The Spoils of Egypt Read online

  ‘What about when the antiquities come?’

  The man didn’t understand him.

  ‘When Tomas brings his things.’

  ‘Tomas?’

  The workman called across to some men piling mud bricks.

  ‘The Pasha’s man, isn’t he?’ one of them said.

  ‘A Copt,’ said Owen, though they would know that from the name.

  A man came out from behind the wall of piled bricks.

  ‘Here, Ali,’ they said, ‘he wants to know about the Pasha’s man.’

  ‘Why?’ said the man.

  Owen found the question unexpectedly hard to answer. He could invoke authority, but here out of Cairo the Pasha was the one with the authority.

  ‘He thinks he’s left one of the things behind,’ he said.

  ‘Well, that’s easy enough,’ said the man. ‘There were plenty of them.’

  He turned on his heel and led Owen up behind the bricks to a beaten earth square in which there were sacks of dates and packages of various kinds. Leaning against the wall were some of the objects from Der el Bahari: among them the piece of façade with the leopard cub.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Owen.

  The man shrugged.

  ‘I expect someone thought it was meant to go up to the house with the others,’ he said.

  ‘Why, Captain Owen,’ said a familiar voice behind him. ‘I see you’ve found our dear little leopard.’

  Miss Skinner had just come into the yard with Marbrouk and, somewhat to Owen’s surprise, Nuri.

  Miss Skinner came up to him.

  ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at the façade. ‘Captain Owen and I both remarked this dear little cub,’ she said, turning to Marbrouk. ‘That was at Der el Bahari. We looked for it at Cairo. I dare say it’s on its way, is it?’

  Marbrouk stepped forward and inspected it.

  ‘A fine piece of work,’ he said. ‘Yes, it’s on its way.’

  ‘Is it on the list?’ asked Owen.

  ‘The façade is certainly on the list,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Of course, the fragments are not listed individually. One just has to be sure that they all get there,’ she added, smiling. ‘Doesn’t one?’

  ‘It should have gone with the other pieces,’ said Marbrouk. ‘An oversight. I’ll see it is sent on. These people! You can never rely on them.’

  ‘I thought Tomas was pretty reliable,’ said Owen.

  ‘He’s all right,’ said Marbrouk. ‘He’s probably arranged for these to follow separately for some reason.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ said Miss Skinner. ‘Captain Owen has become quite attached to that little leopard.’

  ‘Why don’t you come up to the house,’ said Marbrouk, ‘and have some refreshment?’

  ‘I don’t want to interrupt you,’ said Owen.

  ‘I was just showing Miss Skinner around the estate. This bit is not very pleasant. But it makes money.’

  ‘I prefer the orange groves,’ said Miss Skinner.

  They walked back to the house. It lay among orange groves and date plantations and was completely shielded from the dock. It was a large, single-storey, white, mud brick house built around a courtyard in which a fountain was playing. The courtyard was like a Greek or a Turkish garden, densely packed with shrubs for shade. The scent of oleander hung heavily in the air.

  They sat down beside the fountain and servants brought them lemonade and dates and little sweet, sticky cakes.

  ‘You see I have been taking Mr Marbrouk up on his kind offer,’ said Miss Skinner.

  ‘And did you find his treasures interesting?’

  ‘Oh, most interesting. Most interesting.’

  ‘I would like to see them, too, if I may,’ said Owen.

  ‘Of course,’ said the Pasha, but remained seated.

  ‘I have fine treasures, too,’ Nuri said to Miss Skinner. ‘You must come and see mine.’

  Guessing, perhaps, that Owen was puzzled by Nuri’s presence, Miss Skinner said:

  ‘When I asked Mr Nuri how to get here he very kindly offered to drive me here in his car.’

  ‘A pleasure,’ said Nuri, smiling sweetly at Marbrouk.

  Marbrouk did not reciprocate.

  ‘It is so nice,’ said Miss Skinner, ‘to see inside people’s houses. It really helps me to feel I’m getting to know the country.’

