Barbara Erskine - Whispers in the Sand

‘Before we left Luxor I went to the bazaar,’ he said. ‘I have a gift for you.’

She bit her lip. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Hassan –’

‘I am pleased to do it. Please.’ He held out his hand. In it there was a small parcel. ‘I know you wanted to visit the souk yourself to buy a memento.’

Sir John and Lady Forrester on hearing of Louisa’s plan to visit Luxor again had decided almost wilfully that now was the time to sail south.

Taking the parcel from him Louisa looked at it for a moment.

‘It is very old. More than three thousand years. From the time of a king who is hardly known, Tutankhamen.’

For a moment the angle of the boat changed and the shadow of the sail fell across them. She gave an involuntary shiver.

‘Open it.’ His voice was very quiet.

Slowly she reached for the knotted string which held the paper closed. Untying it she let the string fall. The paper crackled faintly as she pulled it away. Inside was a tiny blue glass bottle. With it was a sheet of old paper, crumbling with age, covered in Arabic script. ‘It is glass. From the 18th dynasty. Very special. There is a secret place inside where is sealed a drop of the elixir of life.’ Hassan pointed to the piece of paper. ‘It is all written there. Some I cannot read but it seems to tell the story of a pharaoh who needed to live for ever and the priests of Amun who devised a special elixir which when given to him would bring him back to life. It was part of a special ceremony. The story on the paper says that in order to protect the secret recipe from evil djinn their priest hid it in this bottle. When he died the bottle was lost for thousands of years.’

‘And this is it?’ Louisa laughed with delight.

‘This is it.’ Hassan’s eyes had begun to sparkle as he watched her pleasure.

‘Then it is truly a treasure and I shall keep it always. Thank you.’ She looked up at him and for a moment their eyes met. The seconds of silence stretched out between them, then abruptly Hassan stepped back. He bowed and turned away from her.

‘Hassan –’ Louisa’s voice was husky. The name came out as a whisper and he did not hear her.

For a long time she sat still, the little bottle lying in her lap, then at last she picked it up. It was little taller than her forefinger, made of thick opaque blue glass decorated with a white, twisted design and the stopper was sealed in place with some kind of resiny wax. She held it up to the sunlight, but the glass was too thick to see through it and after a minute she gave up. Slipping it into her watercolour box, she tucked it safely into the section where the brushes and water pot lived. Later in her cabin she would put it away in the bottom secret drawer of her wooden dressing case.

Picking up her brush again, she turned back to her picture, but she found it difficult to concentrate.

Her thoughts kept returning to Hassan.

Anna laid down the diary and glanced at the slatted shutters over the window. The boat had given a slight shudder. Then she heard the steady beat of the engines. Climbing to her feet she went to the window and pushing back the shutter she opened it. Already they were moving away from the bank. She watched the strip of dark water between the boat and the shore widen slowly then the note of the engines changed and she felt the steady forward thrust of the paddle wheels. They were on their way. She stood for several minutes watching the luminous darkness, then leaving the window open she went back to her bed and sliding under the cotton quilt she picked up the diary again. So, the bottle lying there in her bag, had originally been a gift from Hassan. And what a gift! It wasn’t a scent bottle at all. It was some kind of ancient phial, a holy artefact from the time of Tutankhamen, whose tomb of course had not yet been discovered in Louisa’s day, and it contained nothing less than the elixir of life!

She shuddered. For an instant she was back in that dark inner burial chamber looking down at the mummy case of the boy king and she remembered how she had become instantly and totally aware of his body lying there before her, and how she had dropped her bag – and the bottle – virtually at his feet.

Pulling the quilt more closely under her chin she picked up the diary again, soothed by the gentle rumble of the engine deep in the heart of the boat, and she began to read on.

That night, dressed in her coolest muslin Louisa lingered at the saloon table after Augusta had retired to her cabin. Sir John raised an eyebrow. ‘We sail as soon as the wind gets up a little. The reis tells me that should be with the dusk. The wind comes in off the desert then.’ He reached for the silver box of cheroots and offered it to her. Louisa took one. She had never smoked before coming to Egypt. To know how shocked her mother-in-law would be to see her was enough reason. The scandalised lift of Lady Forrester’s eyebrow had been a second. With a silent chuckle she leant forward and allowed Sir John to light it for her.

‘Can I ask you to translate something for me?’ She reached into her pocket for the paper which had been wrapped around the little bottle.

Sir John took it. Leaning back he inhaled deeply on his own smoke and rested it on a small copper ashtray. ‘Let me see. This is Arabic, but written a long time ago, judging by the paper.’

He glanced at her for a moment. ‘Where did you say you found this?’

She smiled. ‘I didn’t. One of the servants found it in the souk with a souvenir he bought for me.’

‘I see.’ He frowned. Laying it down on the table he smoothed out the creases and peered at it in silence for several moments. Watching him, Louisa could feel her first casual interest tightening into nervous apprehension. He was frowning now, a finger tracing the curling letters over the page. At last he looked up.

‘I think this must be a practical joke. A piece of nonsense to frighten and amuse the credulous.’

‘Frighten?’ Louisa’s eyes were riveted to the paper. ‘Please, will you read it to me?’

He was breathing heavily through his nose. ‘I needn’t read it exactly. Indeed it is difficult to decipher all of it. Sufficient to say that it seems to be a warning. The item it accompanies –’ he looked up at her, his blue eyes shrewd – ‘you have that item?’

‘A little scent bottle, yes.’

‘Well, it is cursed in some way. It belonged once to a high priest who served the pharaoh. An evil spirit tried to steal it. Both fight for it still, apparently.’ His face relaxed into a smile. ‘A wonderful story for the gullible visitor from abroad. You will be able to show it to people when you go back to London and watch their faces pale over the dinner table as you recount your visit to Egypt.’

‘You don’t think it’s serious then?’ She tapped ash from her cheroot onto the little copper dish.

‘Serious?’ He roared with laughter. ‘My dear Louisa, I hardly think so! But if you see a high priest on the boat, or indeed any evil djinn, please tell me. I should very much like to meet them.’

He moved his chair closer to hers as he laid the paper down on the table between them. ‘There are real antiquities to be bought if you have the contacts. I could arrange for some to be brought to the boat when we return to Luxor. There is no need for you to send servants to the bazaar.’

‘But I didn’t –’ She bit off the words before she could finish the sentence, realising suddenly that it would not be wise to tell Sir John that the bottle had been a present from her dragoman.