut the door, then went to the bookshelf and pulled out the book on King Tut and Ancient Egypt. Sitting down on the couch, she began to read enthusiastically about the young boy-king who had ruled Egypt more than three thousand years ago and whose artisans had fashioned such exquisite objects of gold and ivory.
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Beachfront home near Lizard Point, Cornwall, late September 1940, after sunset
"Just 'ow did you get to England?" Ida, suspicious, and dropping the h's at the beginning of her words, was asking Martin as she spooned mashed potatoes onto Martin's plate. The two were seated at Ida's dining room table.
"My friend Ardeth and I were deckhands on the Gilgamesh."
"The supply ferry!" Ida was alarmed. "Did Roger survive?" True concern showed in her voice. "He's known from Plymouth down to Land's End."
Unwittingly echoing Ardeth's words, Martin replied, "I'm not sure how many survived. I was traveling with an Egyptian, Ardeth Bey. We were both washed overboard when a freak wave washed over the ferry's deck. I'm not even sure how many were washed overboard."
Ida sat down on the chair, hard. A small oomph came out of her mouth. She fought to keep back tears. "Roger. A good man, Roger was."
"Let's hold out hope. He may have been washed ashore," Martin said, reaching over the table and patted her hand.
Ida sniffed back her tears. "Stiff upper lip, I know. English thing to do. Roger was supposed to be ferrying back the mail from the troops stationed there. My boys, both of them, are stationed in Paris and I was expecting letters from them."
Martin sucked in his breath. Ida had sent off her two sons to war. "I sent my 'usband off to the first war. 'e served with Sigfried Sassoon, same regiment, even wounded the same day Siefried was. 'e came 'ome but 'e was never the same after that. Our twin sons were born nine months after their daddy came 'ome. But my 'usband died the night the twins were born. 'eart attack," she told Martin, sniffing back more tears.
"And now your twins are off in war," Martin stated. Ida nodded.
"Tis the way of war: they take your 'usbands, then they take your sons. Mums never win," she replied. "Now let's 'ear your story. 'ow did you meet a man from Egypt?"
Martin spooned mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ida had mixed in rosemary and garlic before roasting the potatoes before deciding to mash them. The potatoes were hot. And delicious.
He ran the events of the last month through his mind. "I enjoy being in Egypt," he began.
Ida nodded assent. "King Tut's what got me fascinated in going there. Always wanted to go, but with my 'usband dead and two young boys to raise, I never could afford to go."
"I met Ardeth in Cairo," he began to say but Ida interrupted him again.
"Milk? Fresh from the udder, boiled then chilled."
"Yes. Milk would be fine." Martha poured the milk. "Where was I? Oh, Cairo. Ardeth and I were traveling in Libya when we ran out of money in Tripoli. So we signed on as deckhands to a French supply boat."
"Ah, working your way back to England, eh?" Ida asked, smiling through her sniffles.
Martin chuckled. "It's something like that."
"Ow did you get to Cherbourg? Fighting lines are thick and fast in France with the Nazis there," Ida commented, taking up a glass and pouring milk for herself. "The cow was the best investment I ever made. Even if I didn't get to take the kids on vacation that year."
"When did you buy the cow?" Martin asked, hoping to buy himself some time to work out an adequate cover story.
"Six years ago," she replied, smiling. "But 'ow did you get through the lines?" she insisted.
"We hitchhiked until we arrived in Paris. We couldn't go any further by car."
Martha sneered. "Nazis occupy Paris."
Martin nodded. "Ardeth thought it too risky to walk to Cherbourg, so we bought horses," Martin stuffed a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth, chewed a bit, then swallowed. "And rode by horseback to Cherbourg."
"You rode from Paris to Cherbourg? And the Nazi's didn't catch you?" Ida asked. "Your Ardeth must be very courageous or else he's very favored."
"We rode at night and no, the Nazi's didn't seem to see us," Martin replied, stuffing another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. Now that Ida mentioned it, it did seem strange that although he and Ardeth had passed dozens of Nazi encampments on the way to the French shore of the English Channel, not one Nazi soldier had paid any attention to the two men riding either in a lorry or riding past Nazi encampments on galloping horses.
"If they had seen you, you wouldn't be sitting here today," Ida rightly proclaimed, drinking the milk.
Martin nodded. "If you would please, may I have some of that vegetable stew?" Martin asked Ida. His stomach was empty of water now, and he discovered he was famished.
He plucked a hot piece of black rye bread from the basket Ida had on her table and buttered it, then took a huge bite of the bread. Ida grew her own vegetable garden, replete with potatoes and herbs; she sold most of the herbs.
War rations were beginning to be hard on everyone, including Ida, but she always had enough bread. With the milk from her cow, Ida always had fresh butter. She kept a small portion for herself, used mainly for guests, and sold or traded the rest of the butter.
Ida nodded and got up to get a bowl from the antique sideboard. Filling the bowl from the pot of vegetable stew, she placed the bowl in front of Martin.
He took up a spoon, dipped the spoon into the stew, then paused as something occured to him. The Nazis assuredly had not seen him, Ardeth (and any traveling companions), nor had the Nazis heard the sounds of galloping horses passing their encampments.
Since their trip down the temporarily full Libyan wadi, the Bracelet had thrummed with power. From his past life, and from his studies in his current life, Martin was aware that heka, the divine creative force which has existed since the beginning of time, was used by the first gods to bring the world into being.
Isis and Thoth were the two gods most associated with Egyptian magic. Martin knew Thoth was considered to have invented hieroglyphics, and thus Thoth brought Egypt into the civiilized world to rival the Mesopotamian world and their cuneiform scripts already invented. Written magic was extremely powerful and as the inventor of hieroglyphics, Thoth was also considered to have invented magic.
But Isis was the most accomplished magician. And the Pyramid Texts on Imhotep's Step Pyramid incorporated the tale of Isis using magic to resurrect her husband/brother Osiris after Seth had murdered him.
Queen Lostris had been tasked by Pharaoh Tamose with protecting the double crown of Egypt. What the Pharaoh, dying from an infected lung wound inflicted by the Hyksos, had meant was that the Regent Queen Lostris was to protect the heir to the Horus Throne, Prince Memnon. She had protected the five year old by exiling him, herself, Tanus, Taita and thousands of loyal subjects for twenty years--until the Prince came of age--in the land south of the sixth cataract of the Nile.
And Taita had been in love with Lostris and had mummified her body after her death of uterine cancer in her early forties. But Taita had taken a lock of her hair and kept it with him, until at the end of his life when he embedded the lock of hair into the softened electrum he was using to fashion the Bracelet of Lostris.
And there were protective spells attributed to either Isis or Thoth that Taita, as a hery-heb--a lector priest (better known as a warlock)--could have uttered when fashioning the Bracelet. A magic spell, perhaps from the Book of Thoth, had obviously been used during the creation of the Bracelet of Lostris.
Martin had come to this nearly-instant conclusion because thinking back on his and Ardeth's trip from the Mediterranean Sea to the French shore of the English Channel in Nazi occupied France, it now seemed impossible that the two men could have slipped unnoticed by Nazi encampments without magical help.
Especially since he and Ardeth, on no less than a dozen occasions, had been driven past, or had galloped on horses, past fully alert Nazi officers who appeared to be looking straight at the travelers.
But the travelers had been totally ignored by the Nazis.
This last fact indicated that the wily Taita had indeed uttered a protective spell over the Bracelet, a spell which obviously conferred invisibility to the wearer in extreme situations.
Now Martin desperately wanted a copy of the magical text known as the Book of Thoth, which had purportedly contained spells to raise the dead and spells to gain dominion over the sky above, the earth below and all the living creatures which dwell on land and in the sea.
Although the Greeks and Romans rewrote the Book of Thoth as the Hermetica, a original copy of the Book of Thoth had not been found. Perhaps, Martin thought, the Hermetica contained protection spells which might prove useful to their current situation.
