Curse of the Kings

IX Premonition

I don't know whether I imagined it but from that time I began to feel that I was often followed. I was nervous. I was afraid to be by myself in a lonely part of the palace; footsteps began to sound stealthy, and in the silence I would find myself looking over my shoulder furtively. This was unlike me. I had been the one to laugh at the stories of the big black bat. I had teased Theodosia but now it seemed that I had inherited her fears as well as her money.

Yet I had an irresistible urge to come face to face with my fears. I wanted to know because at the back of my mind was the thought: It is Tybalt. He wants to be rid of me. And on the heels of that thought was another: That's a lie. He cares more for his profession than for you, which is natural since he loves another woman. But he would never harm you. You know that.

But I was not sure which side of the question was the true one and because it was imperative to my peace of mind, to my future happiness to find out, I could not resist the temptation to frighten myself.

It was in this mood that alone I took an arabiya to the Temple. I left my driver and told him to wait for me.

As I entered the Temple I was aware of the stillness all about me. I was the only person, it seemed, who had come here today. I stood among the tall pillars and remembered the day when Theodosia and I had come here together.

I tried to give my entire attention to the carvings which depicted the history of Egypt. I was not really concentrating though; I kept listening for the sound of footsteps, for the sudden swish of robes. I don't know what it was but I had a strange sensation that I was not here alone and that something evil was close to me.

I studied the elaborate carving on the pillar. There was King Seti with his son who was to become Ramses the Great. And on another carving was Queen Hatshepsut.

I was sure someone was close to me, watching me. I fancied I heard the sound of deep breathing. He had only to stretch out a hand and catch me.

I felt my heart thundering. I must get out of this maze of pillars; I would get right out into the open. With all speed I must make my way to my arabiya and tell my driver to take me back to the palace.

Thank God the arabiya and the driver would be waiting. If I did not return they would know that I was missing. But would they?

The pillars of the ancient ruined Temple were close together like trees in a forest. Someone could be standing behind one of them, close to me, yet I would not see him if he were using one as a shield. At any moment murderous hands could seize me. I could be buried here in the sand. And the driver of my arabiya? A little money exchanging hands. Not a word to be said about the lady he had brought out to the Temple. It would be very simple. If a girl could disappear from a shop in the souk and be thrown into the Nile in place of a doll, surely I could be disposed of. But I was the wife of the leader of the expedition. There would have to be some explanation of my disappearance. But if that leader was content to accept some explanation which could be fabricated . . . He had been ready enough to accept the fact that Yasmin had been murdered and regard it as of little importance. But this would be his wife. A wife of whom he wished to rid himself?

That was the thought which had been in my mind, and here in this sinister and ancient Temple I could come face to face with my real fears. Perhaps I could also come face to face with a murderer.

Yes. Someone was close. A shadow had fallen across my vision, a tall shadow. Someone was stalking me. The pillars protected him from my view, but suddenly he would catch me; his hands would be about my throat and I would look up into his face. Tybalt's face? No. That was going too far, that was being absurdly wild. It was someone who was trying to stage another accident. Someone who wanted us to go from here. Someone who had tampered with the bridge, who had killed Theodosia and now it would be so much more effective to kill the wife of the leader.

I stood very still, trying to calm myself. I was being dramatic, stupid, letting my imagination run away with me. Hadn't Dorcas and Alison said I used to do that and that I would have to stop it.

There was one thing of which I was certain. I was afraid.

I started to run; I touched the pillars as I passed.

I emerged from the shadow of the pillars into the open. The sun hit me like a blow. It sent little chinks of brilliant white light through the weave of my chip straw hat.

I had almost fallen into the arms of Leopold Harding, who was coming towards me.

"Why, Lady Travers, what's wrong?"

"Oh . . . nothing. I didn't see you."

"I saw you come rushing out of the Temple. I was just about to go in."

