surface of the pale stone; their hands and arms glistened with oil; their cinnamon-coloured skin gleamed with sweat.
Arthur stopped. “Here’s our man,” he whispered, watching the priests slather oil over the rounded column, rubbing it slowly over the smooth surface.
“Which one?” wondered Xian-Li.
“The one with the flowers.”
A little apart stood a fourth priest: tall and elegant in a pale blue, pleated robe of crisp linen and a chest plate and belt of gold discs, his head newly shaved but for a thick braided queue that hung down his back. He held a garland of yellow flowers looped around his outstretched arms, which were decorated with many golden bracelets and armbands. He called a word to his fellow priests, who straightened from their work, then bowed and, extending their hands, palms horizontal to the ground, backed away. The gold-belted priest stepped forward and placed the garland over the freshly oiled stone. He raised his hands to shoulder height and chanted in a loud voice. Then, stepping away, he bowed, then turned and with his fellow priests started back to the temple.
“Anen!” called Arthur.
The priest halted and turned around, scanning the people milling around the temple square for the one who had called his name. His large dark eyes swept the crowd, falling eventually on Arthur and Xian-Li. “Artus!” he cried.
A moment later, the priest was before them. “Artus,” he said, seizing the forearms of his friend. The two men brushed cheeks on each side, and then the tall priest turned to Xian-Li. Smiling, his eyes merry with delight, he took her hand. “Iaw,” he said. “Jjetj! Jjetj! Nefer hemet.”
Although she could not understand his speech, the man’s voice was nicely modulated and gentle, and the goodwill shining from his gleaming countenance was unmistakable. She felt instantly at ease and comfortable in his presence.
“He says you are welcome here, beautiful lady,” Arthur explained. “He wishes you peace.”
“You speak Egyptian?” Xian-Li asked, her eyes growing round.
“I spent many months here a few years ago. I was assigned a young priest to teach me their language. I learned as much as I could in the short time I had.”
The two men spoke briefly to one another, whereupon Anen called out to his fellow priests who had been participating in the ritual with him; they were dressed in simple yellow robes now, and they hurried to meet their master. The priest gave them a series of rapid commands, then turned to his visitors and explained.
“He has ordered the guesthouse to be prepared for us,” Arthur translated. “We are to stay with him in the temple precinct while we are here. He hopes we plan a lengthy visit. He has much to show us.”
Turning to Anen, he relayed their acceptance and thanks, whereupon the priest pressed his hands together and then turned, indicating to the two travellers to follow him. He led them past the temple entrance to a gate set in a low wall, through the opening and into a compound containing an assortment of squat buildings. It was paved with white stone, but with numerous islands of greenery resplendent with flowering bushes and small trees; larger trees planted along the periphery wall shaded the open places, keeping the whole area cooler and a world away from the crowded, dusty streets outside. Iridescent blue peacocks strutted in the sun and roosted in the lower branches. Four skinny youths with shaven heads, bare to the waist in short knee-length yellow kilts, swept the pristine pavements of errant leaves and peacock droppings. From somewhere close by, the trickle of water into the bowl of a fountain lent the compound a calm and soothing air.
“This reminds me of the prince’s gardens at the Jade Palace in Macau,” Xian-Li said. “So beautiful.”
While the two men talked, Xian-Li strolled around the grounds, feeling the sunlight on her hair and skin. After the cold and rainy winter in England, the sun felt like a long-absent and much-missed companion, and she luxuriated in the warmth. Even as she was enjoying the garden, she was reminded once again how utterly unimaginable her life had become. When Arthur had shared the secret of his tattoos with her, she had believed him-in the same way that a child, not understanding anything of the world, will believe its parents when they tell it that money is valuable; but like that child, Xian-Li did not, could not, begin to imagine the fathomless implications of what he had told her.
To take even the first shaky steps toward understanding, she had to experience ley travel for herself, although it had to be admitted that the experience raised many more questions than it answered. This was her third time-the first two were but short hops within England and were mere rehearsals for this trip. Those first two modest leaps had shocked her enough for her to take it all very seriously. And now, as she looked around, what she saw simply beggared belief. Nothing in her previous life could have prepared her for the things she was learning, seeing, living under Arthur’s tutelage. She had no words to describe it-at least, any description she attempted always fell far short of the staggering astonishment she felt. Enthralled, enchanted, reeling with wonder, she loved it-almost as much as she loved the man who had opened this fantastic universe to her.
In a little while, she heard Arthur call her back. “The guesthouse had been made ready,” he said. “We can rest a little if you like. There will be food later. They tend to eat their largest meal at midday, but Anen has ordered some light refreshment for us.”
“I am not tired,” Xian-Li replied. “And I could not eat a thing right now. I want to see the city. I want to see everything.”
Arthur laughed. “Then let us take a walk. I can show you around a little. Anen wants to take us to the royal palace to meet the royal family. Tomorrow, maybe. Pharaoh is travelling upriver, but his return is expected any day. Wait a moment; I’ll tell Anen that we’re going for a short walk in the city.”
The priest would not hear otherwise but that his visitors should be given clothing more suitable for their station, and for the weather. When they had changed into their lightweight robes, he seconded one of the temple acolytes to attend them as guide and interpreter, and the three ventured out from the temple compound and proceeded around the public square. Arthur’s intent was to let his young wife get her feet under her a bit and learn something of the land and its people. Once she had the measure of things, he would take her to see the Nile where they might sail with the gentle Egyptian winds.
After making a circuit of the square, they started up the single main street. “These are the dwellings of the wealthier merchants,” Arthur explained, pausing before a line of large stone houses either side of the wide, palm- lined street.
“And the small huts?” wondered Xian-Li. Squatting in the shade of the expensive houses with their well- appointed gardens were simple hovels of mud brick thatched with palm leaves.
“For the slaves,” replied Arthur. “All higher-caste Egyptians keep slaves-Nubians, Ethiopes, and others. All in all, it is not so bad for them. Life in Egypt is very good.”
“Aha!” cried their guide suddenly as Arthur made to continue up the street.
Arthur halted in midstep, putting out his hand to stop Xian-Li. “Wait,” he said. They turned as the first of a long line of fully laden donkeys passed, their drivers walking beside them with corded whips. The bundles heaped high on the beasts’ strong backs contained cut cane, raw flax, and produce-melons, leeks, nets of radishes and beans and chard-and lengths of aromatic wood.
“They’re heading for the marketplace,” Arthur told her as they watched the passing train. “Tomorrow is market day, I should think. Would you like to see it?”
“Oh, yes! I want to see everything.”
“Then in the morning we’ll go,” promised Arthur.
They continued their walk into the city, but did not get much farther because Xian-Li, dazzled by the diversity of this strange and exotic culture and overwhelmed by all she saw, grew fatigued. “I am sorry, husband,” she confessed. “I think I must rest a little.”
“Of course, my dear. It can be daunting-so much all at once. We’ll go back now, rest, and have a little something to eat. You’ll begin to get used to it. Tomorrow will be better, you’ll see.”
But the promises of tomorrow, however sincere, are fragile paper boats launched on a vast and uncertain sea: easily swamped by the least rippling wave or ocean breeze.
CHAPTER 29