"Eh? That's a pretty good dream, isn't it? Going to see the Pyramids when the war is over and then on to an around the world trip," Ida was saying, apparently oblivious to Martin's woolgathering.
"Absolutely a wonderful idea. Where else would you go?" he asked, scooping up a spoonful of thick vegetable stew.
"After the war, I suppose this 'ouse could be rented or sold as a vacation 'ouse. I'm still strong yet and I could work in the olive fields of Greece. Perhaps Perth and Sydney. And the United States. I always 'eard there were fields of corn and wheat there," Ida continued to chatter about her around the world trip as Martin ate. A fire crackled in the fireplace.
And Martin's soul could feel the Bracelet thrumming. For a moment, the thrumming seemed to intensify, then drifted into the back of Martin's mind, where the thrumming stayed as a comforting presence as Ida's chatter filled his ears.
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Land's End, September 24, 1940, The Grayson Pub private apartment, dawn
Mar-aha was awakened before dawn by an overnight temple servant who had found it necessary to contract herself to the Temple of Osiris for a short time. Mar-aha stood up, and allowed the servant to slip the fine linen sleeping gown off of Mar-aha's young lithe body.
She smoothed her hands over her taut abdomen, and down her thighs--dancer's legs, she thought. Born in Egypt to foreign parents who came from the land north of the Black Sea, Mar-aha would turn twenty years on the fifteenth day of the third month of Shemu. Twenty years of age was a milestone, for many people did not live to see their fortieth year.
Hunro led Mar-aha to the small enclosure that served as a bath. Mar-aha stepped over the ankle high wall and allowed Hunro to rub natron on her body and then pour warm water that ran in rivulets down the taut muscles of Mar-aha's body.
After bathing, Hunro rubbed Mar-aha's body with scented oil and then oiled Mar-aha's shaven scalp. Hunro would have to shave Mar-aha's head again after morning prayers. Face paint was applied next and Mar-aha especially liked the green malachite powder applied to lids of her grey eyes. Gold dust was applied to Mar-aha's body so that she would shimmer in Ra's golden rays.
Mar-aha's wig was placed on her head and Mar-aha was finally ready to take up the sistrum and dance for Osiris. She wore no clothes, preferring to dance unencumbered for the God.
Shaking the sistrum, Mar-aha went dancing out of her chamber and joined the other temple dancers as they danced and shook the sistrum behind the priests of the Temple. The priests chanted and prayed to Osiris.
The priests offered the food to sustain the God and Mar-aha felt when the God partook of the spirit of the food. She danced and shook her sistrum. Placing her sistrum on the finely hewn stone floor, Mar-aha bent herself backward and tumbled before the statue of the God of Osiris.
Mar-aha hoped with all her ka that her dancing pleased the God. She especially needed his blessing today.
For today was the Pharoah's natal day and Mar-aha had been selected to be one of the dancers who would dance before the God-King.
"Mummy! Wake up!" David shouted, jumping up and down on Martha's bed and interrupting Martha's dream. She blinked a few times, then rubbed her blue eyes.
"Oomph! Can't it wait until morning?" she groggily asked her exuberant son, who preferred to wake up with the sun.
"It is morning!" he cheerfully said. "Do you think Arthur is okay?" he asked, a worry line transecting his smooth forehead. He'd learned to dress himself, but this morning found David wearing the same clothes as yesterday: blue jeans and a dark green turtleneck wool sweater.
"I think he's okay, David. Why don't you go brush your teeth?" she suggested, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. She wanted her dream to continue; she wanted to dream about living in an ancient time, living in ancient Egypt. Martha suspected her reading the book on the treasures of King Tut, and Arthur's rescue, had had something to do with her pleasant dream.
But David had been through this morning ritual before, and he knew his mother was trying to get rid of him so she could sleep a little more. She could take a nap later on, at the same time he did, David reasoned to himself. So he replied, "No!"
Then he began to tickle his mother. Obligingly, she burst out into laughter.
"When you laugh, you're awake, so you have to make my breakfast now!" he intoned, a big smile nearly splitting his face in two.
Martha groaned a mock groan, long and low. David just laughed.
"Okay, okay. I'll get up. We are a bit luckier than most, you know," she told her son.
"I know! We get lots of sugar and tea and flour and other stuff from the sailors!" he practically shouted. He was a happy child, too young to really know what the Blitzkreig was, too young to know about war. David knew about the sun, the sea, and happy times and Martha desperately wanted David to hang onto his childhood innocence for as long as possible.
"And, we have eight chickens, a cow and a vegetable garden like the Queen planted at Windsor Castle," she told her son.
"We have ten chickens," David corrected.
"Ten?"
"Ten," he agreed vigorously.
She smiled, and tickled her son. "How do you know we have ten chickens?" she asked.
David held up his fingers and put each finger down as he counted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten! We have as many chickens as I have fingers on my hands!" he told his mother, then kissed her on the cheek. "Let's go make my breakfast," he ordered, climbing down off the bed and charging out the bedroom door.
"Yes, my king!" she said to the empty doorway.
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Land's End, telegraph office, September 24, 1940
"The first inquiry is a general inquiry. I am in possession of two more chickens than I had last night," she told William Barnstone, the telegraph operator, as she put a large leather shopper bag which had been given to her by a Spanish sailor in return for room and board for a few month. Leather was a luxury for Martha, even in peacetime.
Martha had discovered David was right in his assertations: there were ten chickens in her chicken yard. The newcomers were both roosters. Martha had left David in the care of Thomas Wheaton, who would be leaving the Grayson Pub late that afternoon.
"Full grown?" Will asked. Full grown chickens were Cornwallian's pride and joy, for they provided fresh eggs every day.
Martha nodded. She opened her mouth to add that the gender of the fowls was male but decided to keep that information from her general notice. She thought she'd be able to root out false reports of missing fowl birds.
Then the day faded, and for a moment, she was back in her dream dancing as Mar-aha once again.
"And the second inquiry?" Will asked, interrupting her daydream. Will was a few years younger then her own age, which was thirty.
"This telegram needs to get to Rick O'Connell in London."
"Address?"
Martha again opened her mouth to give an address, but realized that Arthur hadn't given an address. She thought a moment, then made a decision.
"Could we send it general delivery?"
William looked over his wire rim glasses at her. "General delivery? How's he going to know the telegram arrived?"
"You're right. I suppose I'll have to send a letter, but,"
"But you still don't have an address," Will finished for her. Martha nodded.
"Well, still let the village know about the missing chickens, Will. I'd like to ask a favor."
"Sure thing,"
"I'd like to save most of the money I earn from the pub. I've got a healthy barter going on, especially with the foreign sailors. I'd like to do the same thing here," she reached into her shopper. Pulling out a smaller bag, she placed it on the counter.
Will stood up and looked in the bag. "Tea! And sugar!" He pulled out the items and looked at the items. The tea was in a tin, loose, and the tin proclaimed the tea authentic Fortnum & Mason.
"Earl Grey!" Will exclaimed.
"The American brought it from New York. Along with the sugar. Left them as payment for his meals and lodging," Martha said.
"Eh, war's so bad we've to get our tea from New York City," Will said, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and he was grinning hugely. "Uh, sure, Martha. You know, bartering's probably a good idea. I've got several fields of potatoes. I'll spread the word around about the bartering system," he finished, fingering the bag of sugar before going over to the small alcove which served as a kitchen.
"Thank you," Martha said, picking up her shopper bag. Turning, she heard the sounds of Will putting his newfound objects away in the cupboard. She also heard the soft click of a lock. "War. Now we have to lock up our food," she thought to herself as she reached out her hand to open the door.
"Martha? I've an idea on how to reach your Rick O'Connell."
"How?" She turned back to face Will, pulling her Campbell plaid overcoat tighter around her. The early morning was chilly and she had a bit of a walk to get back to the pub.
"I'll put an an ad in The Mirror."
Martha smiled: problem solved. "That should do it."
