Chapter Twenty Five

The Servants of Sobek

Ezbekiyya District, downtown Cairo, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

Situated on the east bank of the Nile and sited towards the centre of Cairo, indeed scarce a stone's throw from the opulence and sophistication that was Shepheard's Hotel, the sprawling district of Ezbekiyya was an area of startling contrasts. For here one might find St. Mark's Cathedral, the seat of the Coptic popes of the city, the well-known Opera House standing on the Mīdān Ōberā commissioned by the Khedive Ismail Pasha to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, and also the Ezbekiyya Gardens. These comprised some twenty or more acres of beautifully manicured gardens, planted with all manner of exotic trees which fringed a succession of winding pathways, with at their heart a large ornamental lake upon which swans and other birds could be found swimming, all of which provided for the inhabitants of Cairo a very welcome cool, verdant oasis of green amidst the incessant heat and choking dust of the city. Here also stood both the Eden Palace Hotel and the Hotel Bristol, both of which were situated on the opposite side of the square from the Opera House. Taken together, one would therefore be forgiven for thinking that this was an area of elegance, refinement, and wealth. However, this was but one side of the whole that made up the district of Ezbekiyya and to which there was a far seamier side.

For while the elegant facade of the Eden Palace Hotel on Sharia-al-Genaineh might well gaze serenely out across the wide treed oasis which were the Ezbekiyya Gardens, the back door of the very same hotel opened onto the Wagh al-Birket, a street occupied for the most part of its length by a string of seedy brothels just as there might be found in any great city, be it London or Dublin. Understandably, this did not do much for the reputation of the Eden Palace Hotel which had suffered yet more ignominy during the Great War when Cairo had seen an enormous influx of British soldiers and the hotel had become rather more akin to a saloon in the Wild West rather than what it had once been.

Much of the district of Ezbekiyya was made up of a rabbit warren of poor streets, lined with decaying buildings, which housed not only the afore-mentioned bordellos and brothels such as those to be found on Wagh al-Birket and which catered for all manner of sexual tastes and perversions, but also cabarets, cinemas, dance halls and theatres such as the Printania on Alfi Bey Street where Mounira al-Mahdiyya had made her acting debut in 1915; the Ramses on Emad al- din Street which had started life as the Radium Cinema, and on Bab al-Bahri street the Alhambra Casino where the singer Naima al-Masriyya had performed throughout the 1920s and to whom the former French prime minister George Clemenceau, who had been so impressed by her performance, that he had sent her a bottle of champagne.

With its many entertainment venues, some built precariously one upon another, Ezbekiyya was principally a late-night world, one where, despite Egypt being a country the population of which was predominantly Moslem, alcohol flowed in abundance, the haunt of prostitutes, music-hall singers, dancers and actresses; those who could be considered to live on the margins of polite society A disorderly demi-monde of both crime and prostitution, an underworld of riotous parties, possessed of a nightlife, the debauchery and decadence of which rivalled that to be found on offer in Soho in London and Montmartre in Paris, as well as along the Motzstraße in Berlin, so well known to Thomas Barrow and his chum Günther.


London, England, early May 1937.

Over 2,000 miles from Cairo was another bustling metropolis: that of London. Capital city not only of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, but also that of the fifty seven Dominions, Colonies, Territories and Protectorates which together made up the far flung British Empire. To mark the forthcoming Coronation, here in London, as indeed throughout the country, whether in Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales or England, in cities, in towns, and in villages such as Downton, streets had been festooned with bunting. A riot of red, white, and blue - in the form of banners, flags, and streamers, strung in profusion across thoroughfares, from all manner of buildings, houses, both grand and small, factories, mills, offices, and railway stations, bedecking balconies, window sills, lamp posts, railings, and shop windows; together with portraits of Their Majesties and of the two young princesses. Union Jacks flew from every flagpole, and to mark the Coronation, the London Midland and Scottish Railway and the London and North Eastern Railway had announced the introduction of two streamlined express trains: The Coronation Scot running between London and Glasgow and The Coronation between London and Edinburgh.

No expense had been spared in order to present to the world the august pomp, the glittering grandeur, the unrivalled panoply, and the historic splendour of a British Coronation. Of course, the sheer magnificence of this particular spectacle had not been seen since before the Great War - when King George V and Queen Mary had been crowned in Westminster Abbey. That had been in June 1911. Then all of the pageantry had been seen only by those present in Westminster Abbey or who were among the enormous crowds lining the route of the procession to and from the abbey.

Now, a quarter of a century or so later, the world had moved on; decidedly so.

For, with some twenty-six microphones strategically placed in various positions along the entire route of the procession by the British Broadcasting Corporation - the BBC - the Corporation's commentators would be providing a detailed description to radio listeners throughout the Empire and the world at large as to what could be seen. A further thirty two microphones in Westminster Abbey, some situated in the most unlikely of places - beneath chairs, in lecterns, and on chandeliers - would enable the broadcasting of almost all of the Coronation Service. However, it had been decided that the most solemn moment of the entire proceedings - the consecration of Their Majesties and the receiving by them of Holy Communion - would not be broadcast. Instead the BBC's Director of Religion, the Chaplain to The King, would read, and where deemed necessary, explain what was happening.

