German
chatted to the Countess.
Herr Graf, sensing some unease
on the part of the doctor, bid farewell and departed. After much
umming and ahhing, the doctor chose a female mummy and paid to have
it shipped to Baker Street. Mrs Hudson would die a thousand deaths
when she saw a life-size parcel from Egypt and Sherlock would be
thrilled to bits. He’d probably unwrap it and start prodding and
poking before the doctor even got home.
Countess V purchased a
statuette of Sekhmet and another of Anubis, several cigarette boxes
and half a dozen scarabs. She asked for her purchases to be
delivered to the hotel. When Ali Pasha learned they were intending
to have lunch at a street stall before paying a visit to the
Citadel, he insisted on serving them lunch. He lived above the
shop.
An old woman - not his mother -
did the cooking, and a houseboy of Nubian extraction called Japhet
kept house. Houseboy was a misnomer. The handsome young man was
tall and muscular with an ostentatious sense of style that ran to
the exotic, indicative of that particular fashion once known as
Turquerie. In other words, he reminded them of a eunuch in the
harem of an Ottoman Sultanate.
A delicious repast was quickly
procured even though Ali Pasha was not expected home for another
hour. It started with Egyptian flatbread, soft white cheese, tahini
dip, then came Mulukhiya, a rich green broth flavoured with garlic
and coriander, followed by Kushari, a dish with lentils and chick
peas, then Fatta, rice stew with fried bread, garlic, onion and
meaty chunks, finishing with a tisane and some sweet Halawa.
A feast fit for the
Pharaohs.
5
The Citadel
From the ramparts of the
Muqattam Hill it was possible to appreciate the vastness of the
featureless plain that stretched northward for endless miles. The
twelfth century Ayyubid ruler, Salah al-Din (Saladin), who ordered
the construction of the Citadel, must have stood here and surveyed
his kingdom with pride and not a little humility. The sun would
have gilded the shiny armour of any Crusader Knight foolish enough
to venture thus far just before it cooked him inside his own pot;
and in pre-Biblical times - how fiercely the menacing lances and
swords of ancient warriors must have glinted and bristled in that
searing moment prior to the heat of battle!
Dr Watson wondered how many
wars had been won and lost on this very spot, how many conquerors
had triumphed, and how many had tasted the bitter gall of defeat.
“Every man who stands here must picture himself at the head of an
all-conquering army.”
“Indeed! Never on the losing
side!” teased the Countess. “You haven’t sneezed once since we came
up here and yet there is plenty of dust and sand blowing about in
little eddies. Your head cold or allergy must have
acclimatized.”
“Mmm, yes, let’s go inside
before those eddies breach my defensive nose hairs!”
They were in the process of
removing their shoes in preparation for entering the Citadel which
was now a mosque, when they spotted Herr Graf standing out of the
sun under one of the archways. He appeared to be waiting for
someone.
“Let’s go inside before he
catches up to us,” suggested the doctor, who was able to forgive
but not forget the rudeness of the German. Not being on vacation
was no excuse for hogging three deck chairs!
“He must be waiting for his
niece,” observed the Countess as she slipped her stockinged feet
into a pair of cloth slippers.
Wearing a worried frown, Dr
Watson lined up their footwear. “I hope no one steals our shoes
while we’re inside. Do you mean the young woman who joined him at
the hotel?”
“Yes, she’s the daughter of
Rhinehart Graf, the Egyptologist who translated numerous papyri.
He’s written several books on the subject of hieroglyphs. The most
famous being a translation of the papyrus of Heliopolis. I got him
confused with his brother. Half way through the conversation with
the German I recalled that the brother killed himself. That
chatted to the Countess.
Herr Graf, sensing some unease
on the part of the doctor, bid farewell and departed. After much
umming and ahhing, the doctor chose a female mummy and paid to have
it shipped to Baker Street. Mrs Hudson would die a thousand deaths
when she saw a life-size parcel from Egypt and Sherlock would be
thrilled to bits. He’d probably unwrap it and start prodding and
poking before the doctor even got home.
Countess V purchased a
statuette of Sekhmet and another of Anubis, several cigarette boxes
and half a dozen scarabs. She asked for her purchases to be
delivered to the hotel. When Ali Pasha learned they were intending
to have lunch at a street stall before paying a visit to the
Citadel, he insisted on serving them lunch. He lived above the
shop.
An old woman - not his mother -
did the cooking, and a houseboy of Nubian extraction called Japhet
kept house. Houseboy was a misnomer. The handsome young man was
tall and muscular with an ostentatious sense of style that ran to
the exotic, indicative of that particular fashion once known as
Turquerie. In other words, he reminded them of a eunuch in the
harem of an Ottoman Sultanate.
A delicious repast was quickly
procured even though Ali Pasha was not expected home for another
hour. It started with Egyptian flatbread, soft white cheese, tahini
dip, then came Mulukhiya, a rich green broth flavoured with garlic
and coriander, followed by Kushari, a dish with lentils and chick
peas, then Fatta, rice stew with fried bread, garlic, onion and
meaty chunks, finishing with a tisane and some sweet Halawa.
A feast fit for the
Pharaohs.
5
The Citadel
From the ramparts of the
Muqattam Hill it was possible to appreciate the vastness of the
featureless plain that stretched northward for endless miles. The
twelfth century Ayyubid ruler, Salah al-Din (Saladin), who ordered
the construction of the Citadel, must have stood here and surveyed
his kingdom with pride and not a little humility. The sun would
have gilded the shiny armour of any Crusader Knight foolish enough
to venture thus far just before it cooked him inside his own pot;
and in pre-Biblical times - how fiercely the menacing lances and
swords of ancient warriors must have glinted and bristled in that
searing moment prior to the heat of battle!
Dr Watson wondered how many
wars had been won and lost on this very spot, how many conquerors
had triumphed, and how many had tasted the bitter gall of defeat.
“Every man who stands here must picture himself at the head of an
all-conquering army.”
“Indeed! Never on the losing
side!” teased the Countess. “You haven’t sneezed once since we came
up here and yet there is plenty of dust and sand blowing about in
little eddies. Your head cold or allergy must have
acclimatized.”
“Mmm, yes, let’s go inside
before those eddies breach my defensive nose hairs!”
They were in the process of
removing their shoes in preparation for entering the Citadel which
was now a mosque, when they spotted Herr Graf standing out of the
sun under one of the archways. He appeared to be waiting for
someone.
“Let’s go inside before he
catches up to us,” suggested the doctor, who was able to forgive
but not forget the rudeness of the German. Not being on vacation
was no excuse for hogging three deck chairs!
“He must be waiting for his
niece,” observed the Countess as she slipped her stockinged feet
into a pair of cloth slippers.
Wearing a worried frown, Dr
Watson lined up their footwear. “I hope no one steals our shoes
while we’re inside. Do you mean the young woman who joined him at
the hotel?”
“Yes, she’s the daughter of
Rhinehart Graf, the Egyptologist who translated numerous papyri.
He’s written several books on the subject of hieroglyphs. The most
famous being a translation of the papyrus of Heliopolis. I got him
confused with his brother. Half way through the conversation with
the German I recalled that the brother killed himself. That
Similar Books