Will walked back to his desk and picked up a pencil. "What shall I say?"
Martha thought a moment. "To: Rick O'Connell, London. King Arthur is coming to London."
The pencil stopped scritching. "King Arthur?" he asked.
Arthur said he was Commander of the Medjai but that doesn't sound right to my ears, she thought. Commander Arthur is coming to London? Remembering her dream, she said,
"To Rick O'Connell, London. King Arthur is coming to London," Martha repeated.
"Got that. I'll put the ad through to the Mirror. If he can get the paper daily, he should see it in tomorrow's paper. If not, maybe someone will point out your ad to him."
"I hope so. It seems to be the only way to get a message to him. Thank you, Will. Stop round by the pub this evening and I'll make you dinner." She knew Will was a bachelor.
"Will do. And I'll be there. Thank you!" he said as the door banged into Martha.
"Ouch!" she said, then thought of something. "Will? Could you have that ad run for a week?"
"Sure thing, Martha," Will replied.
"Sorry about that. Hullo, Will!" Hullo, Martha!" Joshua Mills said as he hefted a sack of letters to be posted in that day's mail. The two men started to talk and Martha chose that time to leave.
Leaving the telegraph office, she thought about Arthur and wondered how soon it would be before he arrived in London.
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Lizard Point, beachfront home, dawn, September 24, 1940
For his part, Martin had been much obliged to Ida for her hospitality. And like Ardeth, he could only feel a tenuous link between the men.
Leaving Lizard Point the morning after Ardeth had left meant that Ardeth had passed Lizard Point sometime in the night, without Martin's knowing about Ardeth passing.
This bit of knowledge had distressed Martin, for it seemed like the forces of the Dark One were keen on keeping Martin in the proverbial dark.
However, as Martin knew that Ardeth was trying to get to London, he felt that he too would make his way to London and meet up with Ardeth there.
So he'd left Ida Dunham and her hospitality, much to Ida's dismay. She had sent her two sons off to war, as she'd sent her husband off to the first World War, and Ida was much worried about his safety.
Naturally, Martin had reassured her he would be fine. When she had inquired, "But 'ow do you know you'll be okay?" (and Martin loved the way Ida dropped her h's only at the beginnings of words), her eyes showed deep concern.
He had studied her for a moment, then, knowing the utter fascination of the English with the minor boy-King Tut, he'd replied, "I'm a reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian priest."
"My lands! A real reincarnated Egyptian in my 'ouse! 'ow did you know?" Ida had accepted the concept of reincarnation readily and Martin suspected that Ida, as a single woman living alone with her military husband deceased and her twin sons both active in the current war, would want to hang onto a concept of living again. He suspected the Egyptian concept of being reunited in the afterlife and reincarnation appealed to her senses.
Precisely at that moment, Martin knew what he could do to repay her hospitality: he would arrange for her a position to teach English in Egypt.
Martin shrugged his shoulder. "Dreams, mostly. Vivid dreams of Egyptian vistas, when the Pyramids were smooth sided with white limestone and the Pyramidions--the capstones--were gilded in solid gold. Those magnificent vistas were in the background as I stood in the Red Land, the desert, and looked upwards at the Pyramids. I could feel the heat of the desert and knew I was, at last, home."
Ida had sucked in her breath. "My!" she'd exclaimed. "Wish I 'ad dreams like that."
"You know," Martin began cautiously, for he didn't know how to breach this subject, then an idea began to form in his head--an idea which had sprung from the seeds of the conversation they'd had the night before during dinner. "I have had some employment in Egypt, and there is a need for the hospitality service to learn English."
"Really? I thought Arabic and French were the languages of Egypt!"
"They are. Arabic is a Semitic language, related to Hebrew and the ancient Akkadian and Sumerian languages. French, naturally, became a second language for many when the French conquered Egypt."
"Je parle Francias," she replied, then laughed. "But not very good. I understand more than I can speak."
"In Cairo, there is a growing need to learn English to accommodate the foreign tourists. I can arrange for you some employment. In exchange for room and board, you would be teaching English. You would need to re-acquaint yourself with adding your h's to the beginnings of your words," Martin told an increasingly excited Ida, whose eyes glittered brightly with the idea of going to Egypt.
"Yes, yes. I can do that, add my h's," she said, then thought carefully. Speaking slowly, she said "Howard had help hanging hyssops high," she said. "And 'ow's, I mean how is that?"
Martin smiled. "Teaching English will be a slow process anyways. You would need to speak slowly at first, then gradually increase the speed of your conversation to attenuate the Arabic ear," he said.
"I can do that," she said slowly. "I won an elocution award as a girl and I only gradually dropped my h's as I grew older," she replied.
"English did form from an archaic sub branch of German and there are a lot of ways to pronounce the vowels. And English has one of the most unusual vowels sounds of all--the sounds in 'bird' and 'heard'. Those sounds are almost unheard of in other languages. Perhaps one of the 'clicking' languages of South Africa has those sounds," Martin told her, deciding to cut short his impromptu speech on the development of the English language. Was there anyone else who understood--and enjoyed--the rather esoteric beginnings of his mother tongue?
"Would I be able go to after the war?" she asked. "And would I be able to go to Palestine? See Jericho?" she inquired, visibly excited, and her reddening cheeks showed her excitement.
Martin nodded. "There are many transports available to Palestine."
"If you could arrange that for me, I would be most appreciative," she replied.
"Not as appreciative as I," he told her. "If you hadn't found me, I don't know if I would have lived."
She smiled, her white teeth flashing in the early morning light. "You are welcome. Here," she said with a bit of an emphasis on the 'h', "this is a bag of food: bread, onions and cheese. You can stop off at farms in Cornwall and Devon. It's nearing harvest time and there will be need of hired hands to help with the various crops," she finished, holding out a satchel to Martin.
"Thank you, Ida. I will send word to my place of employment in Egypt and have them contact you regarding a position," Martin said, accepting the satchel of food.
"Transport will have to be by foot, unless you can hitch a ride with someone," Ida continued. "Blackout and rations mean that fuel is used sparingly, and we 'ere in Cornwall tend to conserve fuel for the transport of crops," Ida said, and Martin noted Ida was making an effort to enunciate her h's. "Wish there was private sailing transport," she said.
"That will come again. Do you know if the authorities have been notified of the Gilgamesh's sinking?"
Ida shook her head. "I can get word to them about the sinking. They can see if there are any other survivors," she replied.
Martin slung the satchel over his shoulder, feeling very much like a pilgrim making his way to London in the 13th century, when the paupers of England had to walk long distances by foot, begging bread at the monasteries, or exchanging their labor for a loaf of bread.
"Thank you again, Ida. This is one thing I won't forget," he said, looking into her eyes. If he could, he would have wanted Ida for his mother: a warm, generous heart was all he required. Cooking was optional and good conversation was a bonus.
She smiled at him. "Don't forget to try and brush your teeth," she said, paused a moment, then laughed. "'ere, I mean, here I am, reminding you to brush your teeth." Her own teeth flashed in the morning sunlight.
"I won't forget, mummy," Martin said, a smile playing at his lips.
"Well, on with you, then," she told him, waving her hand. "London's waiting."
Martin looked shocked. "How did you know I was going to London?"
She smiled slyly. "Let's just say a dream told me," she replied.
Martin looked at her hard. A dream? But then, wasn't it the dream of every Englishman, Englishwoman, and English child to see London liberated from the daily bombs? Even the Princess Elizabeth hadn't yet reached her 18th birthday, and rumor had it she wouldn't be declared 'of age' as most 18 years olds are.
Martin rather suspected that Princess Elizabeth was being protected by her parents, but she was always in the Windsor Gardens, helping to plant the war gardens, and she and her sister Margaret had bought large quantities of wool and were in the process of knitting for the soldiers. The Princess would make an exceptional Queen one day, and a Queen whose reign would be far-reaching, not to mention long-lasting.