Broadcasting was to commence at 10.15 a.m., with a description from the commentator at Green Park, overlooking Buckingham Palace, of the Coronation procession as it moved slowly down the Mall before another commentator described the scene as Their Majesties stepped into the gold State Coach within the precincts of the Palace, before the Green Park commentator resumed his narrative as the procession made its way down the Mall flanked on either hand by a numerous spectators and well wishers.

Thereafter, radio listeners were to be taken over to the triforium of the abbey to hear what was taking place there with a detailed description of the magnificent assemblage of persons that awaited the arrival of the King and Queen. For a host of important guests would be arriving in London for the service in Westminster Abbey; these from all over the globe, many of whom were to be accorded official receptions. So, from the Dominions of Australia, Canada, Newfoundland, New Zealand, South Africa, would be coming the premiers of those countries and also, if they were married, their spouses.

However, it was now known that there would be no such representative coming to London from that most recently created of all the dominions - the Irish Free State. Nonetheless, King George VI, had been informed privately that this particular lack of attendance was not intended as a personal affront to himself; it being rather an expression of the Irish 'attitude' 'towards the king's office' as 'the titular head and front of a foreign system' that Ireland herself had recently 'broken down'. Whatever the king's true feelings were about this decision remained unknown. However, for his part, the earl of Grantham, Matthew Crawley, thought it to be inexcusable and a display of contemptible rudeness on the part of the Free State authorities over there in Dublin. Indeed, he had said as much to his Irish brother-in-law, Tom Branson, who in turn had merely remined his much loved English brother-in-law of Tom's own observation, this made long ago, one evening over dinner, shortly after both he and Sybil had first returned to Downton after their marriage, regarding the now exiled Kaiser.

Would you like it if you were ruled over by the German Kaiser?

So, this being how matters stood, it was doubted if there would be any of Irish descent among the crowds lining the route of the procession. However, that most staunch republican, journalist Tom Branson, would have been most surprised to learn that, at least according to his fellow countryman Mr John Whelan Dulanty, the Free State's High Commissioner in London, many Irish nationals had indeed applied for the batch of seats allocated to that country. This rather gave the lie to the oft repeated claim that most of those dwelling in what was now known as the Irish Free State were opposed to having a British monarch as their Head of State.

There would be other guests arriving for the service in the abbey from elsewhere in the Empire as well: from the British Raj which governed India - the Jewel in the Crown of the Empire - would be Indian princes, including the Sultans of Johore and of Terrengganu. They would be coming, too, from the Colonies - from places as different as Kenya on the east coast of Africa and the Gold Coast which lay on the Gulf of Guinea on the west; from British Territories such as Sierra Leone on the southwest coast of West Africa and Swaziland a landlocked kingdom lying within the Dominion of South Africa, and from Protectorates such as Bechuanaland and Northern Rhodesia to name but a couple. Along with members of both the House of Lords and the House of Commons, there would be foreign royalty in attendance too, and in good measure, along with all manner of premiers, presidents, potentates, and other Heads of States - including the Amir of Transjordan and the Sultan of Zanzibar. The arrival of one and all was to be described minutely to radio listeners by a BBC observer from above the stands set up outside Middlesex Guildhall.

Once listeners had been informed as to the scene unfolding at the abbey, from a vantage point situated near the Ministry of Labour in Whitehall, a commentator was to describe the State Coach as it passed by the Cenotaph and drew into Parliament Square - no doubt to a crescendo of cheers. With the arrival of the King and Queen at the abbey, commentators within the great building would describe what was happening; the royal couple moving up the aisle to their Chairs of State. the procession from St. Edward's Chapel to the West Door, explaining how the return procession would reform, and then the final scene at the abbey as, with the long ceremony at last at an end, the King and Queen set out on their return journey to Buckingham Palace. A route which would take them along the Embankment, across Trafalgar Square, through the West End, past St. James's Palace, to Piccadilly Circus, on to Marble Arch, past Hyde Park corner, through the Wellington Arch, down Constitution Hill, and so back to Buckingham Palace. A length of more than six miles.

The Coronation ceremony would also be broadcast either by the British Home Service or Empire transmissions to more than twenty foreign countries. Even that bastion of republicanism - The United States - along with most European countries, would join British listeners in hearing the 'Empire's Homage' programme and The King's speech on Coronation night.

In addition to the radio broadcast, the BBC would record part of what was taking place on film for its new fangled television service by means of its scanner - three cameras sited at Hyde Park Corner - from where it would be possible for the handful of those with television sets to view the procession as it made its way back from Marble Arch, along Constitution Hill, and thence to Buckingham Palace.

