Waking the Ancients

by Catherine Cavendish

  Squalls in the Bay of Biscay emptied the dining room and sent passengers racing for their cabins or the rails. Lizzie thanked providence for giving her a strong constitution as she steadied herself amidships, but Dr. Quintillus barely seemed to notice the weather.

  “May I ask what you’re working on, Doctor?” she asked at dinner one evening.

  He finished chewing his salmon before replying, “Preparation for the dig.”

  “Is there anything I can do to assist?”

  “No. Take the opportunity to enjoy the sea air and relax while you can. All too soon you will wish you were back here. You will find the desert heat relentless.”

  “I’m sure the excitement of it all will outweigh any discomfort I may feel.”

  Dr. Quintillus nodded.

  * * * *

  Their arrival in Alexandria brought hordes of Egypt’s poor swarming around them. Members of the ship’s company ordered them away while porters and stewards battled with trunks and a seething mass of passengers. For a few minutes, Lizzie wondered how they would ever sort out their luggage and get away from the insistent pushing and cries of “Baksheesh! Baksheesh!”

  One small child of indeterminate sex tugged hard on Lizzie’s purse. She wrenched it back. The child scowled at her and thrust a small, filthy hand in her face. “Baksheesh!”

  Quintillus appeared at her side and, to Lizzie’s astonishment, clouted the child across the head. It took one look at the eccentrically dressed man and a look of terror flashed across its dirty face. It sped off, disappearing into the crowds.

  “Come with me,” Quintillus said. Lizzie followed, speechless.

  At the sight of the tall man in the stovepipe hat, the horde seemed to melt away to let them pass. In no time at all, they were in a horse-drawn carriage on their way to the hotel.

  Lizzie’s first sight of the majestic Hotel Regal Imperial took her breath away.

  Built in the Gothic revival style, its majestic architecture dominated its surroundings as it towered up into the clear blue sky.

  Immediately when their carriage stopped, uniformed staff appeared to help them out, take their luggage, and check them in. Lizzie’s shoes sank into the luxurious rugs of the lobby. She longed to release her aching feet from their constraining leather and allow her cramped toes to be kissed by the exquisitely soft pile.

  This time their rooms were next to each other, albeit without a connecting door.

  Lizzie unpacked her trunk, which had miraculously arrived before her. The large, polished, dark wood wardrobe slid silently open as soon as she turned the key. Lizzie quickly took out the clothes she would not need in the desert. After all, they would hardly be dining in style there. Out came her evening gowns and cotton day dresses. Dr. Quintillus had reserved their rooms in the hotel for the duration of their stay in Egypt. Much as she longed to be in the thick of it, Lizzie was under no illusions; conditions onsite would be primitive at best. It would be comforting to know that a welcoming bed and relaxing bath awaited her back here.

  She smoothed out the creases on each of her dresses and hung them carefully on their hangers, until all that was left were the much more serviceable, practical clothes she would need in the days and weeks she was on the dig.

  She opened the French windows, and the aroma of the sea drifted in. A gentle breeze soothed her, and the waters of the blue Mediterranean twinkled in the bright sunshine.

  That night, she lay with her windows open. Tomorrow, she would go to Taposiris Magna for the first time. The excitement had become almost too much to bear.

  Lizzie closed her eyes and turned on her side. The cool breeze wafted the drapes and brought the faint strains of someone chanting. A scent of lilies seeped in. In Lizzie’s pre-sleep state of semiconsciousness, a shadow crossed her mind and brought her awake, just as it descended on her.

  Her eyes opened to a cloak of darkness scented with lilies and an unpleasant trace of something long dead. It held her fast in an invisible grip. She struggled to free herself and couldn’t. Whatever held her down exerted a powerful force. She tossed from side to side, calling for help. Dr. Quintillus must come. Surely he could hear her.

  The whispers. As on the ship. A woman’s raucous laugh. Lizzie strained and pushed. She kicked out.

  The cloak lifted. A nightmare. It must have been, but…

  A man stood in her room, silhouetted against the window.