"Aye, I'm trying to reach London. I don't know how I know, but I know that my friend, Ardeth, is alive and well, and is on his way to London," he told her bluntly.
Ida studied him for a moment before replying. "If I hear anything about him, I'll send word to General Delivery, London, at the post office nearest Buckingham Palace," she told him.
"I'll be sure to check in there," he told her.
"I rather suspect that word of your Ardeth would precede your arrival in London," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Martin smiled. "I rather suspect that as well."
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye," Ida said.
"Yes. It is. I will send word to you about the teaching position in Egypt," Martin said as he turned and began to walk down the garden path towards the main road. He began to hum under his breath: his clothes were clean, as was his body, and his stomach was full of good food and hot tea. He was at home in England, although he dearly missed Egypt. The desert heat, the remains of the Pyramids, the hugeness of the Egyptian setting sun; he missed all of that. Not to mention the baklava, the iced tea, and the conversations he had found himself engaged in as a Priest of Osiris.
Ida watched his back. "Good luck!" she called. She watched Martin raise his right hand in response. His stride was long, and he was nearly at the garden gate when she had called out to him. Could it really be true? Did he really just offer her her greatest dream: to go to Egypt and Palestine? And at the drop of a hat, too!
Ida would be teaching English, of course. English was her native tongue. She supposed she could teach English to a non-native English speaker. She would, of course, teach them to pronounce their h's at the beginnings of words.
While she herself had tended over the years to drop her h's at the beginnings of words, she knew that speakers of Cockney, mainly residing in London, often dropped many sounds from their words, sometimes making their speech incomprehensible to those who didn't speak the English language.
Her resolve strengthened as she turned back to the entranceway to her beachfront home. Just as she was about to enter, she paused a moment and looked around at her property. Her late husband had bought what had been a dilapidated property on the shore just outside of Lizard Point. Over the years that she had had with him, Arnold had refurbished the home and the gardens and the improvements had been quite noticeable.
The Dunham home was the only home within sight, for Arnold had bought up the property on either side, going so far as to trade their four stallions for the property. Now the Dunham property stretched for a forty minute walk on either side of the house--a large enough stretch--Ida now thought, to provide for an exceedingly good subdivision after the war. Selling part of the property would net her a good income for her retirement.
And the income would guarantee that she would be able to support her travels. Plus, she wanted to provide something for her grandchildren to inherit: memories of the stories that their grandmother had lived in Egypt for some years, teaching English and then traveling the world. Ida also wanted to leave her grandchildren an English Estate, replete with gardens and a large plot of land.
Grandchildren were the one thing that Ida hoped her sons would be able to provide for her. For in the event both were killed, there would be a grand-offspring for her to love. Ida found herself fervently hoping that her sons were 'making merry' with French country maidens, maybe one with a small farmhouse and vineyard, and that one day, a young woman toting a young child would appear at her door, telling her in broken French that the child she carried was Ida's grandchild.
Ida turned around, and looked at the dot that was Martin. She wished him well in his quest--and hoped he would find his Ardeth. Thinking of Ardeth caused Ida to remember that the sinking of the Gilgamesh would need to be reported, so instead of going inside her home, Ida took her coat off the hook just inside the doorway, put on her coat, shut the door, and went to inform the authorities about the sinking of the Gilgamesh.
The Grayson Pub, September 23, 1940, just before David's late bedtime
"Tell me a story, Arthur!" David asked of his new friend, leading him by the hand to a couch nestled cozily by the fireplace. Ardeth was babysitting, for Martha had gone to saddle up the stallion Ardeth had rented from her. He'd paid her with the gold pinky ring he had worn on his right hand.
Ardeth smiled. There was something totally irresistable about David which struck a chord in Ardeth's heart. And Ardeth couldn't help but respond warmly. Perhaps it was the irresistable lure of the very young which had caused Ardeth to express more emotions than he'd expressed to anyone. In the few hours which had passed since his rescue, Ardeth had found himself smiling at, hugging, and singing to this irresistable young child.
"What story shall I tell you?" he asked David as the two sat down on the couch. David looked at Ardeth, then decided to sit on his new friend's knee.
"Stories about Egypt!"
Should he tell a myth? Or stories from his childhood travels across the Sahara? He looked at the smiling blonde youngster and remembered that four year olds liked stories about magic.
Making his decision, he replied, "This is a story about magic spells."
"Yeahhhhh!" David cheered, clapping his hands.
"It's called Siosire and the Magician of Nubia:"
"Holding a sealed letter up to Rameses, a Nubian boy asked, "Can anyone here read this letter without opening it? If there is none wise enough to do so, all of Nubia shall know of Egypt's shame."
Perplexed, and still distressed over the recent death of his father, Seti, Rameses, the second to hold that Throne Name, called for Prince Setna, the most learned of his sons. But Setna was baffled by the puzzle.
Not wanting to shame Egypt, he parried and asked for ten days' grace so that he may solve the puzzle put forth by the Nubian. But he was worried and fretted during the ten days of grace that he had been granted.
Setna's son, Siosire, had asked his father what was wrong. When he was told of the Nubian puzzle, Siosire said, "Why Father! I can read that letter!"
Setna was puzzled even more but he got a papyrus scroll from his wooden chest and Siosire read the contents without unrolling it."
____________
"What's a papryus?" David interrupted.
"It's Egyptian writing paper," Ardeth explained, then continued his tale.
____________
"Setna was astonished and the next day Siosire and Setna went to Rameses and the young Nubian. Siosire proceeded to tell the court what the Nubian's scroll contained."
___________
"What's Nubian?" David interrupted again.
"Nubia is a country just south of Egypt and the citizens are referred to as Nubians," Ardeth replied. He softened his voice, in order to relax the child for sleep.
____________
"One thousand, five hundred floodings ago, the Prince of Nubia had used the powers of his great magician Sa-Neheset to bring Egypt's pharoah to the Nubian court. The Prince of Nubia then administered a brutal beating to the pharoah.
Shamed, the pharoah sought help from his own magician, Sa-Paneshe and the two great magicians began a great struggle.
In the end, Sa-Paneshe triumphed and the Nubian sorcerer vowed not to return to Egypt for one and a half thousand floodings.
At the end of his reading, Siosire said, "This Nubian boy is really Sa-Neheset reincarnated after one and a half thousand floodings. But I am the reincarnation of Sa-Paneshe and I challenge him once again!"
Immdiately, Sa-Neheset began to recite spells, which were countered by Sa-Paneshe. Thunder roiled, lightning struck, and the earth shook but the two magicians were locked in a great battle.
Finally, the reincarnation of Sa-Paneshe sent a fire-spell which rendered Sa-Neheset's magic useless and Sa-Neheset was consumed in the flames.
But as Setna and Rameses watched, their faces full of pride for Egypt, Sa-Paneshe disappeared. The voice of Osiris said that he had called Sa-Paneshe back to the underworld."
Martha cut in, "Time for bed, David," she said, reaching out for her son. David allowed himself to be picked up. Her cheeks were ruddy from the chilly night. "The horse is saddled up and ready," she told Ardeth. Ardeth hadn't heard her come in the front door of the pub.
"That was a good story, Arthur! Good night, Arthur! You need to come back soon!" David said cheerfully, then yawned. He'd been forgiven for purloining the telescope, he'd learned a new story tonight and his new friend Arthur had said he'd try to come back and see David. All this put David in a fine mood to go to sleep and it showed on his four year old face. He yawned again.
"Good night, David. I will try to come back here as soon as I can," Ardeth softly replied, smiling again at David. In the past few hours, he'd found he couldn't help but smile whenever David was the room--somehow David managed to dispel the gloom Ardeth's heart had felt everytime people were wrenched from their lives and suddenly transported through the Crossroads of Time.
"He'll miss you, Arthur," Martha said, settling David on her left hip. For his part, David put his head on his mum's shoulder. "When there's a need for overnight messages or deliveries, we have a network of riders who bring food, letters and supplies along the Cornish coastline," she said.
