Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

‘What’s all this about?’ demanded Owen.

‘He’s going to sell the Tree,’ said one of the Sons of Islam, pointing an accusing finger at Daniel, the Copt, skulking behind the other Copts.

‘It’s my property!’ retorted Daniel. ‘I can do with it as I like!’

‘Selling your birthright!’ jeered the Sons of Islam.

‘It’s not your property!’ cried a loud voice from behind Owen. It was Sheikh Isa, hurrying up on his donkey.

‘It is my property!’ cried Daniel indignantly, emerging from behind the row of Copts and forgetting to skulk.

‘Blackguard!’ cried Sheikh Isa, swinging a bony leg over his donkey and descending to the ground.

‘Villain!’ cried Daniel, and rushed on him.

The Copt and Muslim lines moved forward.

Owen caught hold of Isa and Daniel and thrust them apart.

‘What is all this nonsense?’ he said. ‘No one is selling the Tree!’

‘Well… ’ said Daniel uncomfortably.

‘Ha!’ cried Sheikh Isa.

‘Actually-’ began Salah-el-Din.

Owen turned on him.

‘Do you know anything about this?’

‘The Syndicate has made him an offer.’

‘Which I am considering,’ said Daniel modestly.

‘The bastard’s accepted!’ cried one of the Sons.

‘It’s not his to accept!’ shouted Sheikh Isa.

‘The question of ownership is in the hands of the courts,’ said Owen. ‘That’s why you’re here. Guarding the Tree until the question is resolved. Which won’t be for years.’

‘Why have they made him an offer, then?’ asked Sheikh Isa.

Owen turned again to Salah.

‘The offer is not, strictly speaking, for the Tree, but for any claims he may have for the Tree. The same offer has been made to the descendents of the Empress Eugenie and, indeed, to anyone else who has claims to the Tree-’

‘It hasn’t been made to me!’ cried Sheikh Isa.

‘Legally, you don’t have-’ began Salah.

‘That’s right!’ Daniel interrupted gleefully. ‘You don’t even have a recognizable claim!’

‘We’re pretty recognizable!’ said the Sons of Islam.

‘The Khedive gave the Tree-’ began Salah-el-Din.

‘Gave?’ said Isa incredulously. ‘The Holy Tree? Something that is the property of Islam? It was not his to give. Who is this Khedive? I don’t recognize him!’

‘Death to the Khedive!’ shouted the Sons of Islam.

‘That’s right!’ cried the Copts joyfully. ‘Death to the Khedive!’

The Sons glared at them.

‘And to the Christians!’

‘Who would give away the Tree!’ interrupted Sheikh Isa.

‘Sell it,’ corrected Daniel. ‘Not give it.’

‘Never!’ said Sheikh Isa. ‘Over my dead body!’

‘So be it!’ said Daniel, signalling to the Copts.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ said Owen. ‘Get back, the lot of you! Guards!’

‘Look out!’ cried one of the Sons. ‘He shot down the Faithful in the square the other night!’

‘Shot down the Faithful?’ said Sheikh Isa.

‘Well done!’ chorused the Copts.

Daniel and Isa threw themselves upon one another.

Owen wrestled them apart.

‘Get him away!’ he said to Salah over his shoulder.

Salah hustled Daniel off. Owen caught Sheikh Isa by the folds of his galabeah and heaved him out of earshot of the rival supports. ‘Now you listen to me-’

‘Now you listen to me,’ he said to the assembled company a few minutes later. ‘I have agreed with Sheikh Isa that until the courts have spoken, the Tree cannot be sold.’

Daniel opened his mouth.

‘And have told him that if the Copt takes any action in the meantime I shall confiscate the property on behalf of the Khedive.’

‘I don’t think, actually, that you can-’ began Salah uncomfortably.

Owen silenced him with a baleful look.

‘And I myself will speak with those who would buy the Tree. It may be that they will change their mind. One thing is certain, though: and that is that if I have any more trouble from any of you-’

Copts and Sons listened to the tirade admiringly. Owen made it long to give them time to calm down; and made it funny to restore their good humour. At the end, they stood for a moment or two uncertainly and then sat down.

Daniel came up to Owen and plucked him by the sleeve.

‘Effendi-’

‘And you,’ said Owen, ‘go home.’

‘Go home?’ said Daniel astonished.

‘That’s right. Get on your donkey and go.’

Daniel hesitated, shrugged, then went down among the balsam trees and collected his donkey. They watched him climb on to its back and set off in the direction of Tel-el-Hasan.

‘It’s all right for him,’ said one of the Sons to one of the Copts. ‘You’ve got to stay here.’

‘You know,’ said the Copt, ‘I think that every night when he gets on his donkey and sets off for his comfortable bed.’

‘Comfortable wife, too, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said the Son of Islam. He looked across at Sheikh Isa. ‘It’s all right for him, too. He just gets on his donkey and off he goes. We’ve got to stay here. And we’ve got wives, too!’

Camaraderie restored, the two sat down happily to grumble together.

‘I will send up chickens for tonight,’ said Owen. ‘Or at least, Heliopolis will.’

He looked at Salah.

‘Definitely!’ promised Salah.

Owen had words for Salah, too.

‘If the Syndicate goes behind my back just once again-’

‘I was going to tell you,’ said Salah hurriedly.

‘What are they after? Trying to buy the Tree? It’s nowhere near the line of the railway.’

‘Malik wants to use the land for training gallops,’ said a voice behind him.

He had forgotten about Amina.

‘You were terrific,’ she said.

‘Thanks. What’s it got to do with him?’

‘The committee has hopes of a training stable. It would have to be on this side because they’re building on the other ones. He’s got an interest of his own, too. He has some land over here which he thinks could be part of it.’

‘Just a minute, it’s the Syndicate that’s buying the land, isn’t it? Not the committee.’

‘The Syndicate’s buying the land for the committee.’

Salah cut in quickly, with an annoyed look at his daughter. ‘The Syndicate is developing the site. It builds the facilities and then lets them to clients like the Racing Committee.’

‘Which keeps asking for more and more.’

‘Amina!’ said Salah angrily. ‘It is time you went. Ride on!’ Amina gave Owen a smile as she went.

‘Remember,’ she said, ‘I ride over this way every morning.’

‘On your way, girl!’ shouted Salah furiously. ‘Sometimes I wonder,’ he said to Owen, ‘if I’ve brought her up in quite the right way!’

‘Immodesty upon immodesty!’ cried Sheikh Isa, who had only just seen Amina. ‘Abomination upon abomination! A woman! On a horse!’

‘My fortune is made!’ called the barber as Owen passed. ‘Come and rejoice at my wealth!’

Owen dropped into the little circle around the chair.

‘How is your fortune made?’

‘The Belgians wish to buy my land.’

‘You haven’t got any land,’ one of the circle objected.

‘My cousin has.’

‘It’s only an allotment. Which he shares with Musa.’

‘Land is land. And it’s right in the way of what Malik wants for his gallops. I shall hold out! Whatever he offers me, I shall spurn. “You offer me that?” I shall say, “I disdain your puny offer. You’ll have to offer serious money if you want to get anywhere with me!” ’

‘But it’s not your land!’

‘It’s my cousin’s land. And my cousin is but a fool, a simple man. He has no head for this kind of thing. I shall negotiate for him.’