Читать книгу Only Gods Never Die - Karl Hudousek - Страница 7

BLINDED BY FLASHES of brilliant light, he closed his eyes and turned his head with a groan.

“Welcome back from the dead, Felix,” said an unfamiliar voice.

Dazed by thirst, Felix opened his eyes to find himself face to face with a man of blue-black skin and a bright smile. He winced and moved his head as rays of sunlight reflected from a brass lapel badge shot into his eyes.

“Sorry,” said the dark stranger, altering his position to stop the reflection. “It was a good omen – I mean the ravens were.”

Felix had no idea what he was talking about, but instinctively took the battered cup of water offered to him. As he put it to his dry lips, he realised there was only a mouthful in it.

“Not too much just yet; you would be sick,” the stranger said with a polite smile as he took back the empty tin cup.

Felix studied the man’s neat turban and polished lapel badges, which he now recognised as the insignia of the Frontier Camel Corps. He couldn’t say a word; his throat was dry and his tongue felt as if it would choke him.

Lying on his stretcher in the dappled shade of a mastic tree, Felix observed his surroundings. A number of men were camped under palm trees with their camels; in the shade of the date palm grove stood two armoured cars; in the centre of the camp was a spring encircled by a low wall of stone. Lustrous bubbles danced a zigzag path through the crystal clear water. Despite his thirst, Felix looked again at the armoured cars; something most unusual demanded their despatch across such an arid desert, and to this far-flung outpost.

“Madness.” Felix turned to see the person who made the blunt remark. An Englishman in military uniform stood behind him; as their eyes met, he continued: “What could possibly bring you here? There must be a story behind your journey into this desert. I hope it is a worthy one…” His words trailed off as he walked away.

The Camel Corps soldier returned with a box. “Take no notice. In the Sahara everyone has a story to tell,” he said, watching the Englishman while he set up the box as a makeshift table. “I am Sergeant Ombud. If you need me, I’ll be over there.” He indicated the camp of men and camels only a short distance away. “Tomorrow, when you’re fit to travel, you can join your companions.”

A story. Yes, there is a tale to tel , thought Felix as he stretched his aching body. He recalled the day it all started very vividly. How naïve he was. Back then, how could any of them know what they knew now? It seemed hard to believe even now that he knew the truth.

Felix recalled how his fascination with Egypt had been initiated by his good friend Laszlo Almasy. As soldiers, years of war had forged a strong bond between the two men.

Felix had visited Laszlo at the Eastbourne Flying Club one day in June. It was a common interest in motor vehicles that brought them together again at an engineering workshop where Felix was employed.

Their conversations often turned to the obsession Laszlo held for the lost army of King Cambyses.

“How do you lose an army of fifty thousand without a trace?” Felix asked his learned friend.

“Felix,” Laszlo said, “imagination thrives on the question, not the answer.”

That was not the beginning; it was merely a prelude to it.

The adventure began in late November on a dismal, foggy day in London, when Felix received a letter from his uncle in Prague. A letter asking him to visit – and with some urgency. If there was one thing Felix knew, his uncle was never boring, having led a charmed life in the Orient. He’d had enough of fog and leaden skies, and needed no second invitation.

At twenty-four years of age, Felix’s youthful appearance and disarming smile belied the mind of a more mature man, shaped and sharpened by years of war and exploits that spanned the length and breadth of Russia. Resourceful and observant, he acted with unerring forethought, yet his mind and heart were locked in a struggle over his insatiable craving for adventure.

Felix felt caged in his dull job at the Eastbourne Technical Institute, while the Orient beckoned. His old friend aggravated his restlessness: the Austro-Hungarian aviation pioneer Laszlo Almasy shared and spurred on his adventurous ambitions with his passion for the desert.

Storm clouds gathered above the spires of St. Vitus cathedral. Felix was halfway across the bridge, feeling the air grow colder as a few icy raindrops fell. A gallery of saints lined the bridge and watched as a blinding blue flash split the air with an electrifying hiss and an ear-splitting crack that almost galvanized him to the spot. “Christ!” Felix muttered to himself. The rumbling receded and he watched the water swirling beneath the bridge where the thunderbolt had spent its force. Ozone hung pungent in the cold air.