"That would work with physicians as well," Ardeth commented, thinking of a young child living more than a few kilometers from the nearest physician.
Martha nodded and took off her heavy pea jacket. Placing the jacket over the top of the couch, she replied, "With the fuel war rations and the blackout restrictions, we found that horses are the best way to transport lightweight loads."
"I am at home with horses," Ardeth replied easily, then made his next request. "Would you send a telegram to London, attention of Rick O'Connell?"
"What shall I tell him?" Martha asked.
"Just that I'm on my way to London," Ardeth replied.
"That I will do, Arthur Bey. Good luck," she said, turning to walk out of the room, David's head on her shoulder.
"Thank you, Martha."
David twisted around and called sleepily over his mother's shoulder.
"Arthur, would you tuck me in?" David inquired as his mother walked towards the second staircase located next to the kitchen.
"If your mother says yes, then I would be pleased," Ardeth replied.
"Mummy?" David entreatied his mother. She chuckled and nodded her head. "Yeaaah!" David's soft voice, full of sleep, replied. Ardeth followed Martha up the stairs towards the pub's front apartment.
Martha pulled the covers up under David's chin and Ardeth leaned forward to kiss David on the forehead. "Sing me a lullaby," the four year old murmured as he settled back into the warmth the bed provided.
Martha chuckled softly. "Insistent, aren't you?" she asked of her son as a soft humming was heard.
David nodded his head as he simultaneously gave a big yawn. He'd never been awake this late before and Ardeth's soft humming was soothing. David settled back into the fluffy pillow, closing his blue eyes. Memories of the day's events flashed before his eyes and softly, David heard Ardeth sing in another language.
David's eyes fluttered as soft humming began again. Ardeth's soft voice filled David's ears as Ardeth sang,
What is it, little one?
My good little one,
My brave little one
My dear little one
What is it, little one?
Be still, I will stroke your fingers
I kiss the sweat from your brow
I will stay near you
You and I belong together
Martha put her finger to her lips and motioned Ardeth out of David's room. The child was fast asleep, Martha softly closed the door and caught up with Ardeth.
"What language were you singing in?"
"Tamasheqt. It is the language of my people, the Tuareg."
"It's beautiful. That was a Tuareg lullaby you sang?"
Ardeth nodded, a smile playing on his red lips. "And one my mother used to sing to me when I was little. She always hummed the lullaby before starting to sing," he said. "I translated the words into English when my friends Rick and Evie O'Connell had their son Alex," he finished.
"Tuareg," Martha said thoughtfully. "Do they have a king?" she asked as they descended the stairs back to the pub's main level.
"Not a king, a commander. My tribe is a confederation and we are part of the Tuareg people known as the Medjai," he replied as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned to look at Martha. "The Medjai now protect Hamunuptra and in the time of the Pharaohs, the Medjai were the Pharoah's sacred bodyguards," he finished.
"You would have protected King Tut?" she asked, disclosing her unabashed interest in things Egyptian and this was interesting information Ardeth was telling her.
"Yes. As the Medjai, my ancestors protected the boy-king," Ardeth said, knowing the English fascination with the tomb of King Tut. He looked in Martha's eyes. "I thank you again, Martha. I owe my life to you and your son David. You and your family have earned the eternal thanks of my tribe."
Martha didn't know what to say, so she said the obvious. "You're welcome."
He picked up a leather satchel that Martha had provided which contained extra blankets and a supply of food until he reached the next stop nearly seventy kilometers down the coastline. Opening the door, a chill wind blew into the pub.
Martha shivered. "Cold night out," she commented.
"The Sahara, at night, gets so cold that ice forms in the tea pots," he told Martha. The Tuareg were predilected towards their foaming tea ceremony--and the Tuareg preferred green tea in particular--and Ardeth's statement was true: at times, the Sahara could get so cold at night ice formed from water and people were known to have frozen to death in the desert night.
Ardeth's stallion mount saw him and neighed a greeting. Ardeth chuckled. "Good evening to you!" he said as he stepped through the door and turning one last time to look at Martha, he smiled at her and shut the door.
Ensuring the satchel was secure on his mount, he swung himself into the saddle. Ardeth was about to nudge the horse into action when the pub's door opened.
"I won't forget to send a telegram to Rick O'Connell in London!" Martha said.
"I appreciate it, Martha," Ardeth replied.
Martha started to shut the door, then her curiosity got the better of her. "Ardeth? Who is the commander of the Medjai?"
"I am," he replied as his heels came down on the stallion's flank and the magnificent horse galloped towards London.
"Commander of the Medjai," Martha repeated as she looked after Ardeth. She shut the door, then went to the bookshelf and pulled out the book on King Tut and Ancient Egypt. Sitting down on the couch, she began to read enthusiastically about the young boy-king who had ruled Egypt more than three thousand years ago and whose artisans had fashioned such exquisite objects of gold and ivory.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Beachfront home near Lizard Point, Cornwall, late September 1940, after sunset
"Just 'ow did you get to England?" Ida, suspicious, and dropping the h's at the beginning of her words, was asking Martin as she spooned mashed potatoes onto Martin's plate. The two were seated at Ida's dining room table.
"My friend Ardeth and I were deckhands on the Gilgamesh."
"The supply ferry!" Ida was alarmed. "Did Roger survive?" True concern showed in her voice. "He's known from Plymouth down to Land's End."
Unwittingly echoing Ardeth's words, Martin replied, "I'm not sure how many survived. I was traveling with an Egyptian, Ardeth Bey. We were both washed overboard when a freak wave washed over the ferry's deck. I'm not even sure how many were washed overboard."
Ida sat down on the chair, hard. A small oomph came out of her mouth. She fought to keep back tears. "Roger. A good man, Roger was."
"Let's hold out hope. He may have been washed ashore," Martin said, reaching over the table and patted her hand.
Ida sniffed back her tears. "Stiff upper lip, I know. English thing to do. Roger was supposed to be ferrying back the mail from the troops stationed there. My boys, both of them, are stationed in Paris and I was expecting letters from them."
Martin sucked in his breath. Ida had sent off her two sons to war. "I sent my 'usband off to the first war. 'e served with Sigfried Sassoon, same regiment, even wounded the same day Siefried was. 'e came 'ome but 'e was never the same after that. Our twin sons were born nine months after their daddy came 'ome. But my 'usband died the night the twins were born. 'eart attack," she told Martin, sniffing back more tears.
"And now your twins are off in war," Martin stated. Ida nodded.
"Tis the way of war: they take your 'usbands, then they take your sons. Mums never win," she replied. "Now let's 'ear your story. 'ow did you meet a man from Egypt?"
Martin spooned mashed potatoes into his mouth. Ida had mixed in rosemary and garlic before roasting the potatoes before deciding to mash them. The potatoes were hot. And delicious.
He ran the events of the last month through his mind. "I enjoy being in Egypt," he began.
Ida nodded assent. "King Tut's what got me fascinated in going there. Always wanted to go, but with my 'usband dead and two young boys to raise, I never could afford to go."
"I met Ardeth in Cairo," he began to say but Ida interrupted him again.
"Milk? Fresh from the udder, boiled then chilled."
"Yes. Milk would be fine." Martha poured the milk. "Where was I? Oh, Cairo. Ardeth and I were traveling in Libya when we ran out of money in Tripoli. So we signed on as deckhands to a French supply boat."
"Ah, working your way back to England, eh?" Ida asked, smiling through her sniffles.
Martin chuckled. "It's something like that."
"Ow did you get to Cherbourg? Fighting lines are thick and fast in France with the Nazis there," Ida commented, taking up a glass and pouring milk for herself. "The cow was the best investment I ever made. Even if I didn't get to take the kids on vacation that year."
"When did you buy the cow?" Martin asked, hoping to buy himself some time to work out an adequate cover story.
"Six years ago," she replied, smiling. "But 'ow did you get through the lines?" she insisted.