Apart from the huge crowds of people expected to line the main streets along the entire six mile length of the royal procession all the way from the ecclesiastical Gothic splendour of the abbey back to the royal Neo-classical glory of Buckingham Palace - the well-wishers, the curious, and those who had come simply to gawp - there would be well over 32,000 sailors and soldiers and some 20,000 police officers; the former taking part in the procession and the latter lining the route so as ensure the safety of the new King and Queen. Yet, despite all of these precautions of Armitage there had been no sign. Yet, in Downton, the pressing business of finding him, let alone the forthcoming Coronation and its attendant festivities were now to be overshadowed by something which had happened several thousand miles away... in Egypt.


The Pyramids, Giza, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

"Are you really sure you don't mind, Max? Because if you do, then I won't go".

It had ever been thus with the three boys. All for one, and one for all. Friedrich smiled. Sparing a thought for the absent Danny, he prayed that over there in distant Spain the lad was as yet all right and unharmed.

"No, of course not". Max likewise smiled. Much as he would like to have climbed the pyramid, he knew full well that what Papa had said was true; a fall up there could well prove fatal to anyone but for himself as a haemophiliac, doubly so.

Uncle Friedrich said that Max and he would wait for Robert at the restaurant where they were to take lunch and where they might be joined by Tibor and Harriet for whom Friedrich had left word at Shepheard's. Friedrich now explained to the guide, a young, gap-toothed Arab, that he should bring Robert over to the restaurant following their return from the Great Pyramid.

"Christo's".
"Yes, effendi. Christo's". The young man nodded his head.

There was nothing more to be said. Robert smiled, fell in beside his guide, and set off towards the massive pyramid. A short distance off, he turned and waved his hand. Max waved back.

"Well, my boy, shall we have something to drink?" Friedrich indicated to Max the way they should take over to the restaurant.


The hot morning wore on.


However, when, after a couple of hours, Robert did not reappear, with it being now something after noon, Friedrich went to make enquiries, only to find that the guide had not been a local man and who, along with Robert, seemed to have disappeared.


Idrone Terrace, Blackrock, Dublin, Irish Free State, May 1937.

Among the many and varied mementoes of the Coronation - much of it made of china or earthenware - an almost infinite variety of mugs, teapots, cups, saucers, plates, and jugs, any such item, if it displayed the Royal Image had to receive official sanction from the Office of the Lord Chamberlain.

New stamps had also been commissioned by the Post Office to commemorate the occasion, which were to be issued shortly before and after the Coronation. This had pleased young Bobby Branson enormously, the more so since Aunt Mary had then rashly promised her young Irish nephew that she would purchase him a complete set of the new stamps for his birthday; not that, when she made her promise to do so, Mary had been entirely sure what constituted a full set of Coronation stamps. However, on hearing of the promise Mary had made to Bobby, Matthew had pointed out to her that as the Dominions and all of the other countries within the Empire - the colonies, the protectorates and the territories - were also issuing stamps to commemorate the event, to purchase young Bobby a full set of Coronation stamps would cost a considerable amount of money - a veritable king's ransom. Said Matthew, tongue-in-cheek, such wanton extravagance would in all likelihood bankrupt the estate. On hearing this, Mary blanched, and had then hurriedly written to Sybil, attempting to sound more knowledgeable on the matter than she actually was, saying in passing that perhaps she had not made herself clear. That, yes, she was indeed purchasing Bobby a set of the Coronation stamps, but only those issued for Great Britain.

Over here in Ireland, Tom and Sybil had brought up all of their children to be both polite and well mannered, so when Bobby's aunt over in England had written and told him about the stamps, he had been over the moon. Indeed, it had been something of a Red Letter Day because while Mary had very warm feelings towards her nephew Max, she was far more guarded in her relations with Tom and Sybil's brood. To be truthful, as far as Mary was concerned, both Danny and Saiorse had always seemed far too knowing for their youthful years; indeed, disconcertingly so and a product of Tom and Sybil's attitude of being open with their children in all things - including the vexed matter of sex.

However, darling Bobby, being that much younger, and still only a boy, in her dealings with him, limited as they had been, Mary had found him to be much more straightforward. This and the fact that he looked so like dearest Tom meant Mary was far more at ease with him. So, knowing of Bobby's obsession with stamp collecting - something which had he but known it, he shared with his late grandfather, Mary's own father - his aunt had written and made her offer about the Coronation stamps. Delighted, young Bobby had written back to her almost by return, saying that he was looking forward to receiving them.

Thereafter, over the next few weeks Bobby had conscientiously saved up his pocket money; even foregoing his weekly purchase of gob stoppers and liquorice sticks. Then, one Friday evening, over supper, he had told Ma that the following day, when they were in Dublin, he wanted to go into Clerys department store on O'Connell Street and buy himself a new stamp album. When Sybil had asked him why, Bobby had explained, and in some detail, as to the reason for his impending purchase.