Portents or omens, he did not believe in them; he was not superstitious, not even truly religious. As for coincidence, he considered it an idea used to sweep truth and other matters under the carpet. The very word irritated him. Among the procession of saints only one subject caused him to pause – a bronze of Christ crucified; a pang of sorrow flickered through him over his earlier profanity.

Clutching his collar to his throat, he hurried on to beat the imminent rain. He walked through the archway of the medieval tower at the end of the bridge, then into the narrow maze of streets past the Clementinum. Behind its solid walls, the Jesuit fathers had drummed Latin into his head, a task they carried out with special pleasure. By the time he left, he could recite the De Profundis in Latin – even if he did struggle to translate it. He remembered too the rector’s promise that the class would find it useful one day – and to his amazement, in his case it was true.

It was now quite a few years since Felix had visited his uncle’s apartment, but he remembered the heavy double doors, decorated with an impressive steel grill. He held the door open with a firm grip, to stop it slamming in the draught created as he entered. Without a pause, he raced up two flights of stairs and knocked on his uncle’s door. The door opened as he was about to knock again. If he was anxious, that emotion was displaced by surprise at the sight of the smiling person inviting him to enter. How time had changed him. Then he felt foolish for expecting his uncle to stay the same.

“Well my boy, don’t just stand there. Come let me have a good look at you.” Victor embraced him as he stepped clear of the doorway. “Felix, it was good of you to come. Now get that coat off and make yourself comfortable,” he said as they walked into the sitting room.

Not much had changed; the spacious room was as he recalled. One entire wall consisted of bookshelves. A bureau du plat, its edges decorated in gleaming ormolu, stood in the light that came through a large window with its heavy drapes drawn aside. Two comfortably upholstered armchairs faced each other on each side of a matching settee, a low table of oriental design positioned between them. A Persian carpet of exceptional beauty and workmanship covered the parquetry floor. Four large oil paintings in elaborate gold frames hung on the wall opposite the bookshelves. Here and there were sculptures and fine oriental artefacts. Of the four paintings, Felix particularly liked the one of Naples; it was dramatic and a focal point of the room.

“It’s good to be here, but tell me, Uncle, how’s Egypt?”

“More on that later, Felix. First you tell me about yourself. See over there?” He indicated with a flick of his hand. “I saved all your letters from Russia. It appears they’re in a lot of bother.”

“I would describe it more bluntly, and even then words would fail me.”

“I’ll make us a drink while you tell me about it.” Victor reached for two crystal tumblers. “I’d like to hear it first hand.”

Felix paused to pick up an object that held his curiosity. “What is this?” he asked, holding up a round piece of wood, about six inches long and one wide, with a piece of bevelled steel protruding at one end, like a claw.

“A chisel. That’s what the ancient Egyptians used to carve their hieroglyphs some two and a half thousand years ago.”

“That’s amazing.”

“Not as amazing as this,” said his uncle as he pushed a newspaper toward Felix. “Have a look at the headline.”

“Pharaoh treasure discovered. I’ve seen it; the London papers are full of it. Had I known of your interest, I would have brought the latest editions with me.”

“Don’t worry. I already have them. Why do you think I invited you here? Let’s go to my favourite café and I’ll explain everything. It’s on the embankment, opposite the national theatre.”

“Oh yes, the Slavia. You must have a share in it by now.”

“I have many favourites, from here to Cairo. You need to find a favourite of your own when you move about. How else can you entertain clients while being waited on?”

They set out in the biting cold, walking briskly along the narrow streets till they reached the embankment, which was more exposed to the Arctic wind. “I assure you it’s well worth the walk, regardless of the weather,” Victor said.

He was right; the atmosphere was pleasant and lively, helped along by an accomplished pianist. However, Victor’s interest was elsewhere. “The war wrecked a lot of plans,” he said with an air of regret.

“The world has changed since the war. Don’t you think so?”

“Not at all. The world changed, and that caused the war.”

“Of course,” Felix agreed tactfully.

“I’m expecting your cousin Etienne. Have you seen him lately?”

“No, but I’d love to.” Felix’s eyes lit up at the thought of his childhood friend.

Etienne was the sort of man people remembered. Lean and devilishly handsome, of individuality he had plenty – and charm to match. He was known for his impulsive enterprises. His romantic adventure with a beautiful young woman, a married woman, was the scandal that led to his assignment and swift despatch to Syria. There he served as a liaison officer in the French army, and that was the last Felix had heard from him.