  ‘This is just a weekend retreat,’ said Marbrouk. ‘I come up here with a friend or two when I need privacy. A special friend, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Miss Skinner, smiling encouragingly.

  They left shortly afterwards. Nuri did not offer Owen a lift. As he shook hands with Marbrouk, he said:

  ‘So glad we’ve been able to have a word about that other thing, too. It’s been in my mind for some time.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marbrouk, brightening. ‘Yes.’ He had appeared rather cast down.

  ‘I’m so glad we were able to locate that leopard,’ Owen said to Miss Skinner.

  For a moment Miss Skinner seemed startled.

  ‘Leopard?’

  She seemed to have forgotten all about it. Then she remembered.

  ‘Oh, yes. Our dear little cub. Though I’m sure it would have caught up with us later.’

  The car drove off. Owen half expected Marbrouk to invite him in. Instead, he shook him firmly by the hand.

  ‘Goodbye, old chap,’ he said. ‘Bon voyage!’

  Owen retraced his steps through the plantations, glad of the shade. As he emerged into the heat of the port he saw, standing on the wharf where the stone was loaded, a figure he recognized. It was the Italian girl from Alexandria, Francesca.

  She looked up at him, surprised.

  ‘We meet again,’ she said, putting out her hand. ‘I did not expect so soon.’

  ‘But what brings you to a place like this?’

  ‘The stone,’ she said, with a gesture. ‘We need some occasionally for our workshops. I like to choose it myself because it has to be good quality. They know what I’m looking for and put some aside for me. But what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m looking for a leopard.’

  He took her into the yard and showed her the sculpture.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘But isn’t it part of something bigger. I’ve seen it before. Isn’t it…The temple at Der el Bahari! The Expedition to Punt!’

  ‘That’s right. At Der el Bahari no longer.’

  ‘That is a shame. It seemed so right there. Of course in the Museum more people will see it.’

  ‘If it gets there.’

  ‘If it gets there?’

  He indicated the leopard.

  ‘Oh, I see. And that’s why you’re here, of course.’

  ‘And then it might not stay in the Museum.’

  ‘True. But then, the country needs the money.’

  ‘The country may. I’m not sure all the individuals do.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I don’t think I’d better enter into that discussion. Especially as I’m just going to see the Pasha Marbrouk.’

  ‘Really? What—?’ He stopped.

  ‘About the stone,’ she said reprovingly.

  ‘He handles the business side himself?’

  ‘No.’ The idea amused her. ‘I think,’ she said drily, ‘it may be because he fancies other things besides antiquities. But weren’t you saying that recently about yourself?’

  ***

  Paul rang up mid-morning to ask if Owen could get over to the Consulate-General immediately. Since he had to get there by arabeah, the answer was no; but he arrived soon after.

  He found Paul talking to Abu Bakir, the tall Egyptian he had met in the discussion with Peripoulin about the export of antiquities. They had, apparently, been following up the licence
idea.

  ‘And then Abu Bakir raised this—’

  ‘In passing,’ said the Egyptian hurriedly.

  ‘—and I thought that as you had actually been there at the time, it might be worth having a little private discussion. It’s the Parker business. The two accidents.’

  ‘I wasn’t there at the time. It was afterwards. You were, too.’

  ‘You were there during the investigation, that’s the point,’ said Abu Bakir.

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘Mr el Zaki’s approach has been challenged.’

  ‘Ignore Parker.’

  ‘It’s not so much Parker, it’s—well, it’s higher up.’

  He did say he had friends, thought Owen.

  ‘How high up? And where? In the Ministry?’

  Abu Bakir hesitated.

  ‘Leaning on the Ministry,’ said Paul.

  ‘What exactly is the issue?’

  ‘Mr el Zaki recommended that the licence to excavate be withdrawn. It is that recommendation that is being challenged. On the grounds that Mr el Zaki was biased.’

  ‘I was there,’ said Owen. ‘I would be prepared to testify that Mr el Zaki’s approach was entirely in order.’