It was now that Sybil told Bobby that Aunt Mary had written to her to say she was only buying him the new stamps issued for Great Britain, and not for the whole of the British Empire. Sitting with Da, Ma, and Saiorse in the kitchen, a clearly crestfallen young Bobby could not hide his disappointment. Tom tried to be more sanguine about the matter; said to Bobby that he should be very grateful for Aunt Mary's kind offer, that she herself had probably never ever set foot in a Post Office, and because of that she would be making a special effort on Bobby's behalf in order to buy the definitive and commemorative stamps printed in Great Britain. That seemed to mollify Bobby's disappointment somewhat but all the same, there was no denying the fact that he would have much preferred to have had the full set of stamps. In the end, a compromise of sorts was to be reached whereby, in due course, Da and Ma bought Bobby for his birthday those stamps issued by the Dominions.

However, here in the Branson household the matter of the Coronation stamps was shortly to be eclipsed by dreadful news from both Spain and Egypt.


Somewhere on the Great Pyramid, Giza, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

Robert found the ascent of the Great Pyramid to be both slow and tortuous.

Up here on the pyramid, exposed to the full glare of the sun, the heat was intense. From where he was now standing, far below, Robert could see the empty desert stretching away southwards, mile upon mile of arid sand, seemingly limitless in its extent, while to the east the grey ribbon of the Nile sparkled like quicksilver in the bright morning sunlight. Closer at hand, the fronds of the nearest palm trees appeared to swim in the heat haze; a mirage of sorts because, however welcome it would have been, there was not the slightest breathe of wind.

Once more, for the umpteenth time, the sweat beading Robert's forehead trickled down through his eyebrows and into his eyes where it stung most mercilessly. His shirt was likewise now soaked through with sweat and plastered to his back. So, Rob did as he had done before; wiping his arm across his face, wriggling his shoulders to free the damp fabric of his shirt from off his skin, and plodded on, ever upwards. Not that the young white robed guide, the one with the gap toothed smile, in whose footsteps Rob was following, seemed to mind either the heat or the slow, serpentine ascent. He kept turning his head to see that Robert was following close behind him and seeing that he was, then smiled. In fact, so often did the young man turn his head, that Rob feared he risked loosing his footing on the narrow ledges which they were traversing where a single misplaced step would spell disaster. Not of course that the young Arab ever did lose his footing for, despite his cloying robes, he appeared far too nimble and agile.

Now, as they both climbed yet higher still, negotiating in the process several heaps of fallen stones, ascending from one shattered course of masonry to the next, sometimes being forced to swing themselves upwards on their hands from one level to that immediately above, they had long since moved out of sight of both Uncle Friedrich and Max. Indeed, there seemed to be no-one else about, although when they had set off there had been other visitors with their black or white robed guides following immediately in their wake, as well as others up above them but all of whom, just like Uncle Friedrich and Max, had now disappeared from view.

Then, quite suddenly, Rob and his guide had found their way blocked completely by another tumble of massive fallen limestone blocks. At the time it had seemed odd to Robert that being a local man, the young guide should have brought them both this way, but Rob reasoned that it was perfectly possibly the case that from time to time blocks of stone became dislodged, fell, and then blocked hitherto unobstructed routes up the sides of the pyramid. It was at this precise moment that, quite unexpectedly, as if from nowhere, in fact from just above Rob's head, several pairs of brown hands had reached down seemingly to help him negotiate the obstacle of the fallen stones. Thereafter, he had found himself grabbed by the self same hands, forced back, indeed bruisingly so, against the hard, rough, unyielding weathered stones of the pyramid. Before Robert could protest, make the slightest sound, his face was enveloped in a damp, sweetly smelling rag which was pressed tightly down over both his mouth and nose. Powerless to resist what was happening, a matter of minutes later, Robert had lapsed down into unconsciousness.


Rosenberg, Lower Austria, late April 1937.

When it arrived here at Rosenberg the telegram from Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo had not been wholly unexpected. In fact, Edith had almost been expecting it. For, with that finely honed sense of premonition for which she was famed, she knew that there was bound to be some last minute delay to Friedrich, darling Max, and Robert's long awaited return here to Rosenberg - in all likelihood occasioned by nothing more than the late departure of Lloyd Triestino's sailing from Alexandria. So, when Kleist brought up the telegram postmarked Cairo to Edith in her Writing Room, she was not unduly surprised. At the time, with young Kurt in bed, though probably not yet asleep, and with little Fritz curled up at her feet, Edith had been reading through the newspapers of which Friedrich took several. However, even here in Austria, despite all of that country's manifold problems, the news seemed to be disproportionately of the forthcoming Coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth over in England. However, for the last fifteen years, having made her life here in Austria, Edith really had little interest in the matter and all its attendant junketings.