"Oh ..." I said, "I'm glad you came ..." I was thinking: Perhaps he, that anonymous murderer, heard your arabiya arrive, perhaps that was why he allowed me to escape. I added quickly: "It's worth a second visit."

"A wonderful old place. Are you sure you are all right?"

"I think I was a little overcome by the heat."

"You shouldn't rush about, you know. Would you like to take a walk round with me?"

"Thank you, but I think I'll go back to the palace. My arabiya is waiting for me."

"I shall not allow you to go back alone," he said.

I was glad of his company. It helped to dispel my absurd fears. He talked about practical matters such as how he had succeeded in making his arrangements for the despatching of his goods.

"It has been a very successful trip," he said. "It is not always so. Of course one buys a lot of stuff which we call 'run-of-the-mill.' One makes a small profit and this makes these transactions worth while. But occasionally there are the real finds."

"Have you any this time?"

"I think so ... yes, I think so. But one is never sure, and however fine the piece one has to find the buyer for it. That's business. Here is the palace. Are you all right, Lady Travers?"

"Perfectly, thank you. It was the heat, I think."

"Very trying and exhausting. I'm glad I was there."

"Thank you for your kindness."

"It was a pleasure."

I went to my room and lay on my bed. The fear still hung over me.

Had I been right? Was it a premonition which had set my skin pricking and the goosepimples rising? Had I really been in danger? Was, as the soothsayer would have said, the big black bat hovering over me? Or was I imagining this, because I had discovered that my husband loved another woman and wanted to be rid of me?

I must have been there for ten minutes when there was a knock on my door. I sat up hurriedly while the door opened slowly, stealthily. A pair of dark eyes were watching me.

"Lady would like mint tea? Lady very tired."

Mustapha was regarding me pityingly. I thanked him. He stood for a few moments and then he bowed and left me.

The intense heat of the day was over. I put on my shady straw hat and went out. People were rising from their beds where they had slept behind shutters which kept out the sun. The market square was getting noisy. I heard the weird music of the snake-charmer's pipes. I saw the snake beginning to rise from its basket for the benefit of the little crowd who had assembled to watch.

I paused by the storyteller, cross-legged on his mat, his dark hypnotic eyes dreamy. The faces of his listeners were rapt and attentive; but as I approached they seemed aware of me. In my cotton blouse, my linen skirt, and my big straw hat I was alien. The storyteller even paused in his narrative.

He said in English for my benefit: "And where she had died there grew a fair tree and its flowers were the color of her blood."

I dropped some coins into the bowl as an expression of my appreciation.

"Allah be with you," he murmured; and the people drew back for me to pass.

I went on into the souk. The soothsayer saw me and dropped his eyes to stare down at the mat on which he sat.

On through the narrow streets I went, past the open shops with their now familiar smells; and I was aware of eyes that watched me, furtively almost. I belonged to those who had twice felt the wrath of the dead. I was one of the damned.

I went back to the palace.

During the last few days I had neglected the paper work I did for Tybalt. I did not want him to know that anything was wrong so I decided that everything must be in order as it had been in the past.

There were papers in his bureau which he had left for me to put away. They were notes of the day's progress—each dated; and I had filed them in a sort of briefcase in perfect order so that he could refer to them and find what he wanted without a moment's delay. He had told me that this particular case, which was of very fine sealskin, had belonged to his father. It was lined with a black corded silk.

I had noticed some time before that the stitching of the lining had come apart and I had made up my mind that at some time I should mend it. I decided that I would do it now.

I took out needle and thread, emptied the case of its papers and set to work, but as I thrust my hand inside the lining I realized that there was something there.

At first I thought it was a sort of packing but as it was crumpled I drew it out and to my surprise saw that it was a sheet of paper with writing on it. It was creased and as I smoothed it out, certain words caught my eye. It was part of a letter and it was signed Ralph.