  He suddenly remembered, however, some of the exchanges between Parker and Mahmoud.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said Abu Bakir, clearly relieved.

  ‘Parker is a bastard.’

  Paul tapped a pencil on the writing-pad he had in front of him.

  ‘It’s not so much the particular question of Parker himself, though, incidentally, I agree with you. It is, I’m afraid, the more general question.’

  ‘What general question?’

  ‘Of bias against foreigners.’

  ‘Oh, that’s ridiculous!’ said Owen, ‘Come on, Paul: you know Mahmoud yourself!’

  ‘Of course I know Mahmoud. And of course I know it’s ridiculous. But, you see, the issue then becomes different.’

  ‘Why does it become different?’

  ‘Because it relates to the Administration’s own attitudes. To its policy, if you like.’

  ‘Does the Government welcome foreign investment?’ said Abu Bakir. ‘Or does it wish to discourage it?’

  ‘This isn’t investment,’ said Owen. ‘It’s bloody robbery!’

  Abu Bakir roared with laughter.

  ‘You’d better not testify to that!’ he said.

  ‘That’s the thing we’re trying to stop,’ said Paul. ‘What we don’t want to stop, though, is bona fide excavation. Especially with other people’s money.’

  ‘It’s mostly American money these days,’ said Abu Bakir. ‘That’s the point, really.’

  ‘Can’t you make a distinction between bona fide excavation and Parker’s sort of stripping?’ asked Owen.

  ‘The Americans don’t know the difference,’ said Paul, with Oxford superciliousness.

  Abu Bakir smiled.

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ he said. ‘Parker probably does some genuine work as well as the stripping. It’s the price we have to pay.’

  ‘It’s a question of proportion,’ said Paul. ‘Parker goes too far. Other people have got more sense. Or less greed. The trouble is, it’s hard to draw an administrative line beforehand. You rely on people’s judgement.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Abu Bakir, ‘that, strictly speaking, isn’t the issue. The issue is the accidents, or at least the investigation into them.’

  ‘It’s not even that, strictly speaking,’ said Paul. ‘Mahmoud was unable to establish a basis for pressing a charge on the grounds of negligence. What he got him on was exceeding the terms of his licence.’

  ‘The counterargument,’ said Abu Bakir, who seemed to know a lot about it, ‘is that this was a minor breach of conditions and that Mr el Zaki was being overzealous in recommending withdrawal of the licence to excavate.’

  ‘And also,’ said Paul, ‘that this overzealousness proceeds from a general bias against foreigners and that if action is not taken against him, then this will be taken as evidence of the Government’s general attitude in such matters.’

  ‘Mahmoud gets disciplined and Parker gets away with it?’

  Paul nodded.

  ‘That’s about right.’

  ‘I think if the Government did take that view, it would be challenged in the Assembly,’ said Abu Bakir.

  Paul looked at Owen.

  ‘Abu Bakir speaks with authority.’

  ‘Not authority,’ the Egyptian quietly protested. ‘Knowledge of the probabilities, say.’

  ‘Good knowledge of the probabilities,’ said Paul, smiling.

  Owen remembered Abu Bakir’s Nationalist sympathies.

  ‘So either way…’ said Paul.

  We have a political problem, thought Owen. If the Nationalists took that line, they would be able to stir up a lot of trouble. It would be fertile ground for the cultivation of anti-foreign feeling, which could easily spill over into other areas.

  What was worse was that other countries might well feel some sympathy with the Nationalist view and use the issue to exert pressure on Britain to abandon its privileged position in Egypt. Other countries, most other countries, would be only too anxious to prise Britain out of Egypt.

  ‘You see,’ said Paul.

  Abu Bakir was watching them carefully.

  What was his motivation, Owen wondered. Why had he come to Paul? Why, if he was such a Nationalist, had he not just gone ahead, let the issue blow up and then exploited it in the Assembly? Why go to Paul?

