Chapter 5: Exodus

“Seven days spent shovelling sand, and all that has surfaced is a single, solitary, silver sultani.” I knew the coin held in Crudwright’s hand was not a sultani as they are gold, but chose to employ an alliterative sentence rather than an accurate one.
“This is a dinar, Sir Elijah...”

“I know it is not a sultani, Professor, and I was pulling your leg. I am truly impressed by what you have achieved in less than seven days.”
Crudwright beamed at me, an expression not often seen on his florid features. I realised Professor Valentine Crudwright was now doing what he really enjoyed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, he held a trowel in his hand, while all about him teams of labourers dug trenches and wheeled away spoil in creaking Egyptian wheel barrows. He still wore woollen trousers and jacket as if on a dig in England, and under his broad brimmed hat the sweat ran down his fleshy face in rivulets.

Several trenches had been driven across the area where I had spotted the pile of rocks. Clearing the area had revealed long buried foundations of some sort of structure. The silver dinar, as well as a number of copper coins, some with legible dates, had come from one of the trenches.

“What sort of building is it, Professor?”

“I cannot say with any certainty. It is of Arabic construction but it is not a mosque. It could be a high status person’s domestic dwelling.”
He indicated a paved area lying to the west of the foundation walls.
“That could be some sort of courtyard, but the building seems too small for the sort of residence that would require so large a courtyard.” He pointed to a gap in the foundations adjacent to the paved area.
“That appears to be an entrance, although it is much wider than a normal doorway, and there is a similar sized gap at the eastern edge of the structure.” He pursed his lips in thought. “I shall have a team concentrate on finding the further, western, edge of the paved area tomorrow.”

“Can you date the building, and are there any inscriptions, or the like, on the stones, which appear to be shaped sandstone blocks?”

“There are no inscriptions on the blocks so far unearthed, and the sand stone was probably quarried from those hills on the horizon,” he pointed to the east. “As for a date, according to El Mekky the name of the person shown on the obverse of the dinar is ‘Ibrihim’ and the date on the reverse is One hundred and thirty five...”

“Second century Anno Domini?” I said, “Surely the Arabs were not in Egypt then.”
Crudwright smiled. “Remember, Sir Elijah, the Mohammedans date their calendar from the flight of Mohammed from Medina to Mecca, some six hundred years after the birth of Christ. The Christian date of this coin is seven hundred and fifty seven AD, making this structure a thousand years old. The coins found on site range from seven hundred and fifty-seven to nine hundred and fifteen.”

I ignored the use of his disrespectful terminology. I had already made Crudwright aware that ‘Mohammedan’ is a term offensive to followers of Islam. They prefer to be called Moslem, or Muslim, but Crudwright was not the sort of person to alter his terms of reference, even when he knows it is objectionable. In fact he was more likely to continue to use the term if he thought it would cause offence.

“Captain Guest and I will start to map the area tomorrow,” I said. “We may find more evidence of a settlement around this building, whatever it is. Meantime I shall have some supper and then turn in; it has been a long day in the saddle. “ I turned to go but Crudwright stayed me.
“You seem to have gone native, Sir Elijah,” he said, indicating my Bedouin dress.

“I find these garments much more comfortable to wear in desert conditions, and when in Rome, Professor...”

The tent Mimi and I shared was more a pavilion than a campaign tent. Although not as palatial and luxurious as those captured by the Greeks at Missolonghi it put the tentage of the British Army to shame.
Persian carpets, brocaded Damask drapery, swaths of silk, muslin, and gauze furnished the tent in a cocoon of opulent and sensuous comfort. Our bed was a low lying divan. A wooden framed and lath supported bed, with many soft plump cushions, silken sheets, and damask covers, but nowhere suitable for a ‘Goezunder’ to be accommodated.
The Crudwrights occupied a slightly smaller and less well-appointed tent, although Crudwright slept alone, and Chastity and Georgina shared a sleeping compartment, but not a divan, in the tent. Rollo had a more utilitarian tent, with a flysheet projecting out. He also had a large table, on which he drew up his topographical maps and charts.
The three tents housing us Europeans were situated about a hundred yards to the north of the rest of the encampment.