... an expensive project even for you. Yes, I'll subscribe. I wish I could come with you. I would but for this heart of mine. You wouldn't want an invalid on your hands, and the climate would just about finish me. Come round tomorrow. I want to talk to you about that plan of ours. It's something I've set my heart on. Your son and my daughter. He's getting so like you that I could sometimes believe it is you sitting there talking about what you're going to do. Now I'm leaving a tidy sum to your cause on condition that your son marries my daughter. Those are the terms. No marriage no money. I've set my heart on this. I've had the lawyers work on it so that on the day my daughter marries your son the money goes to your cause. Tell the boy what depends on it. A daughter of mine and a son of yours! My dear fellow, your brains and my vitality! What a combination we'll have for the grandchildren. See you tomorrow. Ralph B.

I stared at the letter. The words seemed to dance a mad dance like the dervishes in the market place.

"A daughter of mine and a son of yours." He had meant Theodosia at the time. Tybalt knew the terms of the will. And, of course, when Sir Ralph had become so taken with me and Theodosia had wished to marry Evan, he had offered me as the bride. It was for this reason that he had sent for Tybalt. He would have explained to him. "Judith is my daughter. The will stands if you take her." And Sir Ralph who had loved me had known that I wanted Tybalt. He had given Tybalt to me even though Tybalt had had to be bribed to take me.

It was all becoming clear, heartbreakingly clear.

Theodosia had married for love. Poor Theodosia who had enjoyed married bliss so briefly! And I had married Tybalt and the settlement had been made.

And now that the money was safe in the coffers of the "Profession," Tabitha was free.

Tabitha had always been a strange woman, full of secrets. And Tybalt, what did I know of Tybalt?

I had loved him for years. Yes, as a symbol. I had loved him from the moment I saw him in my foolish, impetuous way. I loved him no less now. But I had had to learn that he was ruthless where his profession was concerned. And where his marriage was concerned too?

What had come over me?

I went to the window and opened the shutters. I could look out beyond the terrace to the river. White-robed men; black-robed women; a train of camels coming into the town; a shepherd leading three sheep, carrying a crook, looking like a picture I had seen in Dorcas's Bible. The river dazzling in the bright sunshine; up in the sky a white blazing light on which none dared gaze; the hot air filling the room.

Then from the minaret the muezzin's cry. The sudden cessation of movement and noise as though everyone and everything down there had been turned to stone.

It is this place, I thought. This land of mystery. Here anything could happen. And I longed then for the green fields of home, the golden gorse, the soft caressing southwest wind; the gentle rain. I wanted to throw myself into the arms of Dorcas and Alison and ask for comfort.

I felt alone here, unprotected; and an ominous shadow was creeping closer.

I was passionate in my emotion. Hadn't Dorcas always said I was too impulsive? "You jump to conclusions." I could hear Alison's voice. "You imagine some dramatic situation and then try to make everything fit it. You should stop that."

Alison was right.

"Look at it squarely," Alison again. "Look it right in the face. See the worst as it really is, not as you're trying to make it and then see what is best to do."

Well, I am jealous, I said. I love Tybalt with a mad possessiveness. I want him all to myself. I do not want to share him even with his profession. I have tried to be proficient in that profession. Ever since I was a child and loved him I have been interested. But I am an amateur and I can't expect to be taken into the confidence of these people who are at the head of their profession. I am jealous because he is at the site more than with me.

That was logical and reasonable. But I was forgetting something.

I had heard Tabitha's voice: "It's too late, Tybalt, too late."

And I had read Sir Ralph's letter to Sir Edward. A bribe to marry his daughter. A quarter of a million pounds for the cause if he did so.

The money had been passed over. It was safe in the hands of people who would use it to further the cause. And now Tabitha was free. I had served my purpose.

Oh no. I was being ridiculous. Many people married for money; loving one woman they married another.

But they did not murder.

