The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 14
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This was the first time she had been close enough to him to see his
features. She was surprised at how young he was. She had expected him to
be a man of Duraid's age.
She saw now that he was no older than forty, for there were only the
first strands of silver in the wings of his thick, rumpled hair. His
features were tanned and weatherbeaten, those of an outdoors man. His
eyes were green and penetrating under dark, beetling brows. His mouth
was wide and expressive, and he was smiling now at some witticism that
the driver of the truck called to him in a thick Yorkshire accent, but
there was a sense of sadness and tragedy in the eyes. Royan remembered
what the Prof had told her of his recent bereavement, and she felt her
heart go out to him. She was not alone in her loss and her mourning.
He looked directly into her eyes and she saw his expression change. She
was an attractive woman, and she could tell when a man recognized that.
She had made an impression on him, but she did not enjoy the fact. Her
sorrow for Duraid was still too raw and painful. She looked away and the
Range Rover drove on.
Her lecture at the university went off extremely well. Royan was a good
speaker and she knew her subject intimately. She held them fascinated
with her account of the opening of the tomb_of Queen Lostris and of the
subsequent discovery of the scrolls. Many of her audience had read the
book, and during question time they pestered her to know how much of it
was the truth. She had to tread very carefully here, so as not to deal
too harshly with the author.
Afterwards Prof Dixon took Royan and Georgina to dinner. He was
delighted with her success, and ordered the most expensive bottle of
claret on the wine list to celebrate.
He was only mildly disconcerted when she refused a glass of it.
"Oh, dear me, I forgot that you were a Moslem," he apologized.
"A Copt," she corrected him, "and it's not on religious grounds. I just
don't like the taste."
"Don't worry," Georgina counselled him, "I don't have the same odd
compulsion to masochism as my daughter.
She must get it from her father's side. I'll give you a hand to finish
the good stuff."
Under the benign influence of the claret the Prof became expansive, and
entertained them with the accounts of the archaeological digs he had
been on over the decades.
It was only over the coffee that he turned to Royan.
"Goodness me, I almost forgot to tell you. I have arranged for you to
visit the museum at Quenton Park any afternoon this week. just ring Mrs.
Street the day before, and she will be waiting to let you in. She is
Nicholas's PA."
Ryan remembered the way to Quenton Park when Georgina had driven them
to the shoot, but now she was alone in the Land Rover. The massive main
gates to the estate were made of ornate cast iron. A little further on,
the road divided and a cluster of road signs pointed the way to the
various destinations: "Quenton Hall, Private', "Estate Office' and
"Museum'.
The road to the museum curved through the deer park where herds of
fallow deer grazed under the winter'bare oaks. Through the misty
landscape she had glimpses of the big house. According to the guidebook
that the Prof had given her, Sir Christopher Wren had designed the house
in 1693, and the master landscapist, Capability Brown, had created the
gardens sixty years later. The results were perfection.
The museum was set in a grove of copper beech trees half a mile beyond
the house. It was a sprawling building that had obviously been added to
more than once over the years. Mrs. Street was waiting for her at the
side door, and introduced herself as she let Royan in. She was middle
aged, grey-haired and self-assured. "I was at your lecture on Monday
evening. Fascinating! I have a guidebook for you, but you will find the
exhibits well catalogued and described.
I have spent almost twenty years at the job. There are no other visitors
today. You will have the place to yourself.
You must just wander around and please yourself. I shall not leave until
five this evening, so you have all afternoon.
If I can help you in any way my office is at the end of the passage.
Please don't hesitate."
From the first moment that Royan walked into the display of African
mammals she was enthralled. The primate room housed a complete
collection of every single species of ape and monkey from that
continent: from the great ilver-backed male gorilla to the delicate
colobus in his long flowing mantle of black and white fur, they were all
represented.
Although some of the exhibits were over a hundred years old, they were
beautifully preserved and presented, set in painted dioramas of their
natural habitat. It was obvious that the museum must employ a staff of
skilled artists and taxidermists. She could guess what this must have
cost. Wryly she decided that the five million'dollars from the sale of
the plundered treasure had been well spent.
She went through to the antelope room and stared around her in wonder at
the magnificent beasts preserved here. She stopped before a diorama of a
family group of the giant sable antelope of the now extinct Angolan
variety, Hippotragus niger variant. While she admired the jet black and
snowy-chested bull with his long, back-swept horns, she mourned his
death at the hand of one of the Quenton, Harper family. Then she checked
herself. Without the strange dedication and passion of the
hunter-collector who had killed him, future generations might never have
been able to look upon this regal presence.
She passed on into the next hall which was given over to displays of the
African elephant, and paused in the centre of the room before a pair of
ivory tusks so large that she could not believe they had ever been
carried by a living animal. They seemed more like the marble columns of
some Hellenic temple to Diana, the goddess of the chase.
She stooped to read the printed catalogue card:
Tusks of the African Elephant, Loxodonta africana.
Shot in the Lado Enclave in 1899 by Sir Jonathan Quenton-Harper. Left
tusk 289 lb. Right tusk 301 lb. Length of larger tusk 11' 4'. Girth 32".
The largest pair of tusks ever taken by a European hunter.
They stood twice as high as she was tall, and they were half as thick
again as her waist. As she passed on into the Egyptian room
she-marvelled at the size and strength of the creature that had carried
them.
She came up short as her eyes fell upon the figure in the centre of the
room. It was a fifteen-foot-high figure of Rarnesses 11, depicted as the
god Osiris in polished red granite. The god-emperor strode out on
muscular legs, wearing only sandals on his feet and a short kilt. In his
left hand he carried the remains of a warlbow, with both the upper and
lower limbs of the weapon broken off. This was the only damage that the
statue had suffered in all those thousands of years. The rest of it was
perfect - the plinth even bore the marks of the mason's chisel. In his
right fist Pharaoh carried a seal embossed with his royal cartouche.
Upon his majestic head he wore the tall double crown of the upper and
lower kingdoms. His expression was calm and enigmatic.
Royan recognized the statue instantly, for its twin i stood in the grand
hall of the Cairo museum. She passed it every day on her way to her
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