Because as the days went by it wasnt only the tame politicians at court who began to manœuvre. In the political vacuum created by the interregnum other political forces began to stir.
For the first time there was an openly Nationalist Party, small yet but growing in support, growing fast enough to alarm the other political groupings, which began to take on a protective nationalist colouring too.
And beyond them were other groups, less orthodox and less open: fundamentalist groups, bitterly resenting the imposition of a Christian as Prime Minister and determined to prevent it happening again; revolutionary groups eager to throw off hereditary class rule, the rule of the Pashas, as well as the alien rule of the British; the extremist political clubs and the secret societies. Cairo in 1909 was a hotbed for such groups; and in the growing political tension they saw their opportunity.
Incidents began to occur. Hitherto peaceful demonstrations spilled over into violence. Stones were thrown. Bystanders attacked. Vehicles belonging to foreigners were damaged. There came the occasional report of a shop, usually belonging to a Copt, being broken into and set on fire.
There was a more sinister development. One or two senior people reported that on their way to and from work they had been followed. Nothing more than that. Just followed. But in the increasingly jumpy atmosphere that was enough.
Reports of followings flooded in, not just from the British but also from senior Egyptians. In the bar it was muttered that things were getting out of hand. The Consul-General should do something. He was as weak as water. Thank goodness the Army was standing by.
And now had come the thing Owen had been waiting for and fearing: the first shots.
It might be nothing to do with it, said Garvin. Why would they pick on Fairclough? There are much more obvious targets.
Theyre usually guarded.
Only people like the CG and the Khedive. One or two of the Ministers. You dont have to go as far down as Fairclough. Any Adviser would do.
All the big Ministries had a British Adviser at the top of them, looking over the Ministers shoulder. It was one of the ways in which Cromer had consolidated his power.
The clubs dont always think like that. From their point of view any Britisher would do.
Theyd have to have some reason for choosing him. What reason could there be for choosing Fairclough? Political, that is.
Or any other. The nearest Ive got to a reason so far is enmity at bridge.
Garvin laughed and tilted his glass in the direction of a passing waiter. One of the advantages of this being a reception for a European delegation was that alcoholic drinks were being served.
I dont think it will be that. And I dont think it will turn out in the end to be political either. Go on digging and youll find something else. There was a touch of condescension in Garvins voice.
Even if youre right on this, you wont be right for long, Owen insisted. Things are hotting up. Its only a question of time. Cant we get the Khedive to get a move on?
Ill pass on your views to the CG, said Garvin and drifted away.
Putting Owen in his place.
The next day as Owen was walking home he had a distinct feeling that he was being followed.
He told himself that he was a fool, that he was imagining things. But the feeling persisted. He stopped beside a drinking fountain and as the water played into his cupped hands covertly looked behind him. He could see no one. There was only the long, dusty street of the Sharia Masr-el-Atika, completely deserted in the noonday sun. Nevertheless, the feeling persisted.
It was, actually, not uncommon for Owen to be followed. There would often be someone who wanted to have a word with him, to present a petition, make a complaint or lay information against somebody who was too shy to enter the imposing offices at the Bab el Khalk where Owen worked, preferring to wait until they could approach him in the time-honoured manner of the East, face to face, in public, in space which was common and where neither was at a disadvantage.
But this was not like that. Anyone like that would walk just a few paces behind so that the great one would become aware of their presence and when he was so minded turn and address them. But there was no comforting shuffle behind him, just the empty street. And yet the feeling that he was being followed burned into his shoulder-blades.
An old woman was sitting in the dust under the trees, guarding a huge heap of oranges. She was an old friend of Owens and he always greeted her, usually stopping to purchase a few oranges to make a drink with. The oranges were large and green and gave off a pungent smell.
Youre a strange man, she said today.
Why, mother?
Its a strange man who has two shadows.
Owen thanked her for the warning, bought his oranges and went on.