"We hitchhiked until we arrived in Paris. We couldn't go any further by car."
Martha sneered. "Nazis occupy Paris."
Martin nodded. "Ardeth thought it too risky to walk to Cherbourg, so we bought horses," Martin stuffed a spoonful of potatoes into his mouth, chewed a bit, then swallowed. "And rode by horseback to Cherbourg."
"You rode from Paris to Cherbourg? And the Nazi's didn't catch you?" Ida asked. "Your Ardeth must be very courageous or else he's very favored."
"We rode at night and no, the Nazi's didn't seem to see us," Martin replied, stuffing another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. Now that Ida mentioned it, it did seem strange that although he and Ardeth had passed dozens of Nazi encampments on the way to the French shore of the English Channel, not one Nazi soldier had paid any attention to the two men riding either in a lorry or riding past Nazi encampments on galloping horses.
"If they had seen you, you wouldn't be sitting here today," Ida rightly proclaimed, drinking the milk.
Martin nodded. "If you would please, may I have some of that vegetable stew?" Martin asked Ida. His stomach was empty of water now, and he discovered he was famished.
He plucked a hot piece of black rye bread from the basket Ida had on her table and buttered it, then took a huge bite of the bread. Ida grew her own vegetable garden, replete with potatoes and herbs; she sold most of the herbs.
War rations were beginning to be hard on everyone, including Ida, but she always had enough bread. With the milk from her cow, Ida always had fresh butter. She kept a small portion for herself, used mainly for guests, and sold or traded the rest of the butter.
Ida nodded and got up to get a bowl from the antique sideboard. Filling the bowl from the pot of vegetable stew, she placed the bowl in front of Martin.
He took up a spoon, dipped the spoon into the stew, then paused as something occured to him. The Nazis assuredly had not seen him, Ardeth (and any traveling companions), nor had the Nazis heard the sounds of galloping horses passing their encampments.
Since their trip down the temporarily full Libyan wadi, the Bracelet had thrummed with power. From his past life, and from his studies in his current life, Martin was aware that heka, the divine creative force which has existed since the beginning of time, was used by the first gods to bring the world into being.
Isis and Thoth were the two gods most associated with Egyptian magic. Martin knew Thoth was considered to have invented hieroglyphics, and thus Thoth brought Egypt into the civiilized world to rival the Mesopotamian world and their cuneiform scripts already invented. Written magic was extremely powerful and as the inventor of hieroglyphics, Thoth was also considered to have invented magic.
But Isis was the most accomplished magician. And the Pyramid Texts on Imhotep's Step Pyramid incorporated the tale of Isis using magic to resurrect her husband/brother Osiris after Seth had murdered him.
Queen Lostris had been tasked by Pharaoh Tamose with protecting the double crown of Egypt. What the Pharaoh, dying from an infected lung wound inflicted by the Hyksos, had meant was that the Regent Queen Lostris was to protect the heir to the Horus Throne, Prince Memnon. She had protected the five year old by exiling him, herself, Tanus, Taita and thousands of loyal subjects for twenty years--until the Prince came of age--in the land south of the sixth cataract of the Nile.
And Taita had been in love with Lostris and had mummified her body after her death of uterine cancer in her early forties. But Taita had taken a lock of her hair and kept it with him, until at the end of his life when he embedded the lock of hair into the softened electrum he was using to fashion the Bracelet of Lostris.
And there were protective spells attributed to either Isis or Thoth that Taita, as a hery-heb--a lector priest (better known as a warlock)--could have uttered when fashioning the Bracelet. A magic spell, perhaps from the Book of Thoth, had obviously been used during the creation of the Bracelet of Lostris.
Martin had come to this nearly-instant conclusion because thinking back on his and Ardeth's trip from the Mediterranean Sea to the French shore of the English Channel in Nazi occupied France, it now seemed impossible that the two men could have slipped unnoticed by Nazi encampments without magical help.
Especially since he and Ardeth, on no less than a dozen occasions, had been driven past, or had galloped on horses, past fully alert Nazi officers who appeared to be looking straight at the travelers.
But the travelers had been totally ignored by the Nazis.
This last fact indicated that the wily Taita had indeed uttered a protective spell over the Bracelet, a spell which obviously conferred invisibility to the wearer in extreme situations.
Now Martin desperately wanted a copy of the magical text known as the Book of Thoth, which had purportedly contained spells to raise the dead and spells to gain dominion over the sky above, the earth below and all the living creatures which dwell on land and in the sea.
Although the Greeks and Romans rewrote the Book of Thoth as the Hermetica, a original copy of the Book of Thoth had not been found. Perhaps, Martin thought, the Hermetica contained protection spells which might prove useful to their current situation.
"Eh? That's a pretty good dream, isn't it? Going to see the Pyramids when the war is over and then on to an around the world trip," Ida was saying, apparently oblivious to Martin's woolgathering.
"Absolutely a wonderful idea. Where else would you go?" he asked, scooping up a spoonful of thick vegetable stew.
"After the war, I suppose this 'ouse could be rented or sold as a vacation 'ouse. I'm still strong yet and I could work in the olive fields of Greece. Perhaps Perth and Sydney. And the United States. I always 'eard there were fields of corn and wheat there," Ida continued to chatter about her around the world trip as Martin ate. A fire crackled in the fireplace.
And Martin's soul could feel the Bracelet thrumming. For a moment, the thrumming seemed to intensify, then drifted into the back of Martin's mind, where the thrumming stayed as a comforting presence as Ida's chatter filled his ears.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Land's End, September 24, 1940, The Grayson Pub private apartment, dawn
Mar-aha was awakened before dawn by an overnight temple servant who had found it necessary to contract herself to the Temple of Osiris for a short time. Mar-aha stood up, and allowed the servant to slip the fine linen sleeping gown off of Mar-aha's young lithe body.
She smoothed her hands over her taut abdomen, and down her thighs--dancer's legs, she thought. Born in Egypt to foreign parents who came from the land north of the Black Sea, Mar-aha would turn twenty years on the fifteenth day of the third month of Shemu. Twenty years of age was a milestone, for many people did not live to see their fortieth year.
Hunro led Mar-aha to the small enclosure that served as a bath. Mar-aha stepped over the ankle high wall and allowed Hunro to rub natron on her body and then pour warm water that ran in rivulets down the taut muscles of Mar-aha's body.
After bathing, Hunro rubbed Mar-aha's body with scented oil and then oiled Mar-aha's shaven scalp. Hunro would have to shave Mar-aha's head again after morning prayers. Face paint was applied next and Mar-aha especially liked the green malachite powder applied to lids of her grey eyes. Gold dust was applied to Mar-aha's body so that she would shimmer in Ra's golden rays.
Mar-aha's wig was placed on her head and Mar-aha was finally ready to take up the sistrum and dance for Osiris. She wore no clothes, preferring to dance unencumbered for the God.
Shaking the sistrum, Mar-aha went dancing out of her chamber and joined the other temple dancers as they danced and shook the sistrum behind the priests of the Temple. The priests chanted and prayed to Osiris.
The priests offered the food to sustain the God and Mar-aha felt when the God partook of the spirit of the food. She danced and shook her sistrum. Placing her sistrum on the finely hewn stone floor, Mar-aha bent herself backward and tumbled before the statue of the God of Osiris.
Mar-aha hoped with all her ka that her dancing pleased the God. She especially needed his blessing today.
For today was the Pharoah's natal day and Mar-aha had been selected to be one of the dancers who would dance before the God-King.
"Mummy! Wake up!" David shouted, jumping up and down on Martha's bed and interrupting Martha's dream. She blinked a few times, then rubbed her blue eyes.
"Oomph! Can't it wait until morning?" she groggily asked her exuberant son, who preferred to wake up with the sun.
"It is morning!" he cheerfully said. "Do you think Arthur is okay?" he asked, a worry line transecting his smooth forehead. He'd learned to dress himself, but this morning found David wearing the same clothes as yesterday: blue jeans and a dark green turtleneck wool sweater.
