The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  He was, though he left it until the last minute, smiling inwardly as he was shown into a meeting room at the museum where half a dozen people sat around a table. Four of the people were young Egyptian men, obviously students or junior staff, and one was European, middle-aged, florid of complexion with sandy coloured hair. Bashir looked at this man with a touch of interest.

  "Very well," Bashir said. "I am here. You may start."

  "I'm sure we are grateful, Mr Bashir," Maroun murmured. He got to his feet and stood at the head of the table, looking at each of the men there. "Now, most of you have gone on these little expeditions before, so you scarcely need reminding of the Dos and Don'ts of archaeological work. We will be leaving the docks at eight tomorrow morning, so be on time. I will have no compunction about leaving anyone behind if they're late. The launch belongs to the museum and is small, so we'll be crowded. I must impress on you the absolute authority the captain of the boat has while we are on the water. A request from him is to be obeyed immediately. Safety on the water is essential. Likewise, my authority holds when we are on dry land. I am not a hard task-master but I need you to follow my instructions." Maroun looked around the little group. "Is that clear?" There were a chorus of affirmations and nods.

  "The site itself is under the protection of the Department of Antiquities and, in the absence of Directors Nasrallah and Zewali, I have the final authority when it comes to what can and cannot be done. The shaft is marked by a small flag, and when we arrive I will instruct Rusul and Sajjad..." Maroun smiled and gestured toward the two young men sitting opposite Bashir. "...to set out a boundary tape around the shaft. No one is to go inside this boundary for any reason, except with my express permission. Further, nothing is to be removed from the site--not an artefact, nor bone, nor piece of stone--unless I so instruct. So, any questions?"

  "Can we take pictures?" asked the florid man.

  "Yes, but please ask me first."

  "How long will we be at the site?" asked one of the young men sitting beside Bashir.

  "Not long. We will not be excavating the site nor doing anything to disturb it. I just want to have a look around, and as one or two of you have asked about this shaft, I thought this was the perfect opportunity."

  "How large is the boat?" Bashir asked. "I wish to bring my secretary and my military escort."

  "I'm sorry, but that is not possible. The launch takes a maximum of seven persons and as you can see, there are seven of us in this room."

  "Who is this man?" Bashir asked. "The young men are obviously just students but this man..." he indicated the florid man, "...does not fit in."

  "Under-Minister Ahmed Bashir of the Syrian Ministry of National History--may I present Mr Nicholas Evans, Journalist."

  "What is a journalist doing on this investigation? Why wasn't I informed? This is unacceptable."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr Bashir. You are, of course, at liberty to withdraw."

  "I want him off the investigation."

  Dr Maroun regarded Bashir calmly. "Director Nasrallah has personally given him permission."

  "I'm very pleased to meet you, Minister Bashir. Your fame precedes you." Nick rose to his feet and extended a hand across the table. Bashir regarded it with a moue of distaste and then shook it limply.

  "Indeed," Nick went on. "As soon as I heard you were going, I insisted on joining this little expedition, and Jamal--Director Nasrallah--kindly obliged me. I've heard so much about you, Minister. I hope we'll find the opportunity to have some serious discussions."

  "I very much doubt it, Mr Evans. I'm not in the habit of talking to reporters."

  Nick smiled and winked. "I'm sure our mutual friend would like us to talk."

  "And who might that be?"

  "Dr Danielle Hanser. I believe you've worked with her."

  Bashir fought back a flutter of panic. Who is this man and how much does he know ? "I have met her," he conceded. "I was not impressed."

  "No? Well, maybe we'll have an opportunity to discuss your differences of opinion."

  "I think we'll leave it there for today," Dr Maroun said. "Please be on the docks by eight o'clock."

  Bashir arrived on the docks early, with Nazim and Lieutenant Al-Din in tow, determined to take them if at all possible, but Dr Maroun had spoken the truth--the motor launch was small and the space sufficient only for the designated persons. With ill-grace, he sent his companions back to the hotel and clambered aboard the vessel, claiming the best seat for himself. The others arrived a few minutes later, and after Maroun had spoken to the captain and the sole crewman, he took his seat and they left the Luxor docks on time. Driven by the powerful motor of the launch, the trip took a scant two hours.

