by BBCi Cult
Sitamun smiled and bowed. She knew she was being tested. Not to show due honour would be to invite the legendary wrath of the goddess.
The goddess was in a quiet mood. She did not speak of the strange things she had mentioned when she first appeared to them, and she seemed less distracted and annoyed than previously. Perhaps she was coming to terms with her earthly manifestation.
Sitamun stood to the side while the scribe set up his wooden palette.
'Who is this?'
Sitamun bowed low. 'He is a junior draughtsman, my goddess.'
'And what is he doing?'
'He is here to make a drawing of you.'
The draughtsman smiled nervously and held up the red ochre, reed brush and plaster sketchpad. 'I am merely to capture the outline of the goddess,' he bowed.
'Why?'
'Why? I'm sorry, I do not understand.'
The goddess leaned back heavily in her chair and sighed. 'Why?' she repeated. 'What for?'
'So that the senior draughtsman can correct it with his black ink, and the painters may paint it.'
The goddess said nothing for a while. The draughtsman began to draw his grid on the pad. Sitamun hoped that the answer had satisfied the goddess.
'Then what? What is the painting for?'
The goddess seemed to be making an effort to keep her voice low and calm. Concentrating on trying to understand the question and the mood of the goddess, Sitamun answered without thinking. As soon as she had started to speak, she remembered the warning of the high priest, reiterated by the priest Amosis. But it was too late, the words were out.
'For the lid of your sarcophagus, my goddess,' she said. 'For your funeral and burial tomorrow.'
Atkins was discussing the arrangements for the next day with Miss Warne when the bell rang. They had gone over the menus for the day, and had exchanged views on the performance and demeanour of the new scullery maid. Atkins enjoyed their talks at the end of each day, though of course he could never tell Miss Warne that. The very suggestion that he might derive some satisfaction other than purely professional from such discussions was out of the question, but he did not wish to burden Miss Warne with that possibility.
The flag showed that it was the bell pull in the drawing room. 'If you will excuse me, Miss Warne,' Atkins said as he rose, 'I shall just attend to his Lordship.'
'I should have thought he had already retired for the night,' Miss Warne said.
Atkins felt a little discomforted to sense her gaze on him as he crossed to the door. He turned back, ignoring the brief smile Miss Warne flashed him, and deliberately failed again to notice how perfectly her dark hair framed her oval face. If he were ever to compliment her, it would be on her professionalism or perhaps her choice of correct attire rather than any cosmetic appearance. But aware that perhaps his eyes had lingered too long on the pale skin and the dark eyes, he decided a mild rebuke was more in order. 'It is not for us to question the habits of his Lordship, or to try to predict his timetable,' Atkins said sternly. Then he turned and walked stiffly and quickly from the room. If he knew that Miss Warne was watching him as he traversed the corridor, his deliberate stride did not indicate it.
'Ah, Atkins,' Lord Kenilworth greeted his butler as he entered the drawing room. Kenilworth was standing in front of the dying fire, staring into the last embers as they glowed weakly in the grate.
'Sir?'
'Deuced annoying.' Kenilworth turned to face Atkins. 'The Doctor and Miss Tegan have just left. On their way back to the British Museum for whatever reason.'
'Indeed, sir.'
'Fact is, what with one thing and another, all those instructions and so forth...' Kenilworth's voice trailed off as he looked across the room at the open sarcophagus.
'Instructions, sir?'
'Hmm? Oh yes, lots of them. We'll sort it out in the morning, I think. Anyway, meantime I forgot to ask the Doctor whether we should replace the lid on the sarcophagus. He didn't say, but you never know.'
Atkins waited patiently for his master to elaborate. He had little idea what Lord Kenilworth was talking about, but it was not his place to ask. His lordship always knew best.
'Well, anyway, the lid's at the British Museum in any case. Along with all the other relics we donated to poor old Russell Evans for his collection there. So, perhaps you could catch up with the Doctor, or even meet him there, and ask?'
'Of course, sir.' Atkins wondered if it was still snowing outside. He would need a coat for sure, like last night.
'Sorry to send you out in this beastly cold again tonight. But, you know, might be important.'