There. I had faced it. Could I really suspect Tybalt and Tabitha of such a criminal deed? Of course I could not. Tabitha had been so kind to me. I remembered how sorry she had been because I had had to work for the disagreeable Lady Bodrean; she had lent me books; she had helped me improve my knowledge. How could I suspect her? And Tybalt? I thought of our marriage, our love, our passion. He could not have feigned that, could he? True, he had never been so eager, so fervent, so completely in love as I and I had accepted that as a difference in our natures.

But was it so?

What did I know of Tabitha? What did I know of Tybalt?

And here I was, with evil thoughts chasing themselves round and round in my head. I had inherited Theodosia's fear. I knew how she had felt when she had listened to the soothsayer. I understood the terror that had gripped her.

We had come to a strange land. A land of mystery, of strange beliefs, where the gods seemed to live on wreaking their vengeance, offering their rewards. That which would have seemed ridiculous at home was plausible here.

Theodosia's premonitions of disaster had proved to have substance. What of mine?

I could not stay in my room. I would go and sit on the balcony.

On the way down I met Tabitha, going up to her room.

"Oh hello, Judith," she said, "where have you been? I was looking for you."

"I took a little walk in the market and then came back. It was so hot."

"I must just have missed you. I was out there too. What do you think the soothsayer told me this time: 'You will have your bridegroom,' he said. 'It will not be long now.' So you see I'm fortunate."

"No black bat for you then?"

"No, a husband no less."

"Should I congratulate you . . . both. Who is the bridegroom to be?"

Tabitha laughed; she lowered her eyes; then she said: "It is a little premature to say. No one has asked me. Perhaps that's to come."

She was smiling secretly as she passed on upstairs.

I had begun to shiver as I had in the Temple. I went out into the hot air but I felt cold and could not stop the shivering.

I did not tell Tybalt about the letter. I hid it in a little box of embossed leather which I had bought from Yasmin some time before. I had mended the case and filed the letters in order.

Leopold Harding came to say goodbye. He said he had already stayed longer than he intended to. "Meeting you all and talking to you made it so fascinating. Even now I find it hard to tear myself away."

Tybalt told him that he must visit us in England.

"I shall take you up on that," was the reply.

There was to be a conference which would be held at the hotel. I gathered that the funds which had been set aside for this expedition were getting low and it had to be decided whether work could be continued.

Tybalt was anxious. He was afraid it would be voted to discontinue, something which he could not accept.

"To stop now at this stage would be the utmost folly," he said. "It was what happened to my father. There has been a fatal accident but that could have happened anywhere. It's these absurd rumors."

He went off with Terence, Hadrian, and other members of the party to the hotel. The palace seemed very quiet without them.

It was during the morning that one of the servants came to tell me that a worker from the site had come to see me.

He had hurt himself and wanted me to dress his wound with my now famous salve.

When I went down to the courtyard I found the young man whose wound I had dressed before and whom I knew as Yasmin's lover.

"Lady," he said, and held out his hand. It was grazed and bleeding a little. I told him to come in and I would boil some water and wash it before anointing it with my salve and bandaging it.

I knew that the hand was not badly hurt, and had perhaps been grazed purposely. He had something of importance to tell me.

"Yasmin will never come back," he said. 'Yasmin is dead. Yasmin was thrown into the river."

"Yes, I know that now."

"But, Lady, you do not know why."

"Tell me."

"Yasmin was found in the tomb. I was not with her that day, or I would be dead. Because she was found where she should not be she was taken away and killed. I know because I have confession from the man who did it. He dared do nothing else. It was the order. And then there came another order. There must be an accident. There must be a warning because it is important to some . . . that you go away."

"I see," I said. "And who gave these orders?"

The boy began to tremble visibly. He looked over his shoulder.

"You may tell me," I said. "Your secret would be safe with me."

"I dare not tell," he said. "It would be death."

"Who should know you told?"

"His servants are everywhere."

"Everywhere. Not here."