  There is a point on the river, about six or seven miles past the bend where the Nile turns south again, where the cliffs of the western desert squeeze the farmland and advance almost to the water's edge. Just south of those cliffs, where they recede once more from the life blood of Egypt is the village of El Siteyah and the boat's captain turned the nose of his craft in toward the western bank. He cut the motor until they just made headway against the turbulent current.

  "What do you think?" Maroun asked the group as they drifted toward the village wharf. "Does this look like the sort of place the ancients would site a royal tomb?"

  "It does not seem dry enough, Dr Maroun," Rusul said. "Moisture would destroy tomb furnishings."

  "It may be suitable for a lesser personage though," Sajjad said. "A landowner or merchant might not be able to afford a tomb in a prime position, so might settle for one here."

  "Very true," Maroun agreed. "We must keep all these things in mind."

  Bashir stared at the cliffs and the farmland, trying to equate the landscape with the descriptions from the account. He had visualised a very different scenario and realised he would have to rethink his ideas. There was no notch visible in the cliffs nor a track or anything that could be interpreted as a line of green.

  "Shall we disembark?" Dr Maroun said. "We've a way to go yet and the path is steep in places. I hope you all brought stout walking shoes."

  Maroun led his little party through the village and round to the southern side of the cliff outcrop before turning toward the steeply rising land. The road became a path and the path petered out into a vaguely delineated goat track that jinked back and forth across the bare hillside. They soon started sweating and uncorking their water bottles.

  "Don't drink too much," Dr Maroun warned. "There's no more water until we get back."

  The track steepened and they advanced by clambering from rock to boulder, slipping in the loose dirt, dislodging stones that clattered and bounced down the hill. They helped one another up the steeper courses and rested more often, their faces and clothing soaked with sweat and stained by the dust. Water bottles were used more frequently, and Dr Maroun had occasion to warn them again.

  Half way up, they rested on a broad ledge and sat with their backs to the stone and their legs dangling over space while they admired the view. The river had visibly shrunk to a broad ribbon bordered by green farmland, and boats on the water and vehicles on the land were like children's toys.

  "I always enjoy this view," Dr Maroun said. "It puts man's efforts in perspective. We're so tiny compared to the limitlessness of sky and land." A hawk circling far above them in the cloudless azure sky called down its agreement--a high-pitched, mocking shrill.

  "How'd they ever get a sarcophagus up here, Dr Maroun?" Nick asked. "I'm exhausted and I'm only carrying my notebook and camera."

  "Ah. It's not been proven yet that this is a tomb, Mr Evans, but I take your point. There are other cliff tombs and the effort involved in building them and furnishing them for eternity must have been enormous. Remember that death was the defining point to the life of an ancient Egyptian and a tomb was the most important possession he could have. They thought little of spending a fortune on an eternal resting place, and for it to be secure against tomb robbers it had to be in an out of th
e way place. What better place than a cliff face?"

  "I can appreciate that," Nick said, "But how did they haul a stone sarcophagus up here. It would weigh what? Half a ton?"

  "At least," Maroun said. "But the land has changed, and a nobleman could afford to pay hundreds of workers to create a road to the site, destroying it afterward. The stone sarcophagus would be tied to a great wooden sledge and teams of oxen and men would haul it up to the tomb shaft an inch at a time before lowering it into place. A colossal effort but evidently they thought it was worth it." Maroun got to his feet and dusted off his trousers. "Come on then, let us make our final effort. Another hour should see us there."

  The shaft, when they came to it, could have been easily missed, were it not for the small marking flag and a tiny tent erected on a square on more or less level ground a hundred yards away. Two men emerged as the small party climbed up to them. They held rifles and looked at them suspiciously, but their faces broke into broad smiles as they recognised Dr Maroun.

  "Guards," Maroun explained. "It would be a pity to have the site damaged now when we are so close to exploring it. Come on, it's just up here."

