“That hurts like the devil,” he murmured and looked at her. “If you’re done making plans to reunite with your old lover, please do me the honor of fashioning a sling with my cravat.” Anger flashed in his tea-hued eyes. “I won’t last long with my arm hanging useless. The pain is already quite ghastly.” His pale face spoke to that truth.
Heat slapped at her cheeks. “Of course.” With a glance at Andrew, who rolled his eyes, she attended to the duke. “I don’t fancy him, if that’s what you think,” she whispered into his ear as she leaned close and relieved him of the dirty fabric.
“My apologies. The pain is playing tricks with my mind.” His grin was only half of what it could be. He stifled a curse when she unfurled the length of the cravat and then made a makeshift sling with it, much like he’d worn the first time his shoulder went wonky.
Juliana’s heart squeezed. She implored Andrew as she knotted the cloth at Crispin’s nape. “Take pity on him and pop the shoulder back into place. I cannot bear to see him in so much pain.”
“Not until we reach the burial chamber and I have my prize in hand.”
“Bastard,” she muttered and sent an apologetic glance at the duke. “And you think I’d ever go running back to a man like that, a man with no morals or honor?”
Andrew slapped her cheek so hard she stumbled backward against Crispin’s chest. His muted roar of rage echoed in her ear, but the duke made no move to try and defend her. “Don’t cast up morals to me when we both know you used me the same as I did you. Now, into that antechamber and no more delays.”
She breathed heavily through her nose in an effort to stave of tears of rage while Crispin squeezed her shoulder with his good hand. “Men who care for women never lay a finger on them out of anger or frustration,” she murmured, and with her head held high and her chin outthrust, she sailed through the doorway and into the room.
The men followed, each carrying a lantern, and when the pools of golden light came closer, Juliana sucked in a breath.
“These reliefs are amazing.” All around the room, depictions of the life of Queen Hatshepsut caught the eye: riding in a chariot ahead of armies, directing the capture of Nubian slaves, blessing bountiful harvests along the Nile, presiding over court. Everywhere there was brilliance and abundance, and in each scene, Moses was at her side, often with a scroll and quill. The unofficial historian to record his adoptive mother’s conquests? When the pictures didn’t contain battle scenes, they included touching domestic vignettes with her daughter, the princess. And nearer to a panel at the back of the wall, there was a romantic painting of Neferure in Moses’ arms as they kissed.
Yet nowhere in the square-shaped room was there another door, for exit or to the burial chamber. Had Andrew lied?
As she stared, a stone slab rose from the floor, effectively sealing the doorway and trapping them all in the room that had already seen so much death. “Dear God.” Would they become the most recent victims of this tomb?
“There are sconces mounted about the room.” The authoritative sound of Crispin’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. How long would his strength hold?
“Excellent. Let’s have them lit and then concentrate on solving this puzzle,” Juliana said as she moved into the center of the room where a narrow limestone table rested. Running down the middle of the table were three small round holes, perhaps an inch deep and an inch in diameter.
While the men used scraps of linens found on the mummies to light the various sconces, she discovered hieroglyphs carved into the stone on the table. “This is a puzzle.” She poked a fingertip into one of the shallow holes. “It will take me a moment to try for a translation.”
“It looks like these alcoves are the same,” Crispin called back from his position at one of the window-like openings in a wall.
“We need to keep our wits.” She traced the markings with a finger, and when the men joined her at the table, the room shook and the ominous sound of stone grinding upon stone met her ears. “What’s happening?”
Andrew grasped the side of the table. “Our combined weight in this circle must have activated the trap.”
“Bloody hell.” Crispin fought to keep his footing while looking up. “The ceiling is slowly making its way toward us.” He shot a frantic glance toward Juliana. “It would behoove you to go quickly with that translation.”
Her heartbeat accelerated. “It’s the same dialect as what was in the mortuary temple and thereby not readily understood. There is much I don’t know.”
“Try!” The duke tugged out a leather pouch much like the one he’d given her from his satchel. “If anyone can do this, it’s you, Juliana. I’ve never met a woman like you who has such a tenacity of spirit. I’ll do what I can from here.”
A slow grin curved her mouth despite the urgency of the situation. “I appreciate the faith in me.” She retrieved her leather pouch from the pocket in her skirting. “From the best of my knowledge, this says ‘all life comes from her, the maker of everything, whether it be cattle, men, or cats. In order for life to bloom, fertility must be sown in all wombs.’”
“What does it mean?” Andrew called from his position at one of the other windows, across the room from Crispin.