“He’s back from Syria and should be here by week’s end,” Victor said.

Felix grinned. “Now you have me interested.”

“We have a lot to talk about; so tell me, what are your plans?”

“Ah! Plans. I was hoping to acquire one between here and London, but it seems I’m out of luck.”

“Would you take a new chance? Something different, er, how should I put it? Perhaps a different number.”

“Well, when you spin the roulette wheel, choose a number for me.”

“I already have,” Victor said without hesitation as their eyes met. “It’s Egypt.”

“Huh, that’s a good win. I’ll cash it in,” said Felix as they both burst into laughter.

“Then you’ll come?”

“Of course I will.”

“Good, that’s an unspoken prayer well answered.”

Felix raised his voice over the din of laughter and the piano: “Now tell me, what’s all this about treasure, pharaohs and…”

“Shush.” Victor moved his glass aside and leaned forward. “People have ears.” Then he settled back a little as he wiped his forehead with his hand. “You and Etienne want adventure; well I am going to give you that and more. What you must know is that we have rivals, professional rivals and very unprofessional rivals. So you need to be sharp, discreet and cautious, because they will take more interest in us than you are prepared to believe. Don’t misunderstand me – Egypt can be dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” repeated Felix.

“But of course! You must not underestimate the deceit and opportunism amongst those in pursuit of ancient Egypt’s treasures and knowledge. There are many reputable scholars, and even more unprincipled scoundrels. The hint of a prize or reward can cloud their judgement, and override any principles they have left.”

“It doesn’t sound boring.”

“I can promise you it’s not,” said Victor as he looked up at the waiter hovering around their table. “I can see you enjoyed the slice of Esterházy.”

Felix nodded his agreement.

“Then let’s finish the coffee; there’s something I want to show you, back at the apartment.” It had been raining and icy winds gusted between the buildings, bringing with them big raindrops as a prelude to the next shower. After a brisk walk down narrow, dimly lit streets, they were back again. A door closed as they reached the stairs. “The janitor,” said Victor in a low voice as they moved up the stairs. With the drapes drawn, four lamps illuminated the sitting room in soft light, giving it a cosy feel.

“Whisky?” His uncle poured out two glasses.

“Why not? But tell me why we are in danger.”

“I thought I already did. The reason is very simple. I know where the lost treasure of Ramses is.”

Felix almost dropped his glass. “No! Are you serious?”

“This is no joke, but the serious part is that someone knows that I know, and I have no idea who.”

“Not even a suspect?’

“Well a friend of mine, a certain Curt Reinhardt who works for the Berlin museum, always suspected that we were onto something. He’s the only one who may have a clue – and by we, I mean I had a partner, an Englishman by the name of James Beaufort. They were bitter rivals.”

“What happened to Beaufort?”

“About four years ago he disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Felix frowned.

“Yes, vanished.”

“Do you suppose he found this treasure and split?”

“Of course it entered my mind, but he wouldn’t do that – he had nothing to gain, and too much to lose. What’s more, the British Foreign Office looked into the disappearance on behalf of his relatives in England. It was quite an investigation; even so they came up with nothing. Then, and this is the strange part, he was apparently seen in Cairo about two years ago, and then again in Siwa, more recently.”

Felix stroked his chin as he asked: “What if someone got to it first?”

“Then you would be reading about it on the front page of every newspaper, as you do about Carter and Carnarvon.”

Felix started again, “What stopped you getting it?”

“It took a while to find the exact spot. It’s a rocky outcrop with a pile of sand on top and a pinnacle of rock in front of it, which sticks out of the surrounding sand like a big thumb. This is in the Sahara, about six hundred miles from Cairo in a blazing sea of sand. When the war started, the Sanussi, stirred up by the Germans, revolted against the British in that region. After the war, once everything settled down, Beaufort went to Siwa to start a base. Being classified as German, I was threatened with arrest if I tried to enter the Sanussi stronghold. Beaufort could go freely as he was British. Then he vanished. He did reach Siwa – eventually I went there – and that’s where his trail goes cold.”

“And the treasure, did you see it?”

“I couldn’t go near it. I was constantly watched.”

“How did you find out about it?”