  The path steepened again and led up to where a great crack had opened in the rock face. In the narrow, shadowed entrance of the cleft lay a man-made structure, its roughly straight lines standing out against the natural formations around it. A square outline on the rock, hidden by shadow, fell away into a dark, rubble-choked throat.

  "There it is," Dr Maroun said proudly. "Magnificent, isn't it?"

  "If you say so," Nick said.

  "I was sort of expecting more," Bashir added.

  "That's the whole point," Maroun said with a smile. "If you have something to hide, you don't want to advertise the fact."

  They worked their way closer to the shaft and peered into it. A few feet below the ragged edge, the smooth walls plunged downward and back into the cliff face at a steep angle, only to end in a heap of rubble about eight or ten feet down.

  "How deep does the shaft go, do you think?" Bashir asked.

  "A bit hard to tell before they've dug it out," Nick murmured.

  "Quite right, Mr Evans," Maroun said, "but if similar shafts are anything to go by, it could descend say twenty feet to a stepped gallery that'll run at a gentler angle to a burial chamber. That's a guess, of course. It may be just a tomb that was started and abandoned and there're only a few more feet of shaft below that rubble."

  They all stepped back and Maroun had Rusul and Sajjad peg a boundary of tape around the shaft. He sent the other two young men back to the guard's tent to fetch up the ladder, and when it arrived, oversaw the lowering of it into the pit.

  "Well, Minister Bashir, do you think this is your tomb?"

  Bashir shook his head. "I don't see how anyone can tell at this stage. Can we not persuade you to start your excavations sooner? Or at least dig down a bit deeper and see if this really is a tomb?"

  "Quite out of the question, I'm afraid," Maroun said. "I just don't have the work force at the moment. In a month or two maybe..."

  "What if I brought a team in and excavated it for you?"

  "This shaft is under the aegis of the Department of Antiquities, Minister. Nobody excavates it for us."

  "I could lend you the man-power."

  Maroun shook his head. "I would only allow trained personnel on site."

  "Perhaps we should find Dr Hanser, Minister," Nick suggested, his eyes twinkling. "I hear she is very good at finding things."

  Bashir shot him a venomous look and stalked away, leaving the museum staff to start their investigations.

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  Chapter Seventeen

  "They've been gone an awful long time. Do you think anything's happened to them?"

  Dani opened her eyes and glanced across at the faint shadow that was Daffyd, sitting with his back to the outside wall of the derelict shed. The star-studded body of the goddess Nut, as Dani liked to think of the night sky, did little to alleviate the blackness of the rural countryside. The hut, and its yawning doorway, was a shadow within shadows, and the ploughed fields and scrub-covered land vague smudges that had to be guessed at rather than discerned. Far to the west loomed the cliffs, black on black, and to the east, toward the river, the sky betrayed just a hint of burnt orange, where the lights of the town of Edfu did their best to hold back the night.

  Insects chirruped, whirred and rasped in the undergrowth, the insistent rhythms counterpointed by the occasional croak of a frog and the call of a night bird. Earlier, the high-pitched whistles and clicks of bats had teased their ears as the little flying mammals feasted on the hordes of insects taking wing in the dusk. Mosquitoes had bothered them considerably in the gathering darkness, but their nuisance had abated as the temperature dropped, leaving them to scratch at their welts for a while longer. Cattle lowed in the pastures, and when the gentle breeze veered, brought the familiar stink of ordure.

  Dani had made herself comfortable a few feet away from the hut, not trusting the rustle and squeak of its resident wildlife, sitting in a cross-legged pose, closing her eyes and meditating. Now she looked across at Daffyd.

  "There's nothing we can do about it."

  "We could go and look for them. We know what direction the town lies."

  "We wouldn't be able to see where we're going, let alone find them," Dani said. "If we fell and hurt ourselves, we'd be in a right fix."

  "So we do nothing?"

  Dani sighed. "I didn't say that. But be reasonable, Dafs, we don't speak the language--not very well at least--we can't see a thing, and Muammar may have a very good reason for delaying their return. What if those Bedouin are out there, watching the road to the village?"

