Roberts, and others by Vivant Denon who had accompanied Napoleon's L'armie de I'Orient to Egypt. They were fascinating views of the monuments drawn before the excavations and restorations of more modern times.
Nicholas went to the fireplace and threw a log on the fading coals. He kicked it until it flared up brightly and then beckoned her to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling curtains that covered half of one wall. With a conjuror's flourish he pulled the tasselled cord that opened the curtains and exclaimed with satisfaction, "
"What do you make of that, then?"
She studied the magnificent has-relief frieze that was mounted on the wall. The detail was beautiful and the rendition magnificent, but she did not let her admiration show. Instead she gave her opinion in offhand tones.
"Sixth King of the Amorite dynasty, Hammurabi, about 1780 Bc," she said, pretending to study the finely chiselled features of the ancient monarch before she went on, "Yes, probably from his palace site south-west of the ziggurat at Ashur. There should have been a pair of these friezes. They are worth in the region of five million US dollars each. My guess is that they were stolen from the saintly ruler of modern Mesopotamia, Saddam Hussein, by two unprincipled rogues. I hear that the other one of the pair is at present in the collection of a certain Mr Peter Walsh in Texas." He stared at her in astonishment, and then burst out laughing. "Damn it! I swore'Duraid to secrecy but he must have told you about our naughty little escapade." It was the first time she had heard him laugh. It seemed to come naturally to his lips and she -liked the sound of it, hearty and unaffected.
"You are right about the present owner of the second frieze," he told her, still laughing. "But the price was six million, not five."
"Duraid also told me about your visit to the Tibesti Massif in Chad and southern Libya," she remarked, and he shook his head in mock contrition.
'it seems I have no secrets from you." He went to a tall armoire against the opposite wall. It was a magnificent piece of marquetry furniture, probably seventeenth-century French. He opened the double doors and said, "This is what Duraid and I brought back from Libya, without the consent of Colonel Muammar al Gadaffi."He took down one of the exquisite little bronzes and handed it to her. It was the figure of a mother nursing her infant, and it had a green patina of age.
"Hannibal, son of Hamilcar Barca," he said, "about 203 BC. These were found by a band of Tuareg at one of his old camps on the Bagradas river in North Africa.
Hannibal must have cached them there before his defeat by the Roman general Scipio. There were over two hundred bronzes in the hoard, and I still have fifty of the best of them."
"You sold the rest of them?" she asked, as she admired the statuette. There was disapproval in her tone as she went on, "How could you bear to part with something so beautiful?"
He sighed unhappily, "Had to, I am afraid. Very sad, but the expedition to retrieve them cost me a fortune. Had to cover expenses by selling some of the booty."
He went to his desk and brought out a bottle of Laphroaig malt whisky from the bottom drawer. He placed the bottle on the desk top and set two glasses beside it.
"Can I tempt you?" he asked, but she shook her head.
"Don't blame you. Even the Scots themselves admit that this brew should only be drunk in sub-zeiro weather on The Hill, in a forty-knot gale, after stalking and shooting a ten-point stag. May I offer you something a little more ladylike?"
Do you have a Coke?" she suggested.
Yes, but that is really bad for you, even worse than Laphroaig. It's all that sugar. Absolute poison."
She took the glass he brought to her and returned his toast with it.
"To life!" she agreed, and then she went on, "You are right. Duraid did tell me about these." She replaced the Punic bronze in the armoire, then came to face him at the desk. "It was also Duraid who sent me to
Nicholas went to the fireplace and threw a log on the fading coals. He kicked it until it flared up brightly and then beckoned her to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling curtains that covered half of one wall. With a conjuror's flourish he pulled the tasselled cord that opened the curtains and exclaimed with satisfaction, "
"What do you make of that, then?"
She studied the magnificent has-relief frieze that was mounted on the wall. The detail was beautiful and the rendition magnificent, but she did not let her admiration show. Instead she gave her opinion in offhand tones.
"Sixth King of the Amorite dynasty, Hammurabi, about 1780 Bc," she said, pretending to study the finely chiselled features of the ancient monarch before she went on, "Yes, probably from his palace site south-west of the ziggurat at Ashur. There should have been a pair of these friezes. They are worth in the region of five million US dollars each. My guess is that they were stolen from the saintly ruler of modern Mesopotamia, Saddam Hussein, by two unprincipled rogues. I hear that the other one of the pair is at present in the collection of a certain Mr Peter Walsh in Texas." He stared at her in astonishment, and then burst out laughing. "Damn it! I swore'Duraid to secrecy but he must have told you about our naughty little escapade." It was the first time she had heard him laugh. It seemed to come naturally to his lips and she -liked the sound of it, hearty and unaffected.
"You are right about the present owner of the second frieze," he told her, still laughing. "But the price was six million, not five."
"Duraid also told me about your visit to the Tibesti Massif in Chad and southern Libya," she remarked, and he shook his head in mock contrition.
'it seems I have no secrets from you." He went to a tall armoire against the opposite wall. It was a magnificent piece of marquetry furniture, probably seventeenth-century French. He opened the double doors and said, "This is what Duraid and I brought back from Libya, without the consent of Colonel Muammar al Gadaffi."He took down one of the exquisite little bronzes and handed it to her. It was the figure of a mother nursing her infant, and it had a green patina of age.
"Hannibal, son of Hamilcar Barca," he said, "about 203 BC. These were found by a band of Tuareg at one of his old camps on the Bagradas river in North Africa.
Hannibal must have cached them there before his defeat by the Roman general Scipio. There were over two hundred bronzes in the hoard, and I still have fifty of the best of them."
"You sold the rest of them?" she asked, as she admired the statuette. There was disapproval in her tone as she went on, "How could you bear to part with something so beautiful?"
He sighed unhappily, "Had to, I am afraid. Very sad, but the expedition to retrieve them cost me a fortune. Had to cover expenses by selling some of the booty."
He went to his desk and brought out a bottle of Laphroaig malt whisky from the bottom drawer. He placed the bottle on the desk top and set two glasses beside it.
"Can I tempt you?" he asked, but she shook her head.
"Don't blame you. Even the Scots themselves admit that this brew should only be drunk in sub-zeiro weather on The Hill, in a forty-knot gale, after stalking and shooting a ten-point stag. May I offer you something a little more ladylike?"
Do you have a Coke?" she suggested.
Yes, but that is really bad for you, even worse than Laphroaig. It's all that sugar. Absolute poison."
She took the glass he brought to her and returned his toast with it.
"To life!" she agreed, and then she went on, "You are right. Duraid did tell me about these." She replaced the Punic bronze in the armoire, then came to face him at the desk. "It was also Duraid who sent me to
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