by Unknown
He was what they call a ‘blue man’[12], tall and imposing, dressed from head to foot in a takakat[13] and an indigo cheich, the long traditional costume of his people. The cloth across his face hid everything but his dark, unfathomable almond-shaped eyes, thick dark eyelashes and well-defined eyebrows. The man was heavily armed, wearing a takoba[14], held at the waist by a brown leather belt. It was only visible by its cross-shaped hilt sticking out of a brown leather sheath. The blue man also carried a spear and a goatskin shield and was most certainly wearing a telak, the traditional Tuareg dagger, under his left sleeve.
On seeing the blue man, Jean-François thought of the count and had a troubling idea, "God has united the light and the shadows about me, the light in Kalaan and the shadows in Salam. Could this be a sign?"
"As salaam alaykum, peace be upon you." Bowing his head with respect, the Tuareg spoke in Arabic, not in Berber[15]. His voice was rich and gravely.
"Wa 'alaykum salaam, upon you be peace," replied Jean-François, who spoke Arabic fluently.
The brief exchange stopped there and, following Salam's signal, the three men headed in the same direction as Kalaan had just a few minutes earlier. The heat on this side of the Nile was strangely heavier than on the east bank at the ruins of Tell el-Amarna. Jean-François was soon aware that Lil' Louis, who was on his right, appeared to suffer even more; and his breathing became more and more labored with each heavy step.
As they pushed on, leaving behind the greenery and flat ground, and got closer to the blazing furnace of the dunes, it became more and more difficult to walk. It was almost as if the fine sand into which their feet were sinking deeply, was trying to break their will to continue.
The wretched sand... It got into everything. It made their mouths gritty and cottony and their eyes were so irritated that there were tears in them. The clothes became rough and itchy and even the boots, which were supposed to serve as protection became torture. With each step forward the desert took its retribution, and put the men through cruel torment.
About a hundred yards further they finally reached the count who had deigned to wait for them. He lowered the bottom strip of his cheich, thus uncovering his face, and handed a goatskin canteen full of water to his Egyptologist friend.
"Drink. Now is not the time to fall to sunstroke. You too Lil' Louis," he said scolding, when he noticed the sorry state his old friend was in. "Good heavens, perhaps the next time you will listen to me and stay on the boat!"
"Oy promised yer mother oy'd not let ye outta me sight, lad!"
"Did you also promise her to die of stupidity? Drink!"
Champollion gratefully accepted the water, which, despite its unpleasantly warm temperature, was refreshing. After quenching his thirst, he quickly handed it to the old seafarer. The old man in turn slaked his own thirst and handed the canteen to Salam, who declined, shaking his head.
"For sure," Lil' Louis grumbled, "No one tells off the blue warrior, right!"
"This is Salaam's home,” Kalaan replied stiffly, as if he'd already said the same thing a hundred times. "You can't possibly compare his tolerance to this heat with yours."
Jean-François couldn’t help but show his curiosity about the blue man. Kalaan realized this and smiled before speaking again.
"Salam wanted to welcome you with honor, wearing his full ceremonial attire. He would like to be dressed entirely in white, to express his respect for you, but unfortunately he'd only packed his indigo twill."
"I thank him for that," said Champollion particularly touched by such deference, for he felt he was nothing more than a small ordinary man. He had such a mistaken opinion of himself, while the world of explorers both respected and envied him for being the first person to decipher hieroglyphs. In Salam's eyes, he was a man among men.
"We're only a few steps away," Kalaan revealed pointing towards a stretch of high dunes.
The blazing heat was now unbearable and strange spiraling arabesques were rising in the air, making the view hazy for miles around in all directions.
Suddenly, there was an extraordinary, bloodcurdling sound, then a second one that sounded like a muffled moan, immediately followed by another, one wave of sound after another. There! The sound shifted again and little by little transformed into something resembling the beating of drums, getting louder and louder. No! Now it was a low moan again!