'No problem at all, sir.' Perhaps Miss Warne would oblige by waiting up and organizing some hot soup for when he returned. It had been most welcome the previous night. He really ought to have thanked her, he supposed. But at the time it seemed quite natural that she should provide some warm sustenance.
'Good man,' Kenilworth said.
Atkins took this as a dismissal, and saw himself out.
As she slowly ascended the staircase, in marked contrast to their race down it the previous night, Tegan reflected that at last they were doing something. That said, she was not entirely sure what it was. Partly this was because of the Doctor's inability to answer straight questions with a straight answer, and partly it was because her mind was still dulled by shock and the after-effects of the brandy. But for the first time since Nyssa had disappeared, Tegan felt the Doctor was displaying some sense of purpose and deliberation rather than rushing from one enigma to another.
Everything seemed to be going well. The Doctor was in a good mood, whistling his way through the light sprinkling of snow. The side door to the museum was, by some miracle, unlocked, and nobody challenged them as they made their way back up to the Egyptian Room.
But then they opened the door and went in.
The room glowed. Light flickered and spilled out on to the stairway as soon as the Doctor opened the door. They stepped hesitantly over the threshold and looked around. Every spare surface seemed to have a candles set upon it. Most had burned a good way down, some had burned themselves out into pools of congealed smouldering wax. The air hung with the smoke and the smell.
'Someone's been busy,' the Doctor commented quietly as he made his way further into the room.
Tegan followed. 'I'll say. What's going on?'
The Doctor shrugged. 'Wish I knew.' He grinned at her through the smoky air. 'Perhaps one of the mummies has a birthday and they thought they'd celebrate.'
'Yeah,' said Tegan, 'sure. They'll be doing the Monster Mash next.'
The Doctor rocked back on his heels and exhaled loudly. 'I hope not,' he said. Then he spun round and headed off down the room. 'Still, it'll have to keep,' he called back as he went.
Tegan started to speak, then changed her mind. She shook her head and set off after him. 'Looks like a cheap remake of Tales from the Crypt,' she muttered, scowling at a sarcophagus lid standing upright against the wall as she passed.
Then she stopped, in mid stride, turned and went back. She peered through the smoke-haze at the face on the sarcophagus lid. Then she shook her head again, blinked several times, and went closer. 'Look at this, Doctor,' she called.
'Tegan, Tegan - what is it now?' the Doctor asked as he spun round and headed back towards her.
'Look, Doctor. Look at the face.'
'It's just a sarcophagus,' the Doctor said, not bothering to look. 'They painted representations of the, what shall we say - owners.' He followed Tegan's gaze and peered at the face painted on the lid. 'Some of the paintings were actually quite good,' he said slowly. Then he went closer and looked again. Finally he reached out and flicked a grubby handkerchief over the cracked paintwork. 'Actually, it reminds me of someone,' he said, puzzled. 'If only I could remember who.' He stared again at the female face, framed by curled brown hair. 'Unusual for her not to be wearing a straight wig.'
'Doctor,' said Tegan quietly, 'it's Nyssa.'
The Doctor spun round inst
antly. 'Where?' he demanded looking round the room.
'There,' Tegan pointed. 'The painting.'
The Doctor looked again. 'Do you know,' he said after a while, 'I think you're right. This must be the lid of Kenilworth's sarcophagus. I wonder how it got here.'
'You should know,' a deep voice said, 'Doctor.' It came from somewhere behind Tegan.
'I'm sorry?' The Doctor and Tegan both turned to see who had spoken.
As if on cue, figures stepped out of the shadows all round the room. They were cloaked and hooded, each holding a candle. The guttering flames threw sharp shadows across their faces, making them look to Tegan like characters escaped from a Munch painting.
'Sorry,' said the Doctor as he and Tegan backed away, 'we didn't mean to interrupt. Please just carry on with whatever you were doing.'
'We'll see ourselves out,' Tegan suggested.
But the leading figure shook his head beneath his hood. 'Oh no,' he said in his deep, accented voice. 'I think now that you are here, we can find some role for you to play in our humble proceedings. Don't you?'
