‘You sent them both away. Her and the bride box?’
‘I thought of sending just the box away. I thought that would be a sign. Would tell her what she needed to realize. That that would be enough.’
‘Why didn’t you do that?’
‘It wouldn’t have done any good. Her heart — no, not her heart, her mind, for she was crafty and knew what she was doing — her mind was set, and she would not abandon her hopes. I told her the box would have to go. “Does that mean I am to go, too?” she said. “Yes,” I said, for by now I could see no other way. “It will hurt Karim,” she said. “So be it,” I said. She bowed her head. But I could see she still hoped. So I said: “It does not have to be like this.” She looked at me quickly. “Does it not?” she said. And I could see that she still hoped. “Set your hopes lower,” I said, “and you can still have him.”’
She stopped. When she continued, it was in a kind of mutter. ‘I thought that perhaps we could come to some agreement. That she could stay here, in the house, with him. But not as his wife. I thought that perhaps his father would accept that. And the family. Why should they not? They already knew about Karim, about what kind of person he was. Every family, even a Pasha’s family, has secrets. Let them accept him, as he was. And if they could do that, perhaps they could accept the girl also. Every family has its handmaids and no one questions how far their service goes. Why should it not be like that with Karim and Soraya?’
‘Did you put this to your husband?’ asked Mahmoud.
‘No. For Soraya wouldn’t have it. She had seen me weaken, and she thought she had only to go on and I would give way. Completely. She was, in the end, like her father. Foolish, narrow, limited. I knew her mother. If she had been alive it would probably have been managed. But the mother was dead, and she would not listen to me.’
‘So she had to go again,’ said Mahmoud. ‘And this time for good.’
‘This time for good,’ agreed the Pasha’s lady.
‘Was that what you told Suleiman?’ asked Mahmoud.
The lady looked startled.
‘Suleiman?’ she said. ‘Why should I tell Suleiman?’
‘I just wondered if you had told Suleiman.’
‘About the girl?’ said the Pasha’s lady, with a flash of anger. ‘I did not need to tell Suleiman. He knew.’
‘What did he know?’
‘About the girl? All. Everything. He was with me when I came from the Sudan. He stayed with me when I moved out of my husband’s house. He was with me when Soraya came. From the start he had said: “That girl is no good. She will do harm here before she is done.” He is my eyes and ears. Know? Of course he knew! He had seen her from the start. “That girl has designs,” he said. “She is not content to be a lowly servant.” But I did not listen to him. I thought I knew best. Soraya spoke my tongue. I knew her mother. So I trusted her. I advanced her. And look how she repaid me!’
‘You say that Suleiman knew all this?’
‘From the start.’
‘He knew about Karim?’
‘Of course he knew about Karim! He had held him in his arms when he was small.’
‘And when he grew. So he knew about Ibrahim?’
The Pasha’s lady gave him a startled look. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he knew about Ibrahim. He was here when it happened. But why do you ask? What has Ibrahim to do with all this?’
‘I do not know,’ said Mahmoud. ‘That is why I am asking.’
‘Ibrahim had nothing to do with any of this.’
‘But Suleiman knew?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask these questions?’
‘Was Suleiman a kinsman of Ibrahim?’
‘We are all kinspeople here.’
‘In this house?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not your husband’s house?’
‘Both houses are my husband’s.’
‘But do both houses contain equally your kinspeople?’
‘They do not. My kinspeople came with me to this house when my husband said I should go.’
‘That Karim should go?’
‘That Karim should go. Which is the same thing. I am his mother.’
‘Let us go back,’ said Mahmoud, ‘to Soraya. And her bride box. When she left the second time, taking her bride box with her, who carried it for her?’
‘Who carried it? I do not remember.’
‘Men from your household?’
‘I do not recall. No, I think not. They all wished to have done with Soraya.’
‘So who were they?’
‘I do not recall. These things are small.’
‘When she came the second time, bringing her bride box, who brought it?’
‘I do not recall.’
‘I don’t think it was people from your household.’
‘No. It wasn’t.’
‘So who was it?’
‘I do not recall.’
‘It was the slaver’s men.’
‘Was it?’
‘You had spoken with the slaver before. He had acted for you with Soraya’s father. How was that?’
‘I do not recall.’
‘Not all people have dealings with slavers. How comes it that you did?’
‘I knew Abdulla of old,’ said the lady, sulkily. ‘And I knew that he was passing so I asked him to act for me.’
‘How did you know that he was passing?’
‘Some of his people knew some of my people.’
‘Because they come from the Sudan?’
‘Yes. Because they come from the Sudan. From that part of the Sudan where my family lives.’
‘What were the names of the men the slaver sent to collect the box?’
‘I don’t know. These are small things.’
‘Someone must have instructed them. Was it Suleiman?’
‘I don’t recall.’
‘It would have been, wouldn’t it? Suleiman was your right-hand man. He acted for you in most things.’
‘All this is too far distant-’
Mahmoud cut her short. ‘What I want to know,’ he said, ‘is what instructions he gave to the slaver’s men?’
‘How do I know?’
‘Suleiman would not have given instructions if he had not received instructions.’
He waited.
The lady said nothing.
‘So what were they?’
The lady merely shrugged.
‘I would have asked Suleiman,’ said Mahmoud, ‘but you had sent him away. So that I could not.’
After he had spoken to Karim, Owen went straight up to the temple.
The afternoon heat still hung over it. There was not a person about. Everyone had retreated indoors. Everything was silent. Only, high up on the pylon in front of the massive portico, he heard a slight buzzing and remembered the bees. He looked up, and in the different light he saw that they were not bees but wasps. He saw now that there were dozens of tiny wasps’ nests, hanging from the stone like mud bubbles.
He stood there for a moment looking up at them. Then he heard the cry of a hawk, and stepped inside.
Selim emerged from behind a pillar.
‘The guns have come,’ said Owen. ‘They will soon be here.’
‘They are here already,’ said Selim.
He took Owen inside and led him to the chamber he had shown him before. In the darkness it seemed to have changed its shape. Then Owen saw that the change was due to boxes that had been stacked there. He gently prised up a slat on one of the boxes and looked inside and saw the guns: new ones, like Karim’s.
He hammered the slat back into place. It left behind it a slight smell of metal and grease.
‘The men will be back,’ Owen said. ‘Probably soon.’
Selim nodded.
‘I will be here,’ he said.
Owen went round to the station office, where he found the clerk’s brother, Babikr, standing in again. His brother, he said, was still sleeping it off after his exertion on the previous day.
‘The boxes I spoke of-’
‘Have arrived,’ said Babikr. ‘A man was sent to tell me. They are kept I know not where, but tomorrow they will be brought to the station just before the train arrives. There is a goods train, Effendi, early in the afternoon, and the boxes are to be put on it.’
‘Suleiman had been sent away on a family matter,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘Nothing to do with this or you.’