Victor did not reply; instead, he rose and walked over to the wall of bookshelves, where he reached for a thick book in a set of four. “This venture needs strong young men, men like you and your cousin Etienne – he was in the desert in Syria and is fluent in Arabic, quite a linguist I’m told. You’ll make a good team.” As he spoke he removed several books and a crystal vase from the shelves. Then he pushed aside the back panel to reveal a small wall safe. He opened it, and took out a soft leather pouch. After putting on a pair of white cotton gloves, he unrolled a papyrus on the bureau du plat, while Felix looked on with increasing interest.

“Have a good look. It’s this papyrus that gave me the clue. When I bought it I didn’t know what it was, neither did Beaufort, so I showed it to Reinhardt. He wanted to buy it immediately; he became so excited I realised there must be more to it. So I asked Schiaparelli, curator of the Turin Museum and an eminent archaeologist, what he thought of it. He wanted it for the museum, but was good enough to tell me what it is. This is the Book of the Dead from the funerary treasure of Ramses II. These writings are prayers for his acceptance into the afterlife. It’s priceless.” Victor looked at his nephew, who remained silent. “The real secret is where it was found.”

“In Siwa?” asked Felix.

“Bravo, now you’ve got it.”

“Perhaps I should put it in better perspective for you. Several very select pieces have been offered to me, secretly, as a seller could be arrested and forced to reveal his source. The government has strict guidelines on antiquities: they can be confiscated and penalties applied. Over the centuries tomb robbers have learnt to be very cautious.

“I dabbled in this clandestine business for twenty-five years and learnt many things. The imprudent amateur could be ruthless, and reckless. On the other hand, professionals and academics were aloof and stubborn. This gave a favourable chance to a middleman, who was neither imprudent nor impractical. I was considered such an agent.

“Now I’ll tell you about Ali. When he had something to sell, it was always exceptional. We had a good relationship. He was always calm, unassuming; his life was simple. I think Beaufort knew him longer and better than I did. Every so often he would come up with the most remarkable item, yet he had never been to Cairo or up the Nile. We could only guess at his secret – and what a secret it was.

“Twelve years ago Ali told James and me that he had nothing more to sell, except one last thing: his secret source. It was to be a three-way share, and soon enough we were in much deeper than we realised. The secret happened to be in one of the most inaccessible places you can imagine. Ali’s directions were vague, as could be expected in a desert with no landmarks and drifting dunes. By a stroke of luck Beaufort found the place, but had to leave it untouched when hostilities started with the Sanussi. Three weeks after his return, Ali died.”

Victor paused, but Felix said nothing. “More whisky?” Victor indicated the bottle with a wave of his hand, as he put the scroll back in its protective cover.

“This has a smooth taste of peat; it’s real y good.” Felix put a dash of soda water in each glass.

“It’s good for digestion.”

Felix shrugged. “Right. Now tell me. How did he come to find it?”

Victor looked his seemingly sceptical nephew in the eyes. “Do you know how much treasure is buried out there? No, you don’t. Whole armies have been lost with their plundered loot.”

Victor lowered his voice. “I am talking about the lost caravan of 1805. Many of the camel drivers were young boys, as was the custom at that time. Ali’s father was one of them, and its only survivor. The caravan set off into the Libyan Desert to vanish without trace in a fierce sandstorm. According to Ali, who had been told the story many times, they had marched five days from the Nile when the wind came up, creating havoc. Ali’s father knew what was coming and that he had to find shelter. He also knew he was somewhere south of the Siwa oasis. Lashed by wind and disoriented by swirling clouds of sand, he broke away from the caravan as it was thrown into disarray.

“Using the wind direction as a rough guide, he headed north followed by several camels and drivers, hoping to reach the safety of the oasis. They found a rock escarpment and sheltered beneath its cliff face, while Ali’s father took refuge behind an outlying rock. The sandstorm increased in its fury, obliterating all visibility with blinding sand and suffocating dust. For five days the sandstorm raged and when it ended, he found himself alone. Three days later he reached his village in the oasis.”

“What became of the others?”

“They perished in the sea of sand. My God, you can’t survive a sandstorm in the open desert.”

“Ah, yes. But I mean those who took refuge with him?”

“They were entombed.”

“Entombed?”

