from her fist like a cat’s toy.
I hefted the tomahawk. ‘Let’s go back inside and finish him.’
But there were shouts of French from the front of the temple compound, and the signal shots of sentries. She shook her head. ‘There’s no time.’
So we ran, fleeing out a rear gate in the eastern wall and into the desert beyond, weaponless, horseless, without food, water, or sensible clothing. We heard more shouts, and shots, but no bullet buzzed near.
‘Hurry,’ she said. ‘The Nile has almost peaked!’
What did that mean?
We had nothing except the tomahawk and the cursed medallion.
And each other.
But, who was this woman I had rescued, who had rescued me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Nile was high, brown, and powerful. It was October, the year’s peak flood, and we were approaching the date the circular calendar seemed to suggest. We stole a small boat and set off down the river, headed back for the Great Pyramid that Monge had suggested must be the key to the riddle. I’d give it a last crack, and if we couldn’t puzzle it out I’d just keep going to the Mediterranean. Whether the strange woman beside me would follow, I had no idea.
By the time the sun rose we were miles from Desaix’s army, drifting with the current. I might have relaxed except that I saw a French courier galloping along the river bank, spying us and then cutting inland on a shortcut while we took the river’s looping bends. No doubt he was carrying word of our escape. I lowered the boom to set the lateen sail, giving us even more speed, the boat leaning with the wind and water hissing as I tacked. We passed a yawning crocodile, prehistoric and hideous. Water glistened on his scales, and yellow eyes looked at us with reptilian contemplation. After Silano, he seemed an improvement in company.
What a pair we made, I in Arab costume and Astiza in temptress regalia, sprawled on the muddy floorboards of a small felucca that stank of fish. She’d said little since we reunited, gazing over the Nile and fingering the medallion she’d draped around her own neck with an air of ownership. I hadn’t asked for it back.
‘I came a long way to find you,’ I finally said.
‘You followed the star of Isis.’
‘But you weren’t chained as you pretended.’
‘No. Nothing was as it seemed. I fooled him, and you.’
‘You knew Silano before?’
She sighed. ‘He was a master and lover who turned to darker arts. He believed Egypt’s magic was as real as Berthollet’s chemistry and that he, following in the footsteps of Cagliostro and Kolmer, could find occult secrets here. He cared nothing for the world, only for himself, because he was bitter over what he’d lost in the Revolution. When I realised how selfish he was, we had a falling-out. I fled to Alexandria and found sanctuary with a new master, the guardian. Silano’s dreams were shallow. Alessandro wanted Egypt’s secrets to make him powerful, even immortal, so I played a double game.’
‘Did he buy you from Yusuf?’
‘Yes. It was a bribe to the old lecher.’
‘Lecher?’
‘Yusuf’s hospitality was not entirely selfless. I needed to get away from there.’ She saw my look. ‘Don’t worry, he didn’t touch me.’
‘So you went with your old lover.’
‘You hadn’t come back from the pyramids. Silano told me he hadn’t found you at Enoch’s. Going with the count was the only way to make progress in solving the mystery. I knew nothing of Dendara, and neither did you. That place had been forgotten for centuries. I told Alessandro you had the medallion, and then left you a message of where to find it in the harem. We both knew you’d come after us. And then I rode freely, because the French would have asked too many questions if I’d been bound.’
Alessandro! I didn’t like the familiarity of a first name. ‘And then you brought a temple down on him.’
‘He believes in his own charm, like you.’
As did she, toying with both of us as a means to her end. ‘You asked me what I believed in, Astiza. Who do you believe in?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You helped Silano because you want the secret too.’
‘Of course. But to safeguard it, not ransom it to some greedy tyrant like Bonaparte. Can you imagine that man with an army of immortals? At its peak, Egypt was defended by an army of just twenty thousand men, and seemed impregnable. Then something seemed to happen, something was lost, and invasions began.’
‘Going with the men who murdered Talma…’
‘Silano knew things I did not. I knew things he did not. Could you have found the temple of Dendara that we came from by yourself? We didn’t know which temple Enoch’s books referred to, but Silano did after his studies in Rome and Constantinople and Jerusalem. We would never have found the other arms of the medallion by ourselves, just as Silano could not complete the medallion without you and Enoch. You had some clues and the count had others. The gods brought us all together.’
‘The gods, or the Egyptian Rite? Gypsies didn’t tell you I was coming to Egypt.’
She looked away. ‘I couldn’t tell you the truth because you’d misunderstand. Alessandro lied and sent word that you’d stolen the medallion from him. I pretended to help so I could use him. You survived our assassination attempt. Then Enoch persuaded Ashraf to try to find us in the battle – you, the man in a green coat, who conveniently stood up on an artillery caisson – so that he could see this medallion all were so curious about. Everything that happened was supposed to, except poor Talma’s death.’
My mind was whirling. Maybe I was naive. ‘So we’re all just tools for you – me for the medallion, Silano for his occult knowledge? No different, here to be used?’
‘I did not fall in love with Silano.’
‘I didn’t say you were in love with him, I said…’ I stopped. She was looking away from me, rigid, trembling, her long fine hair blowing in the warm wind that kicked up little wavelets on the river. Not in love? With him. Did that mean that perhaps my pursuit had not gone unnoticed, my charm not entirely unappreciated, my good intentions not misunderstood? But then how much did I feel about her now? I wished to have her, yes, but to love her? I didn’t even know her, it seemed. And love was truly dangerous ground for a man like me, a prospect more daunting than a Mameluke charge or a naval broadside. It meant believing in something, committing to more than a moment. What did I really feel toward this woman who’d seemed to betray me but perhaps had not?
‘What I mean is, I haven’t loved anyone else either,’ I stumbled. Not the most eloquent of replies. ‘That is, I’m not even sure love exists.’
She was exasperated. ‘How do you know electricity exists, Ethan?’
‘Well.’ That was actually a damned good question, since it seemed naturally invisible. ‘By sparks, I suppose. You can feel it. Or a lightning bolt.’
‘Exactly.’ Now she was looking at me, smiling like a sphinx, enigmatic, unapproachable, except that now the door had been opened and all I had to do was step through it. What had Berthollet surmised about my character? That I had not realised my potential? Now here was a chance to grow up, to commit not to an idea, but to a person.
‘I don’t even know what side you’re on,’ I stalled.
‘I’m on our side.’
Which side was that? And then, before our conversation could get to some kind of agreeable conclusion, the crack of a gun echoed across the river.
We looked downstream. A felucca was sailing toward us, its rigging taut, deck thick with men. Even at a distance of three hundred metres, I could recognise the bandaged arm of Achmed bin Sadr. By all the tea in China, could I not get clear of this man? I hadn’t felt so weary of someone’s company since Franklin had John Adams to