  Lizzie screamed.

  “Miss Charters.”

  “Dr. Quintillus? But how did you get in here?”

  “I heard you crying out and crossed from my balcony to yours. What has caused you such distress?”

  “I…” How could she tell him she had experienced another nightmare? One that seemed so real…

  “I am so sorry to have disturbed you,” she said, pulling the sheet up to her chin.

  “Not at all. I have been working on last-minute preparations for tomorrow, but they are finished now. Are you quite recovered?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you so much for coming to my assistance.”

  Dr. Quintillus inclined his head and unlocked the door. “You should lock this as soon as I have gone, Miss Charters. You don’t want any other visitors tonight.”

  “No indeed, Doctor.” Lizzie waited until he had shut the door, then lit a candle by her bed, padded over, and turned the key.

  These bad dreams seemed so real. She had never previously been one for poor or troubled sleep. Maybe it was all the excitement. She climbed back into bed and watched in disbelief as a single white feather floated down from the ceiling. It landed gracefully on her bed. She retrieved it and examined it in the candlelight. Quite a large feather. It must have come from a sizable bird. She put it on her bedside table and covered it with her book. Tomorrow she would ask Dr. Quintillus about it. She blew out her candle and fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

  She forgot about the feather until she was ready to go down for breakfast, but however hard she searched the table and then the room, she could find no trace of it. Somehow it had vanished from beneath her book. Supposing it hadn’t, though? Supposing she had dreamt that as well?

  Lizzie shook her head and opened her door.

  Chapter 9

  Lizzie shaded her eyes, grateful for the broad-brimmed hat and scarf that kept the blazing sun off her head. She had dressed in an outfit she felt sure her heroine, Gertrude Bell, would have approved of—indeed, she had pioneered the style. A long, light-brown wraparound covered a matching divided skirt. When mounted on horseback, she would be able to sit astride in the masculine style rather than the more traditional feminine sidesaddle. The whole ensemble felt much more practical and comfortable. So what if she attracted disapproval? There probably wouldn’t be any other women on the dig anyway. In any case, when she walked, the wraparound concealed the divided skirt.

  She had selected a cream-colored cotton shirt, wide-brimmed straw hat and, to cover her neck and shoulders, she secured a kaffiyeh—the traditional Arab scarf. It would protect her from the relentless rays of the sun, which, she knew from her research, could easily penetrate a cotton shirt. On her feet, she wore good-quality soft leather boots, both for comfort and protection.

  For the cold evenings, she had packed a fur coat and some warm sweaters. She would sleep in a muslin sleeping bag, which would also protect her from sand flies and other biting insects.

  A less-than-comfortable carriage ride took them the thirty miles from Alexandria to Taposiris Magna, arriving in late afternoon.

  Lizzie stepped down from the carriage and took in the magnificent ruined stone pylons and the sheer scale of the temple. “It’s magnificent,” she said.

  “Indeed,” Dr. Quintillus replied.

  All around them, Egyptian laborers dressed in an array of colorful gallabiyahs, chipped, dug, and scraped the rocky ground as they sang. In the distance, a rotund man wea
ring a pith helmet and dressed appropriately for the conditions scurried toward them. He flapped a large white handkerchief.

  He reached them, panting hard. “Herr Doktor,” he managed.

  “Miss Charters, this is my assistant from the Lorenz Museum—Max Dressler.”

  Lizzie held out her hand, grateful for the glove that separated the man’s sweaty palm from hers.

  The man acknowledged her. “Fräulein. Herr Doktor, I believe we are getting close. One of the men found this an hour ago.”

  He reached in his pocket and held out a small gold amulet featuring a winged scarab. Dr. Quintillus handed it to Lizzie. “Your first fresh find, Miss Charters.”

  Lizzie took the precious artifact in her right hand and gently turned it over. Hieroglyphics adorned the reverse. “I can’t read these, I’m afraid. But this is so beautiful.” Reluctantly, she handed it back to the doctor. He examined the inscription.