He waved an arm, and dark figures leapt forward from either side, grabbing the Doctor and Tegan and dragging them into the centre of the room. Tegan struggled, kicking and trying to pull her arms free. But she was hampered by her own cloak and the restrictions of her Victorian dress. She could do little to prevent herself from being dragged across the room.
'At least they're taking us towards the TARDIS,' she hissed to the Doctor.
'I'm not sure that helps, actually,' the Doctor replied through gritted teeth. 'Careful with that elbow,' he warned one of his captors as he was wrenched away.
The shout came from the doorway, loud and clear, commanding and confident. 'Stop that, do you hear?' Another figure, tall and thin, stepped into the candlelight. 'These people are colleagues and friends of Lord Kenilworth, and you will answer to him if they are mistreated.'
'Indeed?' asked the leader of the cloaked figures.
'Yes, sir. Indeed.'
The leader laughed. 'The admirable Atkins. I think perhaps you had better join our revels.'
Before he had time to react, two more silhouettes stepped from the shadows by the door and dragged him over to join the Doctor and Tegan.
'Good plan,' Tegan said.
Atkins seemed a little flustered. 'What the devil - what do these people want with us, Doctor?'
'I'm not sure yet. But I'm afraid Tegan is right, you would have been better advised to make a run for it.'
By now the Doctor, Tegan and Atkins had been dragged to the far end of the room. They were facing the sarcophagus which Tegan had seen glow the previous night. Behind them the TARDIS stood stark, and unobtainable.
'How kind of you all to join us,' the leader of the assailants said. 'I feel I know you so well, that perhaps I should introduce myself.'
'Yes,' Tegan told him, 'perhaps you should.'
'I am Sadan Rassul, servant and high priest.'
'Really?' asked the Doctor. 'Of whom?'
'Of the one true goddess. Despised and rejected by her brother and her nephew, but her time is coming. Soon,' Rassul whispered, 'very soon now.'
'Well, I've nothing booked for the next few years,' the Doctor hazarded. 'I'm happy to wait around for an audience. How about you two?' he asked Tegan and Atkins.
'I fear Miss Warne will have some broth waiting,' Atkins said seriously. 'And of course his lordship will wish to know that I conveyed his message to you.'
'Silence,' Rassul hissed. 'Your time is over.' He stepped closer to them and threw back the hood of his cloak. Beneath it he was completely bald, the candlelight reflecting off the top of his head almost like a halo. The skin of his face was smooth, but Tegan could see faint hairline cracks just visible below the surface, as if his head were made of porcelain and the cracks ran under the glaze. 'You know,' Rassul said, 'how Osiris was tricked by Seth and placed inside a casket which fitted him exactly?'
'No,' said Tegan.
'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'I do recall something of the sort.'
Atkins nodded.
Rassul ignored them all anyway. 'The casket was sealed and thrown into the river.' He paused and looked at his captives closely. 'A fitting fate for those who seek to deny the goddess her freedom, her life.'
'And what makes you think we'd do a thing like that, eh?'
'Don't be facetious, Doctor,' Rassul snapped angrily. 'I was there. I saw all that you did. But it will come to nothing now. The process is started, the goddess will live again.'
'You do take your religion very seriously, don't you?'
Rassul's answer was quiet, almost whispered. 'You don't know how seriously, Doctor. You just don't know.' He shook his head, almost sadly. Then he straightened up and snapped his fingers like a whip cracking.
Immediately Rassul's followers started herding their prisoners across the room. As they retreated, Tegan looked behind her and saw that they were being driven towards a group of several large sarcophagi leaned against the wall. She felt a sudden tightness against the back of her legs, and with a crash the rope barrier fell over behind them.
Before long, their backs were pressed against a hard, cold wooden surface. In front of them, Rassul raised his arms high above his head. 'As the legend said,' he cried out, 'they shall be sealed forever in a fitting coffin and cast into the flowing depths.' He turned towards the darkest shadows in the corner of the room, as if to get some confirmation or assurance. And it seemed to Tegan that an even darker shape within the shadows nodded its approval.