  "So what do we do?"

  "If they're not back by sunrise, we'll head to the village and look for them. It's possible they've sought refuge with Aswad again."

  They sat in companionable silence while the stars crept above them in concentric circles.

  "I wish those bloody Bedouin hadn't taken my tobacco," Daffyd grumbled. "I'm gasping for a smoke."

  "Do you good to go without," Dani replied. "Think of your health, not to mention my comfort."

  "Smoking's not that bad for you."

  "Come on, Dafs, you're an educated man. You know better."

  Daffyd grumbled a bit more but eventually fell silent, closing his eyes and settling back against the crumbling timber of the shed wall.

  After a while, Dani unfolded her legs and made herself comfortable in the lea of the hut, with Daffyd a few feet away. Nothing disturbed their rest until the first gray light of the new day. Dani opened her eyes and saw two pairs of sandal-shod feet only a few paces away. She sat up quickly and smiled uncertainly at the two weather-beaten farmers staring down at her. They held mattocks, but she did not think their pose was threatening.

  "Hello," she said in what she hoped was Egyptian Arabic. "Friend."

  The two men looked at each other, and one of them uttered a string of syllables.

  "I wish I understood you," Dani said in English, and then tried again, wrapping her tongue and lips around liquid-sounding Arabic. "Me friend, Aswad, village." She gestured toward the still-sleeping figure of Daffyd. "Him too."

  Another utterance, but Dani recognised the name of Aswad in it; smiled and nodded. She got to her feet, stretching away her stiffness and nudged Daffyd with her foot. "Rise and shine, Dafs, we have company."

  "Huh?" Daffyd sat up and then leapt to his feet. "Who are they?"

  "Local farmers, by the look of it." Dani grinned. "I've tried my fluent classical Arabic on them, but they must speak a different dialect. I think they understood my reference to Aswad though." She addressed the farmers again. "Aswad. Friend."

  The farmers nodded. "Aswad." Then, apparently losing interest, they shouldered their mattocks and walked away.

  Daffyd yawned and stretched and looked around. "The others not back yet, I take it?"

  Dani shook h
er head. She looked toward the east where shades of rose and gold tinged the sky. "See, here is Khepri of the Dawning Light," she murmured. The disk of the sun rose above the eastern cliffs, the shadows racing toward the river, shortening even as she watched.

  Lifting her arms as if to greet the dawn, she started singing, but the words were unlike anything Daffyd had ever heard, and the words evidently had the same effect on Dani, for her eyes widened as she heard herself. The words of the song faltered and died away. She turned to stare at Daffyd, unease written across her face.

  "What just happened, Dafs? What did I do?"

  "I don't know, love. What was that you were singing? I didn't recognise the tune or the language."

  "I think it was..." Dani shook her head. "It just seemed like the right thing to do at the rising of the sun."

  "I think we should go look for the others," Daffyd said gently. "The stress of being alone out here, worrying, must be getting you down."

  Taking their bearings, Daffyd and Dani set off along the edge of the fields, retracing the steps that had brought them there the previous evening. They came to the road and turned in the direction of the village, nodding and smiling at farmers coming late to the fields. There was no sign of Marc or Muammar, and they became increasingly uneasy as they approached the houses.

  "Where are they? Something's happened to them."

  "Don't anticipate trouble," Dani said. "Let's try Aswad's house first."

  "Do you know how to find it?"

  "I think so."

  They attracted a lot of attention as they wandered the streets of the village, searching for familiar landmarks. Small boys followed them, chattering and tugging at Dani and Daffyd's clothing, holding their hands out for a coin. They had none to give them but spoke to them anyway, asking for 'Aswad'.

  The boys grinned and pointed, then took them by the hand and led them to a door. Aswad answered their knocking and he smiled and invited them in, shooing away the small boys.

  "Er, Muammar, Marc--have you seen them? Are they here?" Dani asked.

  Aswad screwed up his face. "Effendi?"