He left the trees behind him and was walking now between old mameluke houses. Their walls rose directly from the street in a steep unbroken line until high overhead a row of corbels allowed the first floor to project out over the heads of the passers-by. Higher still, heavily-latticed oriel windows carried the harem rooms, where the women lived, a further two feet over the street.
At ground level, though, there was only the high, unbroken line of the wall and the occasional heavy, studded door barred against strangers. All the doors seemed shut. There seemed no escape from the street except that far ahead he could see a break in the line of the houses.
He suddenly felt an intense prickly sensation behind his shoulders.
Just ahead of him he could see a door which was not properly shut. He slowed down, hesitating.
The prickly feeling suddenly became overwhelming. He pushed at the door and then, as it swung back, leaped through it.
The door crashed back against an inside wall and then swung out again. As it closed he jammed his shoulder behind it and held it shut until he could pull the heavy wooden bolts across.
Then, sweating and feeling rather foolish, he stood looking into the inner courtyard.
At this time of day, with the sun directly overhead and the walls offering no shadow, it was, of course, deserted. Along one side, though, was a takhtabosh, a long recess with a carved wooden roof supported in front by pillars, which gave it a cool, cloister-like effect. This was where superior servants might be expected to sit and Owen was slightly relieved to see nobody there.
He walked down the takhtabosh to the other end. As he had hoped, there was a smaller door leading out on to a street beyond. It was one of the oldest tricks in the game in Cairo for a thief pursued by the police to dash in at one door and then immediately out at the other while the police were still requesting permission to enter by the first. Owen had often been thwarted by it himself.
The street beyond was a small back street in which there was nothing but one or two donkeys, hobbled and left to doze. The sand here was worn so fine that it was almost silvery and reflected the sun unbearably into his eyes.
Again Owen hesitated. It would be easy now to slip away through the side-streets. But the Mamur Zapt, Head of Cairos Secret Police, ought to be of sterner stuff. Reluctantly he turned left and went back parallel with the way he had come.
After a little way a narrow alley ran back between the houses. He leaped straight across it and braced himself against the opposite wall. Nothing happened. The alleyway was empty.
He began to walk deliberately along it, noting in passing anything which might offer protection, but keeping his eyes steadily on the daylight at the other end of the alleyway. If anyone looked into the alley he would see them first and the second or two it would give him, while their eyes got used to the darkness, would be all that he would have to get out of their line of fire.
He himself was unarmed; a situation which, he told himself fervently, he would remedy as speedily as possible, if he ever got out of this.
The light at the other end of the alleyway came nearer. He found himself sweating profusely.
It was getting so close now that if anyone appeared, his best chance was to jump them. He tensed himself in readiness.
He was at the entrance into the alleyway now. Directly ahead was the broad thoroughfare of the Masr el Atika.
For a moment he listened and then cautiously, very cautiously, he stuck his head out and looked up and down the street. At first it seemed deserted. But then, at the very far end, he thought he saw, just for an instant, two men. He had time to notice only that they were in European-style shirts and trousers, and then they were gone.
CHAPTER 2
Is this the way, demanded the note, that the Khedives servants should be treated?
Privately, Owen suspected it was. However, as the note had come from the Khedive himself he thought it politic to reply soothingly, deploring the insult offered to the Khedive and the injury suffered by his servants, and assuring His Highness that he would do all he could to track down the malefactors.
Youd better go, too, said Nikos, the Mamur Zapts Official Clerk. It wont do any good but it will look better that way.
So Owen betook himself to the Khedives afflicted servant, Ali Osman Pasha. The previous day, on his way home from an audience with the Khedive, Ali Osman had been set upon by a mob. His arabeah had been overturned and he himself desperately injured. If his driver had not been able to sound the alarm, he would undoubtedly have been killed. He was now at home recovering from his wounds.