Nonetheless, despite this being the case, it had not stopped Mary writing to Edith at length, explaining in some detail, the many and varied preparations which were now under way in Downton both on the estate and in the village to mark the occasion. Mary also made mention of the fact that by virtue of being the earl and countess of Grantham both Matthew and she would be numbered among that select number of some 8,000 guests who would be seated within Westminster Abbey to see the king and queen crowned. Edith smiled. No doubt it had been to impart that particular snippet of information which had prompted Mary to write a letter that was longer than usual. After all, she could hardly be said to be interested in telling - as she had - of the trifle competition being run by Mrs. Ethel Harrison of the local W.I., describing the colourful bunting festooning the High Street, the pyramid of pork pies with the king's cypher baked onto the crust on display in the butchers on West Street and like to win the village's Best Dressed Shop Window Competition, nor the programme of children's sports which would be taking place on the Church Field including such English pastimes as a tug of war and an egg and spoon race, and which were totally incomprehensible to foreigners.

All the same, Edith's decided disinterest in the proceedings concerning the Coronation notwithstanding, somewhat surprisingly, she found herself sparing a passing thought for the king's elder brother, likewise uncrowned and in his case destined so to remain and who, it had been reported, had either now left Austria to join Mrs. Simpson in the south of France or was on the point of so doing. Edith wondered if the Duke of Windsor as he was now styled was satisfied with his lot; having met him, somehow, she doubted that would be the case. A petulant, selfish, vain man with no thought for anyone save himself and his own comforts, as well as someone who became easily bored. For all the vitriol that had been heaped upon Mrs. Simpson in the press, Edith did not envy her lot, nor would she have changed places with her, not for all the tea in China. What mattered to Edith were Friedrich and their two boys and with her thoughts turning once more to darling Max, it was now, from the window of her Writing Room that she saw the post boy arriving on his bicycle; saw him cycle away and a moment later heard Kleist's measured tread in the passage, before there came a quiet tap at her door.

When the butler had gone, dispensing with her paper knife, Edith tore open the telegram and hurriedly scanned the printed words. However, whilst the telegram had not been unlooked for, its content was not at all that which she had anticipated.

"Oh mein Gott!" Edith exclaimed and reached immediately for the telephone. When connected to the exchange, from her knowledge of the Near East aware that the time difference between the two countries was but slight, she asked that a call be put through immediately to Shepheard's Hotel in far distant Cairo; praying fervently to whatever god might be within earshot that Friedrich would be there to take it. On past experience it was quite on the cards that he would not.


Wagh al-Birket Street, Ezbekiyya District, downtown Cairo, Kingdom of Egypt, late April 1937.

When Robert at last regained consciousness, he found his head was throbbing; indeed, painfully so. Could still yet taste in his mouth the sickly sweet noxiousness of the chloroform which had been used to drug him. His head swimming, still yet drowsy from the effects of the chloroform, Robert kecked and retched; tried to recall what had happened. As he did so, he found he was gagged tightly with a filthy piece of cloth which had cut into the corners of his mouth, made foul with a mixture of both his own blood and spittle. This apart, Rob found he was trussed up like a Christmas turkey; the rope with which he was bound had lacerated the soft skin of his wrists.

Glancing about him, Robert saw that he was lying on the grimy wooden floor of an old lorry which was being driven at a decidedly reckless speed along an evidently much potholed road, for the vehicle lurched and slewed first this way and then the other, so much so that Robert thought he would be sick. Fighting back the wave of nausea, he saw too that he was not alone. There were three young men, Arabs certainly who were regarding him with unfriendly eyes, conversing in a mixture of nods and grunts, and in a language which Robert did not understand. Raising his head slightly, Rob found that he could see over the tailgate of the lorry; caught sight of a treelined road but before he could see anything else, he was dragged further into the dark interior of the speeding lorry, well away from the tailgate where, however unlikely, there was a slim chance that he might be seen.


Brakes squealing, with the acrid smell of burnt rubber, the lurching, speeding vehicle drew suddenly to a stand. Whereupon Robert found himself jerked roughly to his feet, then ordered in broken English to jump down from the back of the lorry, before being bundled quickly and unceremoniously through a narrow doorway, just as hastily down a long passage, and thence into a dimly lit room which reeked of tobacco smoke. In an instant, Robert had taken in the intricately and ornately wrought lantern hanging from a high ceiling decorated with stained glass, the heavily carved panelled cupboards and delicate lattice screens, both of wood, and the walls covered with blue and white tiles. A scatter of brightly worked cushions and carpets covered much of the marble floor; while from somewhere close at hand came the tinkling sound of a fountain.

"So this is the British boy of whom you spoke... the son you said of a lord... in exchange for whose life, you would have us all believe the British will leave Egypt," said a husky voice in thickly accented English. The words were spoken rather as a statement of fact than as a question. Now, with his own eyes fast adjusting to the dimness of the room, Robert found himself looking into the face of dark-haired, elegantly clad woman seated upon a carved chair, smoking a cigarette held in a black ebony holder, and which explained the stench of tobacco. There was a slight movement beside Robert; saw the young man standing on his left shifting on his feet, nod his head.

"Yes, indeed, Al-Mahdia". A moment later, the woman shook her own head vehemently, clearly exasperated.

"You utter, utter fools!"
"Al-Mahdia, we only thought to..."