“You see Felix, during the storm part of the cliff gave way under the weight of sand above it and sent tonnes of sand crashing down on them, burying them alive. Siwans are notoriously superstitious; the place held bad portent for Ali’s father. Europeans seldom passed that way – of the few who did in the last hundred years, half were never seen again.”

“Weren’t you worried that it was a fictitious invention on his part?”

“It happens of course, though sometimes one can be too cautious, as Reinhardt was. In 1910, he was offered a good lead, but hesitated – unfortunately. A countryman of his, Ludwig Borchardt, was not so sceptical and he found a queen too beautiful to describe. For thirty centuries her name was obliterated from the memory of men – just a faint whisper – and then ten years ago to this day, in a ruin on the bank of the Nile, Ludwig found the portrait-bust of Nefertiti. It’s now in the Berlin museum, smuggled out of Egypt by Ludwig. That Reinhardt was so close, yet missed out, has enraged him no end.

“Archaeologists are protected by their embassies as nations compete for discoveries to embellish their museums. Competition is tough.” Victor downed the last mouthful in his glass and went on without a pause. “They also have government protection because they buy concessions. We don’t have the luxury of such protection: Siwa is free for all. That has its advantage – we couldn’t afford a concession – and its obvious danger. Our movements cannot be kept secret in Egypt. You’ll soon learn that there’s always someone looking over your shoulder.

“Now I’m coming to the most important thing of all, this map. It belonged to Beaufort and he wrote the bearings on it.” Victor held aloft a creased, well-used map, and then put it back in the safe. “Only James and I should have known about it. But recently, several strange incidents have convinced me otherwise – there is someone else. We have a rival. In fact, Beaufort’s parting words to me were ‘never let anyone know you’ve got it’.”

Felix jumped in. “It seems he too suspected that someone knows about it.”

“Doesn’t it? Well, we can talk about this further when Etienne arrives.”

“I have only one last question. Do you think this person knows what you’ve found?”

“He doesn’t have to be choosy.” Victor took a breath, as this needed more explanation. “The ancient Ammonions’ treasures are legendary. The oracle of Zeus-Ammon was showered with precious gifts by kings and notables. There’s the emerald statue in the sanctuary of the oracle and rich treasure on a sacred island in a mysterious lake. I would say it’s enough to stir the imagination of the most indifferent man.”

Victor suddenly opened his clenched fist. “This puzzles me.” A gold ring lay in the palm of his hand. Felix picked it up to examine it; the centrepiece was not a jewel, it was a prancing horse perfect in every detail.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. It was made by a master.”

“A genius goldsmith by any standard,” said Victor, “but it’s not Egyptian – it belongs to another time and another place, I’m sure of that – and yet it’s from the same source.”

“It’s fantastic.”

“It’s more than that – watch.” Victor held the ring firmly, unclipped a cleverly disguised catch, and the gold horse detached to reveal the ram-horned sign of Zeus-Ammon on the top of the ring.

“What does it mean?”

“We’ll go into that when Etienne arrives, but if it means what I think it does, we better get there first.”

“I need no more convincing, just tell me when we leave.”

“Let’s say in two weeks. Reinhardt is probably in Dresden right now. He will call in tomorrow on his way to Vienna. Then Etienne should arrive in a few days; I will contact you when he does.” He put the ring in the safe and closed it, then reached for the whisky.

“Not for me. Tonight, I’m sure to dream about Egypt.” Felix went to get his coat. Victor walked with him to the door; his fingers curled around the door handle and he held it closed as he turned to Felix. “It’s a load off my mind that you’re coming and I have one request to ask of you: don’t mention a word of this to anyone—” he paused as if to add something, but left it at that. He opened the door, and his eyes fixed on Felix with an intense stare. “Not to anyone; there is danger enough.” Then his serious expression transformed to his usual smile. “Felix, I’m glad you came, you’ve lightened my load.” He slapped Felix affectionately on the shoulder as he walked away.

“Trust me,” Felix said with a farewell wave as he reached the stairs. He seemed immune to the cold night air as he made his way to the embankment, sidestepping puddles here and there where the pavement was uneven. “Yes,” he hissed through his teeth as he thought to himself, and chuckled, “I lightened his load and walked away a little heavier.”

It was then that he had a terrible foreboding. He gave an involuntary shudder and turned around quickly, but there was no one there.