  ‘Tell me,’ he said to Abu Bakir, ‘who is it exactly who is putting pressure on the Ministry?’

  ‘Foreign interests,’ said Abu Bakir.

  ‘Directly?’

  There was a little pause.

  ‘Not exactly directly,’ Abu Bakir admitted.

  ‘Indirectly, then. Through others?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who are the others?’

  Abu Bakir shrugged his shoulders. ‘The usual ones.’

  ‘The Khedive?’

  ‘Not directly,’ the Egyptian conceded.

  ‘Indirectly, again? Through intermediaries?’

  Abu Bakir nodded.

  ‘I think we need to know the names of the intermediaries,’ said Owen.

  ‘I don’t know their names. They’ll be the usual ones. The great Pashas—’

  ‘Are you sure? This is important.’

  ‘It’s always the Pashas in the end, in a thing like this, isn’t it?’ said Abu Bakir bitterly.

  Behind the front of a popular legislative Assembly, behind the façade of Cabinet Government, Egypt was still a feudal country. The Pashas were its great barons, holding most of the land, employing most of the people outside the big cities, jostling for positions of favour with the Khedive, intriguing, constantly intriguing, to get their hands on the levers of power.

  Even the British had not been able to dislodge them. Perhaps they did not try too much. Used to them, seeing them, perhaps, as the equivalent of the great English families which had dominated English politics until very recently, the Administration was content to coexist. So long as it could do what it wanted within its sphere, it was content that the Pashas should do what they wished within theirs.

  It would take a revolution to sweep them away. Which was, of course, what the new Nationalist Party was saying.

  ‘Is it all the Pashas?’ asked Owen. ‘Or just some of them?’

  ‘It will be just some of them,’ said Paul, ‘on something like this.’

  ‘Those who have a particular interest, perhaps,’ said Owen, ‘in the export of antiquities?’

  ***

  Owen had to go and see Finance. He knew what it was about; he had mislaid a trifling sum, well, three thousand piastres, actually, and Finance wanted to kn
ow where it was.

  Owen knew where it was. It was in the hands of various gentlemen in the Silversmiths’ Bazaar, the Shoemakers’ Bazaar and the Sudanese Bazaar; and it was there for services rendered.

  Why was payment not made against a proper invoice? Because these gentlemen were not the sort to send invoices. And because the services they had rendered were not exactly the kind of thing you sent invoices for.

  Could he at least specify the services?

  Oh yes. Bribing various camel-herders to reveal what else they carried besides dates; offering inducements to the servants in the Khedive’s uncle’s palace in order to ascertain the connection between the uncle and the slave trade in the Sudan; suborning a kavass in one of the Legations to provide evidence of the relation between some of the Legation’s activities and the traffic in drugs. He could name the Legation—

  Perhaps better not. And perhaps it was better not to mention the Khedive’s relations. And that bit about bribes…

  The trouble was that the Accounts went back to England, where they were crawled over by a committee of highminded MPs who shared the new Liberal Government’s distrust of imperial adventure and were prone to unexpected fits of morality.

  Better, he had found, to say nothing, or as little as he could. And so he had included the three thousand piastres under a broad heading of ‘General Expenditure’; which was, unfortunately, a little too general for the Finance Department’s liking.

  He knew how it would go; and did not hasten his steps.

  When he got there it was as he feared.

  ‘Look, old chap, we can’t have this,’ said the Finance man, tapping the page of accounts with the end of his pen. ‘I mean, three thousand piastres! No invoices. Audit would have our blood. We’ve got to have details.’

  ‘It’s a bit tricky—’ Owen was beginning, when a door at the other end of the room opened and a voice shouted: ‘Clayton!’

  The man opposite rose hurriedly from his chair.

  ‘Shan’t be a moment,’ he said.

  He was gone, however, for twenty minutes and then emerged pink-faced and at a run. He was carrying an armful of ledgers, which he put down on the desk of one of the clerks. He said something tersely and then was heading back into the other room when Owen intercepted him.

  ‘How long are you going to be?’