The seventh scroll is gone.'
'Trust him,' he whispered. 'Good man. Trust him-' There was a terrible
appeal in his 'Promise me!'
Then she remembered the notebook in their flat at Giza in the Cairo
suburbs, and the Taita material on the hard drive on her PC. Not
everything was gone. 'Yes,' she agreed, 'I promise you, my husband, I
promise you.'
Though those mutilated features could show no human expression there was
a faint echo of satisfaction in his voice as he whispered, 'My flower!'
Then his head dropped forward, and he died in her arms.
The peasants from the village found Royan still kneeling beside the
pond, holding him, whispering to him. By that time the flames were
abating, and the faint light of dawn was stronger than their fading
glow.
The staff from the museum and the Antiquities were at the funeral the
church of the oasis. Even Atalan Abou Sin, the Minister of Culture and
Tourism and Duraid's superior, had come out from Cairo in his official
black air-conditioned Mercedes.
He stood behind Royan and, though he was a Moslem, joined in the
responses. Nahoot Guddabi stood beside his uncle. Nahoot's mother was
the minister's youngest sister, which, as Duraid had sarcastically
pointed out, fully made up for the nephew's lack of qualifications and
experience in archaeology anj for his ineptitude as an administrator.
The day was sweltering. Outside, the temperature stood at over thirty
degrees, and even in the dim cloisters of the Coptic church it was
oppressive. In the thick clouds of incense smoke and the drone of the
black-clad priest intoning the ancient order of service Royan felt
herself suffocating. The stitches in her right arm pulled and burned,
and every time she looked at the long black coffin that stood in front
of the ornate and gilded altar, the dreadful vision of Duraid's bald and
scorched head rose before her eyes and she swayed'in her seat and had to
catch herself before she fell.
At last it was over and she could escape into the open air and the
desert sunlight. Even then her duties were not at an end. As principal
mourner, her place was directly behind the coffin as they walked in
procession to the cemetery amongst the palm groves, where Duraid's
relatives awaited him in the family mausoleum.
Before he returned to Cairo, Atalan Abou Sin came to shake her hand and
offer her a few words of condolence.
'What a terrible business, Royan. I have personally spoken to the
Minister of the Interior. They will catch the animals responsible for
this outrage, believe me. Please take as long as you need before you
return to the museum,' he told her.
'I will be in my office again on Monday,' she replied, and he drew a
pocket diary from inside the jacket of his dark double-breasted suit. He
consulted it and made a note, before he looked up at her again.
'Then come to see me at the Ministry in the afternoon.
Four 'clock,' he told her. He went to the waiting Mercedes, while Nahoot
Guddabi came forward to shake hands. Though his skin was sallow and
there were coffeecoloured stains beneath his dark eyes, he was tall and