  “This is Cleopatra’s cartouche. Where did you find it?”

  “I will take you there. Come. Please.” Dressler urged them to follow as he scuttled away.

  A greater concentration of laborers was hard at work in this section of the temple. They had dug down and uncovered what looked suspiciously like a step.

  Dr. Quintillus bent and stroked the stone. Lizzie watched, fascinated, as a change came over his face. His eyes took on a brilliance that eclipsed their normal darkness, while he continued to stroke the stone as if it were a precious cat.

  He turned to Lizzie. “Can you feel her presence?”

  “I’m sorry. I…” Lizzie didn’t know what to say next. The doctor seemed in some sort of trance.

  He stood and brushed sand off his trousers. Lizzie marveled at how he didn’t appear to feel the heat. He still wore a long black jacket and his familiar stovepipe hat as he had done at Oxford. Dr. Quintillus took out his cigar case and removed a cheroot.

  “A few more weeks and we shall succeed. I know it. Her presence is all around us in this place. Your uncle will have to eat his words, Miss Charters.”

  Lizzie nodded. Maybe then Uncle Andrew would realize how wrong he had been about Dr. Quintillus.

  But the doctor didn’t intend anyone to know about his find, so how would that happen?

  Lizzie pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind.

  “Carry on with the work, Dressler. I want armed guards placed all around the temple. If anyone trespasses, order them to shoot to kill, do you understand? Nothing can get in the way of our work.”

  “Yes, Herr Doktor.”

  That brought Lizzie up sharp. Shoot to kill? And by his tone, he meant it. She brushed aside a cold wave of fear that threatened to spoil her otherwise perfect day.

  “Come with me, Miss Charters,” the doctor said. “I want to show you some of the earlier finds.”

  He led her to a tent a few yards away. Two Egyptians held rifles, barring the way. As soon as Lizzie and Dr. Quintillus reached the tent, they stepped aside to let them through.

  “I pay them well,” the doctor said to Lizzie. “The finds are safer here than in a bank vault in Cairo.”

  Seeing their size and the expressions on the faces of the guards, Lizzie didn’t doubt it for a second.

  Dr. Quintillus unlocked a trunk secured with two enormous padlocks. He lifted the lid and Lizzie stared down at alabaster statuettes, representations of Isis, Sekhmet—the warlike goddess with the head of a lioness—and the jackal-headed god, Anubis. Lizzie reached in and picked up a perfect amulet with a representation of Isis in its center.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Incredible. All of this has been found here?”

  “Yes. There is much more we haven’t found yet, but now, in days or weeks, we will discover what man has sought for centuries. The tomb of Queen Cleopatra.”

  Lizzie’s mouth went dry. She had wondered, certainly, given his obsession with the long-dead queen, but this would be the epitome for any archaeologist—to find the most sought-after tomb in the world—and he wanted to keep it quiet?

  “Dr. Quintillus, are you sure? Could she really be here?”

  “It is the only place that makes sense. I know practically every other historian and archaeologist believes she lies at the bottom of the sea, but I have long believed that when it became impossible for her to stay in Alexandria, she fled for the sanctuary of this great temple. When I discovered the scroll, I had my proof. The author wrote it shortly after her death, and his directions placed her here.”

  “So Mark Antony will also be buried here.”

  Quintillus’s expression changed. His eyes grew darker. “He may be.” The words were clipped and curt. If they had been discussing a live woman, Lizzie would have suspected jealousy, but surely he couldn’t be envious of a lover who had been dead for two thousand years. Especially when the object of his affections was a mummified corpse. Lizzie shuddered and hoped Dr. Quintillus didn’t notice.

  He shut the trunk with a loud slam and locked it, replacing the keys in his waistcoat pocket. Then, without a word, he marched out of the tent, leaving Lizzie trailing behind.

  “Dressler.”

  His assistant stepped forward, sweating even more profusely as the sun blazed down.

  “Yes, Herr Doktor?”

