‘You could have left my boots alone,’ I nonetheless rejoined.
‘Keeping it hidden didn’t protect you from having a snake dropped in your bed, did it? What’s this business with snakes anyway? I hate snakes.’
‘Astiza said there’s some serpent god,’ I said, agreeing to change the subject. ‘Its followers have a modern cult, I think, and perhaps our enemies are a part of it. You know, Bin Sadr’s curious snake-headed staff reminds me of a Bible story. Moses threw his staff down before Pharaoh and it turned into a serpent.’
‘Now we’re onto Moses?’
‘I’m as confused as you, Antoine.’
‘Considerably more so. At least Moses had the sense to lead his people out of this crazy country.’
‘It’s an odd story, isn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘The ten plagues that Moses has to bring. Each time one of the disasters occurs, Pharaoh relents, and says he will let the Hebrews go. Then he changes his mind until Moses brings on the next plague. He must have really needed those slaves.’
‘Until the final plague, when the eldest sons died. Then Pharaoh did let them go.’
‘And yet even then he changed his mind and pursued Moses with his army. If he hadn’t done that, he and his host would never have drowned in the closing of the Red Sea. Why didn’t he give up? Why not let Moses just walk away?’
‘Pharaoh was stubborn, like our own little general. Perhaps that’s the lesson of the Bible, that sometimes you have to let things go. In any event, I’ll ask about your snake friend, but I’m surprised you’ve not requested that I ask about another.’
‘Who?’
‘Astiza, of course.’
‘She seems guarded. As gentlemen, we must respect a woman’s privacy.’
Talma snorted. ‘And now she has the medallion – the same medallion I wasn’t allowed to see, and which the dreaded Bin Sadr has been unable to get his hands on!’
‘You still don’t trust her?’
‘Trust a slave, a sniper, a beauty, a witch? No. And I even like her.’
‘She’s no witch.’
‘She’s a priestess who casts spells, you told me. Who is obviously casting a spell over you, and who has usurped what we came here with.’
‘She’s a partner. An ally.’
‘I wish you’d bed her, as a master has every right to do, so you could clear your brain and see her for what she is.’
‘If I make her sleep with me it doesn’t count.’
He shook his head in pity. ‘Well, I’m going to ask about Astiza even if you’re not, because I’ve already learnt one thing you don’t know.’
‘What?’
‘That when she formerly lived in Cairo, she had some kind of relationship with a European scholar allegedly studying ancient secrets.’
‘What scholar?’
‘An Italian-French nobleman named Alessandro Silano.’
At Abukir Bay, the power of the French was manifest. Admiral Francois-Paul Brueys d’Aigalliers, who had viewed the disembarkation of Napoleon and his troops from his warships with the relief of a headmaster dismissing an unruly classroom, had created a defensive wall of wood and iron. His battleships were still moored in a long line, gunports open and five hundred muzzles pointed stoutly at the sea. A brisk northwesterly breeze was pushing swells against the ships, rocking them like majestic cradles.
Only when we sailed onto the leeward side behind the vessels did I realise that these were ships only half at war. The French had anchored a long mile and a half from the beach in the shallow bay, and the landward half of the hulls were under repair. Sailors had rigged scaffolding to paint. Longboats were tied to ferry supplies or sailors. Laundry and bedding dried in the sun. Cannon were moved aside for carpentry. Awnings had been rigged above the hot decks. Hundreds of sailors had gone ashore to dig wells and manage trains of camels and donkeys bringing provisions from Alexandria. A fortress on one side was a market on the other.
Still, L’Orient was one of the largest warships in the world. It rose like a castle, and climbing its ladder was like climbing a giant. I called up to announce myself, and as the felucca pushed off to carry Talma to Alexandria, I was piped aboard. It was noon on the fourteenth day of Thermidor, Year Six, the sun blazing, the shore golden, the sea an empty, brilliant blue. In other words, August 1 ^ st, 1798.
I was ushered to the admiral’s great cabin, which he had reclaimed from Napoleon. Brueys was in a white cotton shirt, open at the neck, confronting a table of paperwork. He was still sweating despite the sea breeze, and looked unusually pale. Physically, he was the general’s opposite: middle-aged at forty-five, with long, pale hair, a wide, generous mouth, friendly eyes, and a tall build. If Bonaparte’s appearance was energising, Brueys was calming, a man more at ease with himself and his station. He took the dispatches from our general with a slight grimace, politely remarked on the past friendship between our two countries, and asked my purpose.
‘The savants have begun their investigation of the ancient ruins. I suspect that a calendar device with ties to Cagliostro might prove useful in understanding the mind of the Egyptians. Bonaparte has given me permission to examine it.’ I handed over an order.
‘The mind of the Egyptians? What use is that?’
‘The pyramids are so remarkable that we don’t understand how they were built. This instrument is one of many clues.’
He looked sceptical. ‘A clue if we wanted to build pyramids.’
‘My visit to your ship will be brief, Admiral. I have papers giving me permission to take the antiquity to Cairo.’
He nodded wearily. ‘I apologise I am not more gracious, Monsieur Gage. It is not easy working with Bonaparte, and I’ve been plagued with dysentery since we came to this godforsaken country. My belly aches, my ships are beggared for supplies, and my undermanned crews are made up chiefly of those too invalided for the army.’
The sickness explained his pallor. ‘Then I’ll not be more of a burden than I must. If you could give me escort to the hold…’
‘But of course.’ He sighed. ‘I’d have you to dinner if I could eat. What interruption are you when we sit here at anchor, waiting for Nelson to find us? It’s madness to keep the fleet in Egypt, yet Napoleon clings to my ships like an infant to a blanket.’
‘Your ships are critical to all his plans.’
‘So he has flattered me. Well, let me give you the captain’s son, he’s a bright lad of promise. If you can keep up with him, you’re fitter than I.’
The midshipman Giocante, a boy of ten, was the son of ship’s captain Luce Casabianca. A bright, dark-haired lad who had explored every cranny of L’Orient, he led me down to the treasury with the agility of a monkey. Our descent was brighter than the last time I’d gone this way with Monge, sunlight flooding through open gunports. There was a strong smell of turpentine and sawdust. I saw paint cans and oak lumber.
It didn’t get dim until we descended to the orlop deck below the waterline. Now I could smell bilge water and the cheesy odour of stores going rancid in the climate. It was cooler down here, dark and secretive.
Giocante turned and gave a wink. ‘You’ll not fill your pockets with gold pieces, now?’ the boy teased me with the cheek of a captain’s son.
‘I wouldn’t get away with you watching me, would I?’ I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Unless you want to go in double, boy, and we’ll both sneak ashore, rich as princes!’
‘No need of that. My father says we’ll capture a fat English prize one day.’
‘Ah. Your future is taken care of, then.’
‘My future is this ship. We are bigger than anything the English have, and when the time comes, we will teach them a lesson.’ He snapped orders at the marines who guarded the magazine and they began to unlock the