"The trouble with you is that you don't think! None of you!" The woman made no attempt to hide either her derision or her scorn. She exhaled deeply. "All this foolishness will do is to bring the British Army down upon our heads".

It was now that another man, elderly, dressed in soiled white robes, stepped from the shadows and came to stand beside the woman. He hawked heavily and then spat on the floor.

"Then Al-Mahdia, since this boy is of no earthly use to us, let us kill him, and have done with it ;in such a way that search for him as they will, the British never find him".

The woman's eyes narrowed.

"You have something in mind?

The old man nodded.

"An offering to the servants of Sobek in Fayoum," he said softly. "Have they not their own ways of keeping safe, secrets that must be kept?"

Al-Mahdia nodded.

"Then, so be it".

Whereupon Robert found himself being hustled just as quickly out of the room, back down the passage, before once more being bundled unceremoniously into the back of the waiting lorry, gagged and bound as before.


Ashfield Street, Whitechapel, East End of London, England, May 1937.

Whitechapel had changed little since the summer and autumn of 1888 when its most infamous resident, Jack the Ripper, had roamed the rabbit warren of gaslit slums, the alleys, and the rough paved courts in search of his victims.

Despite the fact that the date fixed for the Coronation of the new king and queen was now less than a week away, in England, as elsewhere in the world, at least for a couple of days, the dreadful disaster which had befallen the German airship Hindenburg had dominated the newspapers. Not that Armitage cared; save that was for the inconvenience that the accident had caused him personally in that communication with the German embassy on Carlton House Terrace, difficult at the best of times, given the need for secrecy, now with all this talk of sabotage, had become well nigh impossible.

Although the hunt for Armitage had received prominent coverage in the British press, despite thousands of police officers being drafted into guard the king and queen in the forthcoming procession, let alone the efforts of British intelligence, it was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack, and of the would-be regicide there had been no sign at all; none whatsoever. Not that the British press had made mention of a connection between Nazi Germany and the renegade British soldier. Maybe it was something of which they were singularly unaware but given all the circumstances, including the shadowy intrigues of Maundy Gregory and his behind-the-scenes attempts to tarnish the reputation and standing of both the earl and countess of Grantham, this seemed highly implausible. Unless, of course...


Not that many knew its story, but all Matthew had told Mary regarding the history of Marble Arch was perfectly true. It had indeed been sited originally at the other end of the Mall where it had formed part of the buildings associated with what was now Buckingham Palace. Someone else who knew nothing of the building's antecedents was Armitage himself. However, in Marble Arch he now found what he had been seeking: a secure vantage point overlooking the route the Coronation procession was to take on its way back to Buckingham Palace.

For it was once the Coronation was over, that Armitage intended making his move, considering that with the king and queen newly crowned, security along the route of the procession would be more relaxed than before. Rather more to the point, from the top of Marble Arch, the view of the procession would be unsurpassed. Equally of help was the fact that the arch housed a small police station. ordinarily, this would have seemed to preclude it being used for the purpose which Armitage had in mind but in this Fate had played into his hands. For a chance encounter in a rundown public house in Whitechapel had left him in possession of a Police Inspector's Warrant Card which could be put to very good use, insofar as it would afford Armitage the means of entry into Marble Arch and so onto the roof of the building. It was doubtful if the legitimate owner of the Warrant Card had yet missed it since he had let slip to Armitage that he was on leave and, even if he had, its loss in what was in fact little better than a knocking shop, would prove exceedingly hard to explain to his superiors.


Somewhere in Republican Spain, early May 1937.

Here in Spain, it seemed that nothing ever went according to plan which, given the circumstances, was hardly surprising. For, at the very last moment, instead of taking part in the attack on the Nationalist held enclave of Teruel, Danny and his pals found themselves bound for Valencia, the Republican stronghold in the south of Spain. Quite how long it would take them to reach there, and what route they would take to do so, remained unclear. The change of plan was to have consequences for all of them but none more so than Danny Branson.


Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 1937.

"And if I were you, I wouldn't". There was an unmistakeable menace in Billy's softly spoken words.
"Wouldn't what?" Thomas asked quietly.

"Get any funny ideas".

"Such as?" Thomas played for time; he moved closer to Billy so that here within the old carpenter's workshop, despite the all-pervading gloom, he could make out the film of sweat beading the younger man's upper lip. Little drops of moisture akin to raindrops upon a leaf and betraying, for all of his apparent bravado, Billy's nervousness. This was something which Thomas had not expected; not from someone whom Barrow thought to be so cockalorum.

"Like doing something with that mallet".

"What mallet?" Thomas played dumb.

"Don't play the fool with me!"
"I wouldn't do anything like that". In the dimness of the old carpenter's shop, Thomas tightened his grip on the shaft of the heavy wooden hammer.

"Really?"

Without warning Thomas brought his right arm up and then just as swiftly down, the head of the mallet hitting Billy on the right side of his temple whereupon the young man dropped silently, instantly, like a stone, to the floor.

Thomas looked down.