Cooking and washing was done at the edge of the lake, and Hassan, who cooked solely for the Europeans, served us our food. I never enquired what animal we were eating after my first time of questioning him.

“What meat is this, Hassan?” I said, pointing to the plate of stew.

“Goat if you are lucky, camel if you are not, Effendi Colonel!”
It appears that all and any meat was thrown into the stew pot -- other than pork of course. The pig is an unclean animal to Muslims as it is to Jews.
Egyptians eat communally from the same pot, using lumps of bread, held in their right hand, to scoop out pieces of meat. We Europeans were given the luxury of having our food served on plates left from the French invasion, along with knives and forks.
Many of the meals we ate in Egypt were vegetarian, although when camped alongside Lake Timsah we had quite a few dishes of fish. A carp-like, fresh water fish inhabited the lake, and fishermen from Timsah supplied the expedition with all the fish we required.

That night Mimi and I made the beast with two backs; slow, intense and tender. I was on the brink of sleep after our shared climax when the howl of a pi-dog rent the air. It seemed to be directly outside our tent, and I rolled off the divan, picked up a pistol and rushed to the entrance. I saw nothing.
The animal must have heard me cock the weapon and had slunk off in the darkness. I snuggled back into bed. Mimi asked what the noise was.

“Some damned pi-dog, howling at the moon. Rollo must be exhausted after his mapping activity as he never stirred, although the animal sounded to be right by his tent. I will see to it that the guards keep the animals away from the area.”

Next morning Rollo and I, with the help of Omar and Amal – I still could not tell one from the other – mapped the area surrounding the structure discovered by Crudwright. Mimi took herself off sketching around the encampment. She was a gifted artist, and would sketch the women working at baking bread, washing clothes or breast feeding their children. The Egyptian women allowed Mimi to draw them when they were wearing neither niqab nor hajib. Some of the young women were real beauties, but hard, manual, work and many births soon added years to them, and many Egyptian females died at an early age.

All work came to a standstill at midday; even in late October the Egyptian sun had a cruel heat at its height. The labourers found shade, and we Europeans took refuge in my tent, it having a large awning, under which we sat in shaded splendour.

“The paved courtyard area has been completely uncovered,” Crudwright said, “but nothing has been excavated to throw a light on the purpose of the building. I will order a team to dig a trench from the edge of the paved area towards the lake in case there are more walls outside the courtyard.” He turned to Rollo. “What about the mapping? Have you discovered any anomalies that could point to other structures under the surface?”

“I first have to plot the readings on my map, Professor. I shall do that this afternoon, and should be able to pick out any area that needs a closer examination.”
The sun passed its zenith and we returned to work. Crudwright to his digging team, Rollo to his map table, Mimi to her sketching and I – well, I had nothing to do, but I wanted to speak to Thomas Mackay regarding the Frenchman at Bir el Findan.

“After the battle of Alexandria in eighteen oh one the French Army was taken in captivity to England by the victorious British. However, there must have been a couple of hundred Frenchies left behind in Egypt. I have met a score or more. Most were deserters, and many of them had married local girls and became Muslims,” Mackay said, after learning of the Frenchman living at Bir el Findam.
I recounted the tale of Nicolas Ducos, and how his demi brigade had held Mehmet Ali’s army for three days at Bir el Findan.
MacKay nodded. “Aye, I have heard rumours of such a feat of arms, but as you can imagine Mehmet Ali Pasha does not like the tale to be repeated. His account of the battle, of a French army commanded by Bonaparte being defeated by him, is the official version. I am surprised the Frenchie did not have to convert to Islam. When I was captured at Al Hamed...”

“I thought you were captured at Rosetta?” I interrupted.

“No, the Seventy Eighth Highlanders had two companies with the Advance Guard at Al Hamed, a small town a few miles south east of Rosetta. We warned General Stewart at Rosetta there was a fleet of fifty ships sailing down the Nile towards us. We thought we would be withdrawn but no orders came, and we were soon surrounded, and completely outnumbered, by Mehmet Ali’s army.”

“Much like the French at Bir el Findam,” I said.