The Alexander Cipher Page 0,43
his Egyptian throne names was ‘he who drives out the foreigners,’ just like Nectanebo?”
“Hey!” protested Knox. “I thought you said you didn’t know anything about Nectanebo?”
“I said I knew a little,” smiled Gaille.
“So you think the Alexander Romance story is credible, then?” he asked, steering her to the right, taking another look back as he did so. Their tail was still there—closer, if anything. And then two men walked around the corner ahead. Knox readied himself to run. But the two men kept on walking, paying no attention to Knox or their tail.
“Well, obviously it’s not true,” said Gaille. “Nectanebo never went anywhere near Greece. But I can certainly believe that such a story gained currency among the Egyptians. Maybe Alexander even encouraged it. He was incredibly skilled at winning hearts and minds. I’ve always thought that was one reason he visited Siwa. I mean, everyone assumes that he went because the Oracle of Ammon was so revered by the Greeks. But the Egyptians revered it, too, and had for centuries. Did you know that all the Twenty-Eighth Dynasty pharaohs traveled to Siwa to be acknowledged, and that they were all depicted with rams’ horns, too, just like Alexander?”
They finally emerged onto the Corniche. A breaker crashed against the rocks, spraying spume over the high wall, leaving the road shining black. Knox glanced around again to see their tail put his phone away in his pocket then look anxiously all around him. “Is that right?” asked Knox.
Gaille nodded vigorously. “The Egyptians were sticklers for legitimacy in their pharaohs. Alexander succeeded Nectanebo, so in a sense, of course he was his son. The story about Nectanebo sleeping with his mother was just a convenient way of explaining it.” She smiled apologetically. “Anyway, enough shop. Where’s this restaurant of yours?”
“Just up here.” He glanced around a final time. Their tail was advancing with a broad smile on a dark-haired woman and two young children, picking them up, laughing joyfully as he spun them around. Knox breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing but paranoia. Then he reminded himself sternly that just because it had proved benign this time didn’t mean he could afford to relax.
They reached the restaurant, a plush place overlooking the waterfront. Gaille looked at Knox in horror, then down at her shabby clothes. “But you told me it wasn’t fancy!” she protested.
“It isn’t. And you look beautiful.”
She pursed her lips, as if she thought he was lying, even though he wasn’t. She had the kind of looks he had always found irresistible, shining with gentleness and intelligence. She said, “I only put on these horrid things because I didn’t want to give your friend Augustin any encouragement. If I’d known it’d be you . . .”
A grin spread across Knox’s face. “Are you saying you do want to give me encouragement?”
“That’s not what I meant at all.” Gaille blushed furiously. “I only meant that I think I can trust you.”
“Oh,” said Knox gloomily, opening the door for her, ushering her inside. “Trustworthy. That’s almost as bad as being nice.”
“Worse,” smiled Gaille. “Much worse.”
They climbed a flight of stairs to the dining area. “Avoid anything freshwater,” he advised, helping her to a seat with a view out over the Eastern Harbor. “The lakes around here, it’s a miracle anything survives in them. But the seafood will be good.”
“Duly noted.”
He flapped out a napkin as he sat. “So how’s your photography going?”
“Not bad. Better than I expected, if I’m honest.” She leaned forward over the table, eager to confide. “I’m not actually a photographer at all, you know.”
“No?”
“I’m a papyrologist, really. The camera just helps me reassemble fragments. You can do amazing things with the software these days.”
“So how did you get this job, then?”
“My boss volunteered me.”
“Ah, Elena. Very kind of her. So you’re working with her in the Delta, yes?”
“Yes.”
“What on?”
“An old settlement,” she enthused. “We’ve found traces of city walls and dwellings and cemeteries. Everything from Old Kingdom up to Early Ptolemaic.”
“Wow. What’s the place?”
“Oh.” She looked hesitant suddenly, aware she’d said too much. “We haven’t made a definitive identification yet.”
“You must have some idea.”
“I can’t talk about it,” said Gaille. “Elena made us all sign agreements.”
“Come on. I won’t tell a soul, I swear. And you just said I was trust-worthy.”
“I can’t. Honestly.”
“Give me a clue, then. Just one clue.”
“Please. I really can’t.”
“Of course you can. You want to. You know you do.”
She pulled a face. “Have you ever heard the expression, ‘putting your head in the wolf’s