Owen walked in past the guardian eunuchs, named according to custom after flowers or precious stones, across the courtyard, his feet crunching in the gravel, and into the reception room, the mandarah, with its sunken marble floor and fountain playing. There was a dais at the back with large leather and silk cushions, on which a man was lying.
He groaned as he saw Owen and waved a hand. Slaves rushed to escort Owen across the room.
My dear fellow, said the recumbent man. Mon très, très cher ami!
I am sorry to see you so afflicted, Pasha, said Owen.
I was fortunate to escape with my life. They would have killed me.
Outrageous!
Sauvages! Jacobins!
Like most of the Egyptian upper class, the Pasha habitually spoke French. He looked on the French culture as his own, identifying, however, more with Louis-Philippe than with the present Republic.
They shall be tracked down.
And tortured, said Ali Osman with relish. Flayed alive and nailed out in the sun.
Severely dealt with.
I would wish to be present myself, said the Pasha. In person. Please make arrangements.
Certainly. Of course, it may all take a little time Legal processes, you know
Ali Osman raised himself on one arm.
Justice, he admonished Owen, should be swift and certain. Then people know what to expect.
Absolutely! But, Pasha, surely you would not wish it to be too soon? Might not your injuries prevent?
Grievous though they are, said Osman, for this I would make a special effort.
He collapsed on his face again and a eunuch hastily began to massage him.
May I inquire into the nature of your wounds? asked Owen.
Severe.
No doubt. But eyeing the pummelling Ali Osman was receiving from the eunuchconfined to the surface?
The bruising goes deep.
Of course. Butbruising only? No stab wounds?
Some of them had knives. It was merely a matter of time.
Yes. It was fortunate that your driver
Ali Osman interrupted him. They let him off lightly. Why did they pick on me? Why didnt they beat him? Hes used to it, after all; he wouldnt have felt it as much.
He seemed to be expecting an answer.
The great, said Owen diplomatically, are the target for the worlds envy.
Ah, said Ali Osman Pasha, there you have it.
He lay silent for a while.
Of course, he said suddenly, they didnt think of this themselves. They were put up to it.
You think so?
I am sure of it. And I know who is behind it.
Really?
Abdul Maher.
Abdul Maher?
Yes.
But, Pasha
Abdul Maher was a veteran politician, an intimate of the Khedive, a noted public figure. He had occupied some post or other in the last dozen Governments.
The Pasha was looking at him solemnly.
I know, he said.
You must have some reason
Motive, said Ali Osman.
Motive?
He wished to take my place. Supplant me in the Khedives favour.
I see, said Owen, as light began to dawn. And that would be particularly important just at the moment
Yes. Ali Osman motioned to him to come closer. This is for your ear alone, my friend, he breathed. His Highness is close to making a decision. Very close. It has been difficult. He has had to choose between those he knows are loyal to him, those who have served him well in the past. And those others who claim Ali Osman snortedclaim they speak for the new.
But surely Abdul Maher
Belongs with the old, you think? Because he has been part of every Government for the last twenty years? You would be wrong, my friend. Because there is the cunning of the man. He claims he speaks for the new!
I cannot believe that the Khedive
Of course not. The Khedive knows him far too well. But he is plausible, you see, not just to the Khedive but to others. He speaks well and some may believe him. So the Khedivewell, over the past week or so the Khedive seems to have been inclining to him. But yesterday heHis Highness, that istold me personally that Abdul Maher is absolutely out.
The Pasha looked at Owen triumphantly.
So, my friend, if Abdul Maher is out, someone else must be in.
You dont mean
Ali Osman smiled importantly.
I think, my friend, that I have reason to hope.
Owen pulled himself together.
Well, Pasha, I can only hope youre right.
It is for the sake of the country, of course.
Of course. Andand you think that Abdul Maher may have got wind of thischange of fortunes and tried to warn you off?
Not warn, said Ali Osman reproachfully. Kill.
Attack, anyway. That Ali Maher may have been behind your unfortunate experience yesterday?