Now what?


Dining Room, Dower House, Downton, May 1937.

When the telegram arrived, Cora was in the Dining Room partaking of a cold supper. Not that she would ever admit it, but of late she had become increasingly aware that her hearing was not as sharp as it had once been and this, combined with the fact that Cora was intent on her meal, she did not hear the door of the dining room open. So, it was only when Clarke, who had come to stand beside her, cleared his throat that Cora raised her head.

"A telegram for you, Your Ladyship".

Cora looked up, silver fork halfway to her mouth; set both it and her knife down on her plate.

"Thank you. Clarke would you be so good as to..."

The butler inclined his head. Placing the small silver salver on the damask cloth which covered the table, he picked up from it, then tore open the buff envelope containing the telegram, and hastily scanned its written contents.

"Well?"

"Your Ladyship, there is nothing amiss. It would appear that your godson Mr. Power and his wife reached England from Le Havre yesterday afternoon. They then travelled up to London and stayed at the Dorchester Hotel. All things being equal, they will now be on the Yorkshire Pullman having departed King's Cross at 4:45pm, arriving in Harrogate later this evening where they will be staying at the Swan Hydropathic Hotel. They will travel on here tomorrow, arriving in Downton by the afternoon train. Although he makes no reference to it, I anticipate that Mr. Jack would expect that he and his wife are met at the station".

"The Swan Hydropathic? Wasn't that the hotel where Mrs. Christie was found?" Cora asked.

Clarke nodded curtly.

"I believe so", the butler observed in a distinctly clipped tone.

A moment later, Clarke sniffed derisively. While there were many who were indeed ardent fans of the celebrated crime author, the old butler was not among their number. To be candid, at the time of Mrs. Christie's well publicised disappearance - which had occurred just over ten years ago in 1926 - public reaction to the incident had been decidedly unfavourable. Many believed - as did Clarke - that at the very least, Mrs. Christie's disappearance had been nothing more than a cleverly contrived, well-staged publicity stunt. Others had taken a decidedly less charitable view: that in fact the author had been trying to make the authorities believe her husband had killed her; this out of revenge for the affair in which she knew him to be involved. After all, had she not booked into the Swan Hydropathic Hotel in Harrogate using the surname of Neele - the very same as that of her husband's lover?

The ensuing investigation had involved one of the largest manhunts ever seen and tied up considerable police resources which could and should have been better employed elsewhere. Even the then Home Secretary, William Joynson-Hicks, had become involved, demanding that the police make better progress in resolving the matter which had ended when Mrs. Christie had been found alive and well, and staying under an assumed name at the Swan in Harrogate. At the time, there had been no satisfactory explanation forthcoming from her as to exactly what had transpired during those eleven fateful days back in December 1926. Clarke sniffed again but, being well aware that Mrs. Christie was a friend of Lady Edith, now kept his own counsel.

Cora ghosted a smile; she was very well aware of Clarke's antipathy towards Mrs. Christie.

"Clarke, would you be so good as to...

"Your Ladyship, I have already given the necessary instructions to the household. Mr. Jack and his wife are to be put in the Blue Bedroom. I trust that will be in order. As for having them met off the afternoon train..."

Cora nodded.

"I know that I may rely upon you to to make all the proper arrangements".

"Thank you".

A moment later and the old butler had quitted the room.

Later, having finished her evening meal, now seated in the Drawing Room, and listening to the radio, Cora found herself all of a do which was most out of character. Quite why this should be so, she could not begin to imagine. After all, she had played the part of hostess to far grander gatherings up at the abbey when she had ruled there as chatelaine and the visit here to England by her American godson and his wife was hardly in the same league. As for the the last minute change of plans, occasioned by the appalling disaster which had befallen the Hindenburg, Clarke had seen to it that, where necessary, alterations to the arrangements made hitherto to accommodate Jack and Audrey, had been made. them. Yet, with the young couple and his wife about to arrive here the following afternoon, Cora was in something of a state. She had not seen Jack Power since he was a little boy. That had been on a trip to the States which she had made on her own shortly after the end of the Great War, back in the autumn of 1920, when Jack had been aged eight. Thereafter, she had received letters from his parents and from young Jack himself, usually in thanks for birthday and Christmas presents. Then, as Cora continued to listen to the prosaic tones of the news announcer, suddenly, all thought of Jack Power and his wife vanished from Cora's mind and she sat bolt upright in her chair.

It is reported from Cairo that the elder son of the earl and countess of Grantham, Robert Crawley ...

A moment later and the telephone in the hall began to ring with a shrill insistence.


Matthew and Mary's Bedroom, Downton Abbey, late April 1937.

From past experience, Matthew knew only too well that when Mary was like this, there would be no reasoning with her. Shortly after the telegram had arrived here from Friedrich in Cairo stating in a scatter of words that Robert had been kidnapped, Matthew had taken a telephone call from one of his contacts in the Foreign Office. It seemed that the authorities might at last be on the trail of Armitage. A sighting, so it was said, somewhere in the East End of London. It was not much to go on but anything was better than nothing. However, when he made mention of this to Mary, he realised that he had blundered.

