‘I swear by God, by the Great Architect of the Masons, or by the laws of chemistry.’
His eyebrows barely elevated. ‘Whichever I happen to worship, I presume?’
‘I’m only trying to convey my sincerity, Doctor Berthollet. I suspect the killer was an army captain or Count Silano, who had an interest in a medallion I’d just won.’
‘A fatal interest.’
‘It seems strange, I know.’
‘And the girl wrote the initial of your name, not theirs.’
‘If she wrote it.’
‘The police claim the width of her final calligraphy matched her fingertip.’
‘I’d just slept with her and paid. I had no motive for killing her, or she of accusing me. I knew where the medallion was.’
‘Hmm, yes.’ He took out a pair of spectacles. ‘Let me see it.’
We examined it while Talma watched us, clutching a handkerchief in case he could find some reason to sneeze. Berthollet turned it as Silano and Talma had done and finally leant back. ‘Aside from the modicum of gold, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.’
‘Nor do I.’
‘Not a key, not a map, not a symbol of a god, and not particularly attractive. I find it hard to believe that Cleopatra wore this.’
‘The captain said it simply belonged to her. As queen…’
‘She’d have as many objects attributed to her as chips of wood and vials of blood are attributed to Jesus.’ The scientist shook his head. ‘What easier claim to make to inflate the price of clumsy jewellery?’
We were sitting in the basement of the Hotel Le Cocq, used by a branch of the Oriental Lodge of Freemasonry because of the cellar’s east-west orientation. A table with a cloth and closed book rested between two pillars. Benches were lost in the gloom under the arches of the vault. The only illumination was candlelight, flickering on Egyptian hieroglyphics that no one knew how to read and Biblical scenes of the raising of Solomon’s temple. A skull rested on one shelf, reminding us of mortality but contributing nothing to our discussion. ‘And you vouch for his innocence?’ the chemist asked my Masonic friend.
‘The American is a man of science like you, Doctor,’ Talma said. ‘He was apprenticed to the great Franklin and is an electrician himself.’
‘Yes, electricity. Lightning bolts and flying kites and sparks in a salon. Tell me, Gage, what is electricity?’
‘Well.’ I did not want to exaggerate my knowledge to a renowned scientist. ‘Doctor Franklin thought it a manifestation of the basic power that animates the universe. But the truth is, no one knows. We can generate it by turning a crank and store it in a jar, so we know it is. But who knows why? ’
‘Precisely.’ The chemist considered, turning my medallion over in his hand. ‘And yet what if people did know, in the distant past? What if they controlled powers unattainable in our own time?’
‘They knew electricity?’
‘They knew how to erect extraordinary monuments, did they not?’
‘It is interesting that Ethan finds this medallion and comes to us at this particular point of time,’ Talma added.
‘And yet science does not believe in coincidences,’ Berthollet replied.
‘Point of time?’ I asked.
‘However, one must recognise opportunity,’ the chemist allowed.
‘What opportunity is that?’ I was beginning to hope.
‘To escape the guillotine by joining the army,’ Berthollet said.
‘What!’
‘At the same time, you can be an ally of science.’
‘And Freemasonry,’ Talma added.
‘Are you mad? Which army?’
‘The French army,’ the chemist said. ‘See here, Gage, as a Mason and man of science, can you swear to keep a secret?’
‘I don’t want to be a soldier!’
‘No one is asking you to. Can you swear?’
Talma was looking at me expectantly, his handkerchief to his lips. I swallowed and nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Bonaparte has left the channel and is preparing a new expedition. Even his own officers don’t know the destination, but some scientists do. For the first time since Alexander the Great, a conqueror is inviting savants to accompany his troops to research and record what we see. This is an adventure to rival those of Cook and Bougainville. Talma has suggested that you and he accompany the expedition, he as journalist and you as an expert on electricity, ancient mysteries, and this medallion. What if it is a valuable clue? You go, contribute to our speculations, and by the time you return everyone will have forgotten the unfortunate death of a whore.’
‘An expedition where?’ I’ve always been sceptical of Alexander, who may have done a great deal in a short time but was dead one year younger than my own age, a fact which didn’t recommend his career in the slightest.
‘Where do you think?’ Berthollet said impatiently. ‘Egypt! We go not just to seize a key trade route and open the door to our allies fighting the British in India. We go to explore the dawn of history. There might be useful secrets there. Better we men of science have the clues than the heretical Egyptian Rite, no?’
‘Egypt?’ By Franklin’s ghost, what possible interest did I have there? Few Europeans had ever seen the place, shrouded as it was in Arab mystery. I had a vague impression of sand, the pyramids, and heathen fanaticism.
‘Not that you’re much of a scientist or a Freemason,’ Berthollet amended. ‘But as an American and frontiersman, you might offer an interesting perspective. Your medallion may also be a stroke of luck. If Silano wants it, it could have significance.’
I hadn’t heard much past the first sentence. ‘Why aren’t I much of a scientist or Mason?’ I was defensive because I secretly agreed.
‘Come, Ethan,’ Talma said. ‘Berthollet means you’ve yet to make your mark.’
‘I am saying, Monsieur Gage, that at the age of thirty-three, your achievement is well short of your ability, and your ambition is shy of diligence. You’ve not contributed reports to the academies, advanced in Masonic degree, accumulated a fortune, started a family, owned a home, or produced writing of distinction. Frankly, I was sceptical when Antoine first suggested you. But he thinks you have potential, and we rationalists are enemies of the mystic followers of Cagliostro. I don’t want the medallion slipping from your guillotined neck. I greatly respect Franklin, and hope you might someday copy him. So, you can seek to prove your innocence in the revolutionary courts. Or you can come with us.’
Talma grasped my arm. ‘Egypt, Ethan! Think of it!’
This would completely overturn my life, but then how much life did I have to overturn? Berthollet had made an annoyingly accurate assessment of my character, though I was rather proud of my travels. Few men had seen as much of North America as I had – or, admittedly, done as little with it.
‘Doesn’t somebody already own Egypt?’
Berthollet waved his hand. ‘It is nominally part of the Ottoman Empire but is really under the control of a renegade caste of slave warriors called the Mamelukes. They ignore Constantinople more than they pay tribute to it, and they oppress the ordinary Egyptians. They are not even of the same race! Ours is a mission of liberation, not conquest, Monsieur Gage.’
‘We won’t have to do the fighting?’
‘Bonaparte assures us we’ll take Egypt with a cannon shot or two.’
Well, that was optimistic. Napoleon sounded like a general who was either a shrewd opportunist or blind as a stone. ‘This Bonaparte, what do you think of him?’ We’d all heard his praise after his early victories, but he’d spent little time in Paris and was largely unknown. Word was that he was something of an upstart.
‘He’s the most energetic man I’ve ever met, and will either succeed spectacularly or fail spectacularly,’ Talma said.
‘Or, as is the case with many ambitious men, do both,’ Berthollet amended. ‘There’s no denying his brilliance, but it is judgement that makes greatness.’