"Yes, Lady, here, in this house. You see their mark. . . ."

"The Jackal?"

"It is the sign of Anubis—the first embalmer."

I said: "The Pasha?"

The boy looked so frightened that I knew I was right.

"So," I said, "he gave orders that Yasmin should be killed; and then that one of us should have an accident which could be fatal on the bridge. One of his servants could easily have tampered with the bridge. But why should he?"

"He want you away, Lady. He want you leave it all. He fears . . ."

But he would not go on.

"So Yasmin died," I said, "and my sister died."

"Your sister, Lady. She your sister?"

I nodded.

He was horrified. I think more by the fact that he had betrayed this information to me than by the death of Theodosia, and that she should turn out to be my sister might mean that I would want to take a personal vengeance.

He said suddenly: "Yasmin, she wait for me in a secret place . . .

"A secret place?" I said quickly.

"Inside the tomb. There is small opening not far from the bridge. We have not worked in that small opening so I thought that is our spot. That was where she would have been waiting for me. That was where we lay together."

I tied the bandage and he said: "I tell you, Lady, because you good, good to me, good to Yasmin. And there are orders that there should be more accidents, that all may know the Curse is alive, and the kings are angry with those who defile their resting places."

I said: "Thank you for telling me."

"You will tell the Sir. But not tell that I told. But you will tell him and go away, and then you will be safe."

I said: "I will tell him."

"He will go then for fear it should be you who will die next, for you are his beloved."

I felt sick with horror. I wanted to be alone to think.

I wished Tybalt were here so that I could tell him what I had discovered. He should have listened to me, I told myself angrily. When Yasmin disappeared he had not appeared to be interested. But her disappearance concerned us all.

The Pasha! He wanted us out of the way. Why? I thought of his sitting at the table, eating, paying compliments, assessing our feminine attributes. He had lent us his palace. Why, if he did not want to help us? To have us under his eyes; that was why. His servants waited on us and reported everything we did. It was becoming very clear. And little Yasmin, what had she done to deserve death? She had been found in the tomb waiting for her lover. In the little alcove, which I had not noticed but which Yasmin's lover had described.

I remembered suddenly that the soothsayer had the brand of the Jackal on his arm. So he too was the servant of the Pasha. Was it his task to predict death and disaster, to drive us away?

I must talk to Tybalt. I must tell him what I had heard. But he was at the conference. I would have to wait for his return.

The palace had become really sinister. How did we know who was watching us, listening to every word we uttered? Silent-footed servants following us, reporting on everything we did!

All the servants were the Pasha's servants. They would all have their duties. There were only two we had brought with us: Mustapha and Absalam.

And what of them?

I must find out. I went to my room and rang the bell. Mustapha came and I asked him to bring me mint tea.

I stood beside him as he laid it on the table. I said: "There is an insect. Oh dear! It's gone up your arm." Before he could move I drew up his loose sleeve. It would be on the forearm where I had seen the others.

My little ruse had told me what I wanted to know. On Mustapha's forearm was the brand of the Jackal.

I said calmly: "I don't see it now. The insects here are a pest, and their stings can be so poisonous. People are always coming for my ointment. However, it's gone."

Mustapha's suspicions had not been aroused, I was sure.

He thanked me and left me with my tea.

I sat there sipping it and thinking that if Mustapha was the Pasha's man so must Absalam be.

Then my thoughts went to Sir Edward. He had died in the palace. He had eaten food prepared by Mustapha or Absalam or both and he had died.

If he had a doctor to attend him that doctor could have been the Pasha's man.

Tybalt was in danger as his father had been. We were all in danger.

Sir Edward had discovered something in the tomb and that had necessitated his immediate death. So far it seemed that Tybalt had not found what his father had, as no attempt had been made on his life. But if Tybalt were to make that discovery . . .

I began to shiver. I must see him. I must make him listen, for I was sure that what I had learned was of the utmost importance.