Tegan could see the Doctor reaching out behind himself to try to keep his balance, felt the lid of the sarcophagus behind her move aside, and saw Atkins tumbled backwards into the darkness. With a cry, she followed, the Doctor a moment after her. She could heard Rassul's laughter echo round the room outside as the door slammed shut on them.
The snow had stopped falling, but the fog was heavy. The torches held by Rassul's followers glowed eerily in the thick night as they made their way along the deserted streets.
It took eight of them to carry the heavy sarcophagus, holding it on their shoulders like pall bearers. They made their cumbersome way down towards the river, their path lit by the two lines of cloaked figures ahead of them. Rassul and another, darker figure followed behind.
When it reached the bridge, the procession slowed and halted. The bearers turned so that they held the sarcophagus out, over the parapet.
'So be it,' said Rassul, his voice all but lost in the fog. And the men carrying the casket let it drop into the river below.
Rassul and the other figure leaned out over the edge. As they watched, the casket resurfaced, water sliding off its lid. Then it sank back into the river, almost disappearing from sight as it was swept downstream. It turned slowly as it was washed away, out of the torchlight.
'It is done,' breathed Rassul, although he did not sound as if it was a relief.
'I have just one more journey to make,' the figure beside him croaked huskily. It turned and, in the flickering torchlight, Rassul could see inside the hood the figure wore. 'But for you, it continues.'
Rassul nodded. 'But the end is approaching,' he said, unable to look away from the ruined remains of the figure's hooded face, trying not to inhale the stench of rotting flesh. 'Soon the goddess will live again.'
In the kitchen of Kenilworth House, Susan Warne stirred a pot of vegetable broth and wondered where Henry Atkins had got to. Perhaps this evening he would thank her for her efforts. She knew that almost certainly he would not. But there was just a possibility that he might value her kindness, might show her some appreciation.
Author's Notes: Instalment Two
Instalment Three
The Legend of Horus
The sarcophagus bore the body of Osiris down the great river, the Nile. It travelled for many days, until it washed up on the shores of the river at Byblos. The sarcophagus stuck fast in a hollow tree by the flowing water. And there it remained while Seth ruled the kingd
oms of Egypt in his brother's place.
But Isis searched along the Nile for her husband's body. After many days she found the casket, and she brought it back to Egypt and concealed it in the marshes.
Disguised as a kite, Isis visited the hidden body of her brother-husband. Each day she tried to breath new life into the bones of Osiris. She spoke the words of power, the spells she learned from Thoth. And Osiris stirred in death and began to re-awaken. As he slowly recovered and gained strength, Osiris remained hidden in the marshes of Egypt. After a while Isis conceived, and was with child by her husband.
But Seth discovered his brother was again alive, and ordered that Osiris be found. And when his soldiers had found where Osiris was hidden, Seth had his brother torn to pieces, and he scattered his brother's remains into the river Nile.
Isis wept again for her husband. And again she searched along the river for him. She spent many days and months until she had recovered all the pieces of her brother's body. Then she placed them together, reforming his once noble form. And she bound it together with strips of linen - the first mummy.
So Osiris became an Ankh, travelling down to the underworld to become King of the Dead. Meanwhile on Earth, Isis gave birth to the son of Osiris. And she called him Horus - the falcon who sees all.
Until he came of age, Isis trained Horus in the arts of war and taught him the wisdom of his father. When the day came that Horus ascended to adulthood, he went to his uncle Seth, and he challenged him for the throne of Osiris. The gods watched the conflict that followed, and they helped Horus to avenge his father.
Seth and his sister-wife Nephthys were defeated and imprisoned. And the gods declared Horus the rightful king of all Egypt.
(Translated by Tobias St.John, from the inscriptions of the tomb of An'anka)
* * *
Chapter Four
The desert air was hot and dry. As the sand dunes gave way to the greener banks of the Nile, the air was a little more humid, but the breeze soon drove away what moisture there was. The reeds waved in the wind and shimmered in the heat haze as the river ran quietly on. A single tree stood on one bank, towering over the reeds, split and blackened and dying. It was still even as the reeds around it waved and swayed quietly.