"Damn, Armitage! What about my son?" Marys flawless ivory skin was almost ashen. She was both very upset and annoyed. Upset, understandably so, because of what had happened to Robert. Annoyed, too, this because while Matthew was discussing with the Foreign Office what was to be done, it had fallen to her to tell Simon and his sisters what had occurred. After all they could hardly be kept in ignorance of what had come to pass.

"The Foreign Office have assured me that they are doing everything they possibly can to find Robert".

"Everything they possibly can? Really? Which means what, exactly?"

"Liaising with our people over there in Cairo, who are following up all the leads they have, our army making house to house searches and so forth. It's only a matter of time before..."
"Before what?"
"They find him".

"Do you believe they will?"

"Yes, of course," Matthew said flatly.

"Really?"

"Yes".

"Then at least try and sound as though you mean it".

"All right. Yes, I'm certain that Robert will be found, both safe and well. There, does that satisfy you?"

While Matthew had done his best to do as Mary had asked, he knew only too well, even if Mary did not, that the British were not popular in Egypt. Nonetheless, this was the last thing that he would have expected to happen. For while Egypt was an independent country, it was, after all, still very closely tied to the Empire; something which the Egyptian Nationalists, whom it was believed had kidnapped Robert, resented bitterly and which, Matthew supposed, went to the very heart of the matter.

"No, not really" Mary paused. "Matthew, they won't... what I mean is... they won't harm him... will they?" Mary's voice was little more than a whisper. She sat down heavily on the bed; fell silent and sat gazing down at her feet.

"No, they damned well won't!" Matthew retorted grim-faced; only too aware that the government here in London would not withdraw a single one of its soldiers from Egypt, even if that meant sacrificing the life of one young Englishman scarce out of his boyhood.

Beside the bed, the telephone tinkled. Mary picked up the receiver.

"Yes. I see. Thank you". She replaced the telephone. "Well, it didn't take them long, did it?"

"Who? What?"
"That was Barrow. He says there are reporters down at the drive gates".


Al Fayom Oasis west of Cairo, Kingdom Of Egypt, late April 1937.

Some sixty miles to the west of Cairo and the Nile lay the oasis of AL Fayom and it was here, in a cloud of choking dust, that the battered lorry pulled once more to a stand. That the servants of Sobek would be hungry went without saying.

Crocodiles always are.

Author's Note:

The Cairo district of Ezbekiyya is today much changed from how it looked back in the 1920s and 1930s. Along with the exotic trees, most of the once beautiful gardens have disappeared beneath multi storey car parks. As for the hotels mentioned in the text, both are long since closed, the Hotel Bristol having been demolished and the Eden Palace now a derelict shell. The magnificent wooden Opera House was completely destroyed in a devastating fire in October 1971.

Mounira al-Mahdia (1885-1965). An Egyptian singer and actress who made her theatrical debut on the stage of the Printania Theatre in 1905. It is understood that she was the first Egyptian Muslim woman ever to become a professional actress. Before, actresses had mostly been Christian or Jewish and from Ottoman Syria. She was also the first woman in Egypt to own a theatrical company. Nor was she afraid of expressing strong nationalist sentiments which made her unpopular with the British authorities.

Having looked through a large number of photographs of the flood of memorabilia issued in connection with the Coronation of 1937, despite the use of all manner of patriotic emblems such as flags, mottoes, and so forth, along with images of the new king and queen, much of it appears to have been both garish and rather tacky. The same could be said of most of the mementoes issued for the coronation of King Charles III in 2023.

Opened in 1930, Christo's is the oldest seafood restaurant in Giza and is well known for its spectacular view of the pyramids.

Initially it was considered that the issuing of definitive and commemorative stamps for the coronation of George VI would prove an impossibility; for while the designs of such stamps had been approved for the coronation of his brother, Edward VIII, with the date for the crowning of the new king being kept the same (12th May) it was thought that there was insufficient time to agree new designs acceptable to George VI. However, in the end, the new stamps were commissioned with the definitive being issued on 10th May and the commemorative stamp on 13th, the day after the coronation.

The Dorchester Hotel had opened its doors in April 1931. It was the first hotel in the world to be built from reinforced concrete.

The Yorkshire Pullman was an express train inaugurated in 1923 by the London and North Eastern Railway It ran between London King's Cross and the north of England, undergoing several changes of name and routes before it was finally withdrawn by British Rail in 1978.

William Joynson-Hicks, 1st Viscount Brentford PC, PC(NI) DL (1865-1932) was a solicitor and Conservative politician. As Home Secretary in Stanley Baldwin's second government, he is best remembered for trying to clamp down on what he saw as the licentiousness and promiscuousness of the "Roaring Twenties".

In Ancient Egypt, Al Fayom was then the centre of the cult of the crocodile god, Sobek. There are those who would tell you that it is still.