"We call it the ‘song of the dunes’[16],” Salam explained in his richly accented voice, influenced by his native Berber tongue. The ancient ones used to say that these songs either called us to death, or announced it."
Champollion started shivering from head to foot; not from cold but from fear, a fear that had been constantly with him for some time now, the fear that his demise was imminent and that he would die before he could complete his voyage and see all that the world had to offer.
"‘Tis nothing but a legend, Jean-François," Kalaan tried to reassure him. "The noise comes from the wind caressing the dunes, or when our feet dig into them creating little sand avalanches. But I can understand your consternation. I felt the same way the first time I experienced the phenomenon. So, shall we go?" he urged, no longer concerned with his friend's distress. And he swirled around to start back on his forced march.
Once again, he didn't wait for his companions. Champollion shook off his morbid thoughts and ordered his unwilling body to follow the young nobleman.
"Zounds! He trembled like a weak woman," mumbled Lil' Louis so that only Champollion could hear him. The Egyptologist stifled his laugh with a cough as Kalaan opened his mouth to speak again.
"Fear can be respectable when it pushes us to make the right choices!" he said over his shoulder. "Only fools and imbeciles can't understand this."
"And you my, friend? Is there anything on this earth that terrifies you? You look solid as a rock, so much so that it is hard for me to imagine you could feel such an emotion."
Kalaan broke into a hearty laugh and turned to look into Champollion's eyes.
"If I were to confess what gives me cold sweats, you wouldn't believe me."
"You could always try, unless it must remain a secret."
"Aye, we’re all ears now," the old sailor added in a honeyed voice.
Kalaan looked down at him, his lips pursed in a cynical, almost bitter expression. "I have no secrets. Well, since you insist on knowing, what frightens me more than anything are women!”
Champollion looked dumbstruck for an instant, thinking he hadn't heard correctly. He then burst out laughing, but quickly regained his composure when he saw the vexed look on the face of the Adonis, beloved by all women. That didn't stop Lil' Louis from guffawing and slapping his knee. Salam simply nodded silently.
Champollion realized with stupefaction that the count wasn't joking. This womanizing rake was afraid of women! The announcement was hard to believe.
"I can no longer stand their tittering, their simpering, their frivolity and their guiles! They're all the same, not one better than the other. Except, of course, for my sister Isabelle and my mother," he muttered, apologetically thinking of the two ladies in question. “I loathe them so much, I could almost become a monk!”
“You are joking, aren’t you?” Champollion exclaimed.
“Absolutely not! I must have liked them at some point, or at least enjoyed their company. But today I’m tired of them. All I see when I look at women now is their duplicity and their abounding hypocrisy. Don’t be mistaken, I’m no monk; they serve me well ... for dalliances, I must admit. But it stops at that.”
Jean-François thought he saw a spark of humor in the dark eyes of the ever-silent Salaam, and began to think about the young count’s words. He was a strong handsome man, rich and free; and certainly all the matriarchs of French nobility were aware of this. Kalaan most likely had to suffer all the marriageable young ladies from all over France being paraded at his door. He was also said to be an excellent lover, and every widow or unhappily married woman probably did everything possible to add him to
their list of conquests.
Seen from that point of view, the fairer sex could be considered somewhat frightening. Now Jean-François could understand and give credit to Kalaan’s words. However, he would have liked to have the same type of fear as his friend, rather than one of an early demise.
“The tomb is just down there,” the count announced, pulling Champollion from his thoughts.
A tomb? Where? They were standing at the ridge of a high dune and nothing around them could confirm what Kalaan said.
However, when he followed Kalaan’s eyes and looked further down, Jean-François couldn’t suppress an exclamation of surprise. There, at the foot of the dune, what looked like stone walls most likely of human construction, had been revealed. The ancient earthy coating had been partially removed and clearly marked the entrance to something resembling a mausoleum. Yet it remained completely invisible to anyone standing at the edge of Tell el-Amarna.