  “I want you to ensure no one leaves this site, and I mean no one. You included. Only Miss Charters and I will be permitted to come and go. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Herr Doktor. It shall be so.”

  “Supplies will be delivered daily and you are to take personal charge of them. Anyone caught trying to leave will be shot. Understood?”

  Again the flash of fear at hearing the doctor give that order. But again, Lizzie dismissed it. Dr. Quintillus was preserving irreplaceable artifacts. Being on the verge of making possibly the greatest discovery in centuries, he had to protect the site’s integrity at all costs.

  Dressler nodded nervously. A nerve twitched at the corner of his left eye, and Lizzie felt almost sorry for him.

  “Come, Miss Charters,” the doctor said. “I will show you your tent and you can unpack. Then we can discuss my plans.”

  Her trunk had already been placed in her tent by the man who would attend to her needs while she was in camp. He told her his name was Abbas and showed her an adjoining tent where she would bathe. A canvas bath stood ready for her use, and a pile of fluffy white towels lay on a folding table nearby. In her sleeping tent, a camp bed had been made up with blankets to keep out the night chill. A small desk and folding chair, an occasional table, and a mirror attached somewhat haphazardly to the tent wall formed the remaining furniture, along with a rail for her to hang her clothes. Inside the tent, the atmosphere nearly stifled her.

  The tall Egyptian sensed her discomfort. He spoke in perfect English. “It will be more pleasant when the sun goes down. Then you will be glad of the blankets.”

  He offered her peppermint tea, for which she had acquired a taste. She thanked him and unpacked the remainder of her clothes.

  A few minutes later, she joined Dr. Quintillus in his tent. He had tied the flaps open and a slight breeze dried the sweat that had formed droplets on her brow. She sat on the only other chair and sipped her tea.

  The doctor continued writing penciled notes in a small black notebook he always carried. While he wrote, Lizzie reflected in more detail on the incident earlier with Dressler. She had never thought Quintillus capable of murder. In fact, she had never given such a matter any thought at all. But twice today he had instructed a member of his team to shoot anyone transgressing his rules. He seemed to have no difficulty in delivering such an order, either. Despite her earlier conviction that he was only taking all necessary precautions to protect the site, a chill passed through her body.

  Dr. Quintillus attached his pencil to the notebook and slid the slim volume into his inside pocket. He too
k a sip of tea. “You remember I spoke to you of an experiment I wished you to participate in?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “It is time to begin that experiment. There is much preparation to do before we can fully execute it. Are you ready to commence?”

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  “You? Nothing for now. Your task will come later. First, I must prepare the way for you.”

  “The way?”

  “Yes. You will see.”

  That look in his eyes. Always his eyes. They attracted her, but at that moment, they terrified her.

  “Dr. Quintillus, what is this experiment?”

  “The time for questions will come later. Much later. If at all. When the time comes, you will find you have all the answers you need. Until then, you must trust me.” Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and took her wrist. His skin felt warm and dry. He stroked the back of her hand and her fears melted away. The now-familiar longing for more intimate physical contact with him flooded her, and she wondered if he could sense that. But he said nothing, patted her hand, and leaned back.

  Lizzie moistened her dry lips.

  “Now, Miss Charters, I suggest you return to your tent and rest before dinner. The heat is very tiring and can consume all your energy.”

  “Yes, Doctor.” She drained her glass and left him alone.

  Dinner was a simple affair of lamb roasted on the fire. Exhausted after an eventful day, Lizzie retired to bed when the sun went down and fell asleep almost immediately.

  The following day, she felt glad of the divided skirt as she picked her way across the uneven ground, following Quintillus. She worked on cleaning and cataloguing the previous day’s finds, marveling at the workmanship on the shards of pottery and a perfect little alabaster statuette of the goddess Sekhmet. For something so small, it was remarkably heavy. Once cleaned, the green tint to the otherwise white alabaster gave the object a translucent quality. She turned it over in her hand. It felt pleasantly, but surprisingly, cold to the touch. She made to put it down and gave a little gasp.