"I think he's okay, David. Why don't you go brush your teeth?" she suggested, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. She wanted her dream to continue; she wanted to dream about living in an ancient time, living in ancient Egypt. Martha suspected her reading the book on the treasures of King Tut, and Arthur's rescue, had had something to do with her pleasant dream.
But David had been through this morning ritual before, and he knew his mother was trying to get rid of him so she could sleep a little more. She could take a nap later on, at the same time he did, David reasoned to himself. So he replied, "No!"
Then he began to tickle his mother. Obligingly, she burst out into laughter.
"When you laugh, you're awake, so you have to make my breakfast now!" he intoned, a big smile nearly splitting his face in two.
Martha groaned a mock groan, long and low. David just laughed.
"Okay, okay. I'll get up. We are a bit luckier than most, you know," she told her son.
"I know! We get lots of sugar and tea and flour and other stuff from the sailors!" he practically shouted. He was a happy child, too young to really know what the Blitzkreig was, too young to know about war. David knew about the sun, the sea, and happy times and Martha desperately wanted David to hang onto his childhood innocence for as long as possible.
"And, we have eight chickens, a cow and a vegetable garden like the Queen planted at Windsor Castle," she told her son.
"We have ten chickens," David corrected.
"Ten?"
"Ten," he agreed vigorously.
She smiled, and tickled her son. "How do you know we have ten chickens?" she asked.
David held up his fingers and put each finger down as he counted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten! We have as many chickens as I have fingers on my hands!" he told his mother, then kissed her on the cheek. "Let's go make my breakfast," he ordered, climbing down off the bed and charging out the bedroom door.
"Yes, my king!" she said to the empty doorway.
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Land's End, telegraph office, September 24, 1940
"The first inquiry is a general inquiry. I am in possession of two more chickens than I had last night," she told William Barnstone, the telegraph operator, as she put a large leather shopper bag which had been given to her by a Spanish sailor in return for room and board for a few month. Leather was a luxury for Martha, even in peacetime.
Martha had discovered David was right in his assertations: there were ten chickens in her chicken yard. The newcomers were both roosters. Martha had left David in the care of Thomas Wheaton, who would be leaving the Grayson Pub late that afternoon.
"Full grown?" Will asked. Full grown chickens were Cornwallian's pride and joy, for they provided fresh eggs every day.
Martha nodded. She opened her mouth to add that the gender of the fowls was male but decided to keep that information from her general notice. She thought she'd be able to root out false reports of missing fowl birds.
Then the day faded, and for a moment, she was back in her dream dancing as Mar-aha once again.
"And the second inquiry?" Will asked, interrupting her daydream. Will was a few years younger then her own age, which was thirty.
"This telegram needs to get to Rick O'Connell in London."
"Address?"
Martha again opened her mouth to give an address, but realized that Arthur hadn't given an address. She thought a moment, then made a decision.
"Could we send it general delivery?"
William looked over his wire rim glasses at her. "General delivery? How's he going to know the telegram arrived?"
"You're right. I suppose I'll have to send a letter, but,"
"But you still don't have an address," Will finished for her. Martha nodded.
"Well, still let the village know about the missing chickens, Will. I'd like to ask a favor."
"Sure thing,"
"I'd like to save most of the money I earn from the pub. I've got a healthy barter going on, especially with the foreign sailors. I'd like to do the same thing here," she reached into her shopper. Pulling out a smaller bag, she placed it on the counter.
Will stood up and looked in the bag. "Tea! And sugar!" He pulled out the items and looked at the items. The tea was in a tin, loose, and the tin proclaimed the tea authentic Fortnum & Mason.
"Earl Grey!" Will exclaimed.
"The American brought it from New York. Along with the sugar. Left them as payment for his meals and lodging," Martha said.
"Eh, war's so bad we've to get our tea from New York City," Will said, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and he was grinning hugely. "Uh, sure, Martha. You know, bartering's probably a good idea. I've got several fields of potatoes. I'll spread the word around about the bartering system," he finished, fingering the bag of sugar before going over to the small alcove which served as a kitchen.
"Thank you," Martha said, picking up her shopper bag. Turning, she heard the sounds of Will putting his newfound objects away in the cupboard. She also heard the soft click of a lock. "War. Now we have to lock up our food," she thought to herself as she reached out her hand to open the door.
"Martha? I've an idea on how to reach your Rick O'Connell."
"How?" She turned back to face Will, pulling her Campbell plaid overcoat tighter around her. The early morning was chilly and she had a bit of a walk to get back to the pub.
"I'll put an an ad in The Mirror."
Martha smiled: problem solved. "That should do it."
Will walked back to his desk and picked up a pencil. "What shall I say?"
Martha thought a moment. "To: Rick O'Connell, London. King Arthur is coming to London."
The pencil stopped scritching. "King Arthur?" he asked.
Arthur said he was Commander of the Medjai but that doesn't sound right to my ears, she thought. Commander Arthur is coming to London? Remembering her dream, she said,
"To Rick O'Connell, London. King Arthur is coming to London," Martha repeated.
"Got that. I'll put the ad through to the Mirror. If he can get the paper daily, he should see it in tomorrow's paper. If not, maybe someone will point out your ad to him."
"I hope so. It seems to be the only way to get a message to him. Thank you, Will. Stop round by the pub this evening and I'll make you dinner." She knew Will was a bachelor.
"Will do. And I'll be there. Thank you!" he said as the door banged into Martha.
"Ouch!" she said, then thought of something. "Will? Could you have that ad run for a week?"
"Sure thing, Martha," Will replied.
"Sorry about that. Hullo, Will!" Hullo, Martha!" Joshua Mills said as he hefted a sack of letters to be posted in that day's mail. The two men started to talk and Martha chose that time to leave.
Leaving the telegraph office, she thought about Arthur and wondered how soon it would be before he arrived in London.
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Lizard Point, beachfront home, dawn, September 24, 1940
For his part, Martin had been much obliged to Ida for her hospitality. And like Ardeth, he could only feel a tenuous link between the men.
Leaving Lizard Point the morning after Ardeth had left meant that Ardeth had passed Lizard Point sometime in the night, without Martin's knowing about Ardeth passing.
This bit of knowledge had distressed Martin, for it seemed like the forces of the Dark One were keen on keeping Martin in the proverbial dark.
However, as Martin knew that Ardeth was trying to get to London, he felt that he too would make his way to London and meet up with Ardeth there.
So he'd left Ida Dunham and her hospitality, much to Ida's dismay. She had sent her two sons off to war, as she'd sent her husband off to the first World War, and Ida was much worried about his safety.
Naturally, Martin had reassured her he would be fine. When she had inquired, "But 'ow do you know you'll be okay?" (and Martin loved the way Ida dropped her h's only at the beginnings of words), her eyes showed deep concern.
He had studied her for a moment, then, knowing the utter fascination of the English with the minor boy-King Tut, he'd replied, "I'm a reincarnation of an ancient Egyptian priest."
"My lands! A real reincarnated Egyptian in my 'ouse! 'ow did you know?" Ida had accepted the concept of reincarnation readily and Martin suspected that Ida, as a single woman living alone with her military husband deceased and her twin sons both active in the current war, would want to hang onto a concept of living again. He suspected the Egyptian concept of being reunited in the afterlife and reincarnation appealed to her senses.
Precisely at that moment, Martin knew what he could do to repay her hospitality: he would arrange for her a position to teach English in Egypt.
Martin shrugged his shoulder. "Dreams, mostly. Vivid dreams of Egyptian vistas, when the Pyramids were smooth sided with white limestone and the Pyramidions--the capstones--were gilded in solid gold. Those magnificent vistas were in the background as I stood in the Red Land, the desert, and looked upwards at the Pyramids. I could feel the heat of the desert and knew I was, at last, home."
Ida had sucked in her breath. "My!" she'd exclaimed. "Wish I 'ad dreams like that."