Kalaan’s baritone voice cut through the silence. “The desert jealously hides its secrets and nature, either by whim or as a joke, and enjoys teasing us by raising storms to reveal to the world what should never have reappeared. We are the first to have laid eyes on this edifice since time immemorial. It has never been charted by Sicard, or by the scientists who were here during the Egyptian campaign[17], nor by Belzoni[18] and most certainly not by the vile French consul Drovetti[19]. I have made certain of this. We are standing before a great discovery!”
“Or a great curse,” added Salam, under his breath gloomier than ever. “This is not a tomb,” he insisted, as he already had numerous times, since they discovered the site the previous day. “No pharaoh, queen, prince, or high dignitary rests here.”
Champollion began trembling uncontrollably. The Tuareg’s alarming words echoed the horrible feeling that had suddenly come over him.
“Jean-François is here to either prove or contradict what you are saying,” Kalaan muttered, knitting his brow. “Why place such a building so far from Tell el-Amarna?” he added thoughtfully, as if to himself.
“So men wilna come stomping ‘round the place,” Lil’ Louis muttered nervously. “Will we g’back to the boat now, lad?”
“No!” exclaimed Kalaan, stubbornly.
“This edifice is here to protect living creatures from whatever it contains,”Salam replied sharply.
Kalaan shot a heavy look at his Tuareg friend and turned to look at Jean-François, before speaking again.
“My dear friend, you are the only one who can tell us the truth. Can you translate the hieroglyphs on the door, as they hold the answers to our questions? Thanks to your studies and catalogues, I can manage somewhat; however, I am just a beginner. Will you do it for us?”
The Egyptologist only hesitated a moment. He had to admit that although his feeling of foreboding was strong, he felt the same exhilarating curiosity as Kalaan and wanted to see this new adventure through to the very end, despite all the possible dangers.
“I’m bursting with impatience,” he responded in a loud, yet trembling, voice. “Let us go!”
“The Lord ‘ave pity on us,” Lil’ Louis mumbled, before tumbling down the slope leading to the mysterious mausoleum on his buttocks.
Chapter 2
The mysterious edifice
As the awkward Lil’ Louis descended the dune on his rear end, the sand began, once again, to produce the startling sounds they call the ‘song of the dunes’ and the song continued as his three more dignified companions went dashing down after him on their feet.
A few moments later they were standing at the entrance of the astonishing construction while the count of Croz’s men followed close behind. Among the thirty odd men were some local workmen, but also sailors and Kalaan’s traveling companions. Everything about them showed how frightening they found this discovery. The anguish in their eyes spoke louder than words.
What the devil! This isn’t the first time they’ve found themselves in front of a tomb! Kalaan thought gloomily.
“We mustn’t remain here,” grumbled Salam.
Meanwhile Jean-François went up to the hieroglyphs covering the wall that served as a door. Kalaan didn’t bother wasting his breath yet again by replying to his stubborn friend. He crossed his arms over his powerful chest and waited to hear what Champollion would reveal to them.
“These inscriptions are magnificent!” exclaimed the scholar. “Pure hieroglyphs, so many figurative symbols and cartouches... all in such perfect condition. I could swear they were only just carved yesterday! I’ll get started immediately on the translation!”
He started moving back and forth from one point to another almost bouncing with excitement and every time he stopped, he would loudly exclaim ‘I’ve got it!’ before scribbling something in his notebook. It was as if Champollion had, all of a sudden, completely shut out the rest of the world.
“You’ve got what?” Kalaan couldn’t help but ask after sighing heavily. He had been watching his companion’s odd little dance for at least twenty minutes.
“It’s fascinating...” he gasped without stopping what he was doing.
“Ye know what’s fascinatin’? We’re all goin’ te be roasted like pigs on a spit. There’s already a smell o’ burnin’,” muttered Lil’ Louis wiping his damp red face for the hundredth time.
“Return to the boat!” Kalaan was more concerned for the older man than annoyed.
He was clearly worried for his old friend who stood up with difficulty after sitting a few minutes on the sand, when Champollion exclaimed, “That’s it, I’ve translated the most important parts and I still can’t believe my eyes!”