"You know," Martin began cautiously, for he didn't know how to breach this subject, then an idea began to form in his head--an idea which had sprung from the seeds of the conversation they'd had the night before during dinner. "I have had some employment in Egypt, and there is a need for the hospitality service to learn English."
"Really? I thought Arabic and French were the languages of Egypt!"
"They are. Arabic is a Semitic language, related to Hebrew and the ancient Akkadian and Sumerian languages. French, naturally, became a second language for many when the French conquered Egypt."
"Je parle Francias," she replied, then laughed. "But not very good. I understand more than I can speak."
"In Cairo, there is a growing need to learn English to accommodate the foreign tourists. I can arrange for you some employment. In exchange for room and board, you would be teaching English. You would need to re-acquaint yourself with adding your h's to the beginnings of your words," Martin told an increasingly excited Ida, whose eyes glittered brightly with the idea of going to Egypt.
"Yes, yes. I can do that, add my h's," she said, then thought carefully. Speaking slowly, she said "Howard had help hanging hyssops high," she said. "And 'ow's, I mean how is that?"
Martin smiled. "Teaching English will be a slow process anyways. You would need to speak slowly at first, then gradually increase the speed of your conversation to attenuate the Arabic ear," he said.
"I can do that," she said slowly. "I won an elocution award as a girl and I only gradually dropped my h's as I grew older," she replied.
"English did form from an archaic sub branch of German and there are a lot of ways to pronounce the vowels. And English has one of the most unusual vowels sounds of all--the sounds in 'bird' and 'heard'. Those sounds are almost unheard of in other languages. Perhaps one of the 'clicking' languages of South Africa has those sounds," Martin told her, deciding to cut short his impromptu speech on the development of the English language. Was there anyone else who understood--and enjoyed--the rather esoteric beginnings of his mother tongue?
"Would I be able go to after the war?" she asked. "And would I be able to go to Palestine? See Jericho?" she inquired, visibly excited, and her reddening cheeks showed her excitement.
Martin nodded. "There are many transports available to Palestine."
"If you could arrange that for me, I would be most appreciative," she replied.
"Not as appreciative as I," he told her. "If you hadn't found me, I don't know if I would have lived."
She smiled, her white teeth flashing in the early morning light. "You are welcome. Here," she said with a bit of an emphasis on the 'h', "this is a bag of food: bread, onions and cheese. You can stop off at farms in Cornwall and Devon. It's nearing harvest time and there will be need of hired hands to help with the various crops," she finished, holding out a satchel to Martin.
"Thank you, Ida. I will send word to my place of employment in Egypt and have them contact you regarding a position," Martin said, accepting the satchel of food.
"Transport will have to be by foot, unless you can hitch a ride with someone," Ida continued. "Blackout and rations mean that fuel is used sparingly, and we 'ere in Cornwall tend to conserve fuel for the transport of crops," Ida said, and Martin noted Ida was making an effort to enunciate her h's. "Wish there was private sailing transport," she said.
"That will come again. Do you know if the authorities have been notified of the Gilgamesh's sinking?"
Ida shook her head. "I can get word to them about the sinking. They can see if there are any other survivors," she replied.
Martin slung the satchel over his shoulder, feeling very much like a pilgrim making his way to London in the 13th century, when the paupers of England had to walk long distances by foot, begging bread at the monasteries, or exchanging their labor for a loaf of bread.
"Thank you again, Ida. This is one thing I won't forget," he said, looking into her eyes. If he could, he would have wanted Ida for his mother: a warm, generous heart was all he required. Cooking was optional and good conversation was a bonus.
She smiled at him. "Don't forget to try and brush your teeth," she said, paused a moment, then laughed. "'ere, I mean, here I am, reminding you to brush your teeth." Her own teeth flashed in the morning sunlight.
"I won't forget, mummy," Martin said, a smile playing at his lips.
"Well, on with you, then," she told him, waving her hand. "London's waiting."
Martin looked shocked. "How did you know I was going to London?"
She smiled slyly. "Let's just say a dream told me," she replied.
Martin looked at her hard. A dream? But then, wasn't it the dream of every Englishman, Englishwoman, and English child to see London liberated from the daily bombs? Even the Princess Elizabeth hadn't yet reached her 18th birthday, and rumor had it she wouldn't be declared 'of age' as most 18 years olds are.
Martin rather suspected that Princess Elizabeth was being protected by her parents, but she was always in the Windsor Gardens, helping to plant the war gardens, and she and her sister Margaret had bought large quantities of wool and were in the process of knitting for the soldiers. The Princess would make an exceptional Queen one day, and a Queen whose reign would be far-reaching, not to mention long-lasting.
"Aye, I'm trying to reach London. I don't know how I know, but I know that my friend, Ardeth, is alive and well, and is on his way to London," he told her bluntly.
Ida studied him for a moment before replying. "If I hear anything about him, I'll send word to General Delivery, London, at the post office nearest Buckingham Palace," she told him.
"I'll be sure to check in there," he told her.
"I rather suspect that word of your Ardeth would precede your arrival in London," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Martin smiled. "I rather suspect that as well."
"Well, then, I guess it's goodbye," Ida said.
"Yes. It is. I will send word to you about the teaching position in Egypt," Martin said as he turned and began to walk down the garden path towards the main road. He began to hum under his breath: his clothes were clean, as was his body, and his stomach was full of good food and hot tea. He was at home in England, although he dearly missed Egypt. The desert heat, the remains of the Pyramids, the hugeness of the Egyptian setting sun; he missed all of that. Not to mention the baklava, the iced tea, and the conversations he had found himself engaged in as a Priest of Osiris.
Ida watched his back. "Good luck!" she called. She watched Martin raise his right hand in response. His stride was long, and he was nearly at the garden gate when she had called out to him. Could it really be true? Did he really just offer her her greatest dream: to go to Egypt and Palestine? And at the drop of a hat, too!
Ida would be teaching English, of course. English was her native tongue. She supposed she could teach English to a non-native English speaker. She would, of course, teach them to pronounce their h's at the beginnings of words.
While she herself had tended over the years to drop her h's at the beginnings of words, she knew that speakers of Cockney, mainly residing in London, often dropped many sounds from their words, sometimes making their speech incomprehensible to those who didn't speak the English language.
Her resolve strengthened as she turned back to the entranceway to her beachfront home. Just as she was about to enter, she paused a moment and looked around at her property. Her late husband had bought what had been a dilapidated property on the shore just outside of Lizard Point. Over the years that she had had with him, Arnold had refurbished the home and the gardens and the improvements had been quite noticeable.
The Dunham home was the only home within sight, for Arnold had bought up the property on either side, going so far as to trade their four stallions for the property. Now the Dunham property stretched for a forty minute walk on either side of the house--a large enough stretch--Ida now thought, to provide for an exceedingly good subdivision after the war. Selling part of the property would net her a good income for her retirement.
And the income would guarantee that she would be able to support her travels. Plus, she wanted to provide something for her grandchildren to inherit: memories of the stories that their grandmother had lived in Egypt for some years, teaching English and then traveling the world. Ida also wanted to leave her grandchildren an English Estate, replete with gardens and a large plot of land.
Grandchildren were the one thing that Ida hoped her sons would be able to provide for her. For in the event both were killed, there would be a grand-offspring for her to love. Ida found herself fervently hoping that her sons were 'making merry' with French country maidens, maybe one with a small farmhouse and vineyard, and that one day, a young woman toting a young child would appear at her door, telling her in broken French that the child she carried was Ida's grandchild.
Ida turned around, and looked at the dot that was Martin. She wished him well in his quest--and hoped he would find his Ardeth. Thinking of Ardeth caused Ida to remember that the sinking of the Gilgamesh would need to be reported, so instead of going inside her home, Ida took her coat off the hook just inside the doorway, put on her coat, shut the door, and went to inform the authorities about the sinking of the Gilgamesh.