He nervously went up to Kalaan.
“This name, Imhotep, I saw it at Saqqara where the step pyramid is! But I also noticed it while I was studying the royal collection in Turin. He is described as some sort of healing god, ‘son of Ptah’, doctor, grand vizier, scribe, architect and magician. It is difficult to know if he was a man or a real divinity. I hope to learn more in continuing my journey. However, my dear Kalaan, the best is yet to come!”
Jean-François was positively beaming at the count. Not able to resist anymore, Kalaan had to ask,
“What is left to come?”
“Akhenaten!” exclaimed a very excited Champollion. “He is mentioned here, on this very door! And it is not a woman, as we presumed, but a man, a pharaoh! Listen. It is written that in this place, so that the reign of the pharaoh Akhenaten may pass in peace, a magic ritual was practiced, according to the sacred dictates of Imhotep. Wait. I must read this again!” and Champollion, returned grumbling to study the inscriptions.
“Ancestral charms!” Salam was not pleased. “I warned you that this had nothing of a tomb. We must go no further. The magic of the ancient ones is feared and respected, for it is all powerful.”
“Ye hear dat lad? Let’s return!” added Lil’ Louis as he started turning to leave.
“No!” responded Kalaan, harshly. “Something is pushing me forward. I don’t know how to explain it. I simply must enter this mausoleum, tomb, crypt, whatever it is, I must enter!”
“There,” said Jean-François, completely indifferent to the growing tension in the group, so absorbed he was by his deciphering and the sheer scale of what he was discovering. “It is written, ‘Imhotep stands guard here, all the Pharaoh’s fears, concealed or retained (I can’t quite understand this means here, on to the next one) by the magic stone will be to bring purity to Aton and the eternal prosperity of the people of Egypt.’”
“So, this Imhotep, if he’s revealed to be human, would he be buried here?” Kalaan made no effort to hide his interest.
“No,” Champollion replied as he turned back to his work with the inscriptions. “It is more about using his science through magical formulas and especially a stone, to free the pharaoh Akhenaten of all his fears and — here I’ve only partially translated — a curse. It’s hardly surprising; apparently it was customary to warn tomb robbers that they would be cursed if they crossed the thresho
ld of any sacred or royal structures. Perhaps it would be more prudent to...” Jean-François suddenly added as he slowly backed away. In a split second his attitude had completely changed from pure joy to obvious apprehension.
What? Now he’s shirking as well? Kalaan could not control his surge of anger come from only lord knows where; at that moment he was acting like a man possessed.
“Curses are only for cowards who have nothing in their trousers!” he said, squaring his shoulders. “In that aspect, Mother Nature was very generous with me, and, as I certainly would not want to offend her, I owe it to myself to pay no heed to your warnings and pass through that damned door!”
“Oh, mis’ry,” Lil’ Louis sighed, covering his eyes with his hand. “The impetuous brat has returned... What we ‘ave in our trousers does not make us real men, Bejesus!”
Jean-François stood with his mouth open. He had no idea how to react. A feeling of dread was gnawing at him, gripping his spirit and numbing his body.
Seeing how pale and confused he was, Kalaan gave him a sly smile.
“So, are you one?” he whispered.
“One…what?” Jean-François, surprised by the question, could barely speak.
“A coward!”
The Egyptologist could not help but glance down at the buttons on his trousers, thinking about what the count had said. He jumped like a child caught in the act when he heard his friend laugh huskily. That rascal! He’d got him yet again!
“No, of course not!” he retorted, laughing stiffly.
“And what about the intelligent speech you made a short while ago? Fear can be perfectly respectable when it pushes us to make the right choices?” Salam subtly questioned in his strong accent. “Cowardice and fear are synonymous; this would be the time to make the right choice and not cross that threshold.”
Salam’s words were torment to Kalaan’s mind, in which reason and folly were doing battle. Was he a victim of the heat? He, who was usually in perfect control of his thoughts and actions, no longer recognized himself.