“Not sure yet,” she said in a sing-song voice as she dumped out the contents of the leather pouch. Three gilded statuettes clattered onto the stone. They were of various Egyptian deities, and they all featured rounded basis the same size as the depressions. Excitement shot up her spine. “These statuettes are keys!”
“Yes, yes, of course they are,” the duke said in some frustration as three other statuettes tumbled from the leather pouch and scattered over the gritty stone floor. An arm broke off one of them. “I already knew that.”
“Well, you could have shared that knowledge with me, you bloody annoying man.” She repeated the riddle over and over in her mind while the square-shaped slab of the ceiling continued its inexorable trek downward. The statuettes she had were renditions of Bast, a golden Anubis, and Osiris. “I’m not sure any of these fit the riddle. What does yours say?”
“I know even less than you do regarding translating this dialect. However, I’ll give it a go,” he shouted across the space. “’Fear the darkness, for chaos walks the shadows.’”
“Oh, I cannot think under this sort of pressure,” she muttered. Her hands shook while she lined up the statuettes.
“Sadly, pressure will be what ends us if you don’t hurry, damn it,” Andrew grumbled. “I cannot make heads nor tails of this rubbish.”
“I’m shocked you never took the time to learn.” Juliana stared at the pieces. “You are truly a dunce, and the only reason you’re ahead of me on this mission is because the director translated that damned papyrus for you.”
“Juliana! Something substantial please,” Crispin shouted over the incessant grinding and screech of stone against stone.
“Read the glyphs at the other alcoves!” She wracked her brain. Rathesborne wouldn’t have brought her into the King’s agents if her knowledge wouldn’t serve her in some capacity when it mattered. Start with the easy ones. What god resembled a cat? “I’ve got it! One of these refers to Bast!” But which hole did it fit into?
She repeated the riddle again in a low voice. “All life comes from her, the maker of everything, whether it be cattle, men, or cats. In order for life to bloom, fertility must be sown in all wombs.”
The word “cats” fell firmly in the middle of the sentence, so she placed the statuette of Bast in the middle well.
Then what Crispin had said triggered something in her memory. The cobra in her bedding. The absolute terror she’d felt when seeing the snake. What a serpent meant in ancient Egyptian mythology. “Crispin! The snake means confusion. Put the statuette of Apophis in your alcove. He’s the god of darkness, of chaos.”
“Bloody brilliant! Ramsay, get your arse over here and place the statuette while I attempt another translation.”
While Andrew did as bid, Crispin ran across the room t
o the next alcove. All the while the ceiling continued its relentless pace. It was now a foot above the top of his head.
Fear twisted down her spine. Sweat dampened her forehead. “All life comes from her...” Which goddess did that refer to? One of the very first goddesses, an ancient of ancients... Then it came to her. “Hathor! The first one is Hathor. Where’s the statuette?”
Andrew snatched up the two pieces still on the floor. “Here!” He lobbed the artifact over to her. Juliana caught it and then quickly shoved it into the first hole.
“Crispin?”
The duke was obliged to stoop now that the ceiling stone encroached upon his height. “I think this one says something along the lines of ‘of brother against brother, nothing good will come. The afterlife awaits both the just and unjust.’”
What the devil did that mean? Then her gaze fell on the statuette of Osiris. “It’s Osiris! He’s the god of the underworld. Here!” She took up the piece and tossed it to the duke.
He caught it with his good hand and promptly jammed it into the alcove’s depression. “Keep going. We’re running out of time.” Stooping as if he were a wizened old man, Crispin made his way to the third alcove.
Who was the last one for the table? Fertility led to pregnancy and that led to childbirth. Think, Juliana! Who was the goddess presiding over that? With every grind of the stone and the flickering of the sconces as the space in the room was depleted, her chest tightened. Then the light went out altogether, for the ceiling smashed into the sconces and broke them off the walls. Some snuffed out while some kept burning, their guttering flames sending eerie shadows to dance on the walls. It was too distracting. Would all of this be for naught? She was forced onto her knees, as were the two men. “Who did the people pray to if they wished for children?” Oh, why couldn’t she clear her mind? Soon the ceiling piece would crush the table.
The answer came, surprisingly, from Andrew. “Tawaret. I’m sure of it. In fact, I saw her likeness on a relief in the tomb I’m working not far from here.” He threw his last statuette to her. “Hurry!”
As soon as the antiquity hit her palm, she slammed it into the last depression on the table. It had no effect on the ceiling.
“Crispin, that means the last alcove belongs to Anubis. Catch!” She threw the golden god of the dead to the duke. Thankfully, he caught it in his good hand.
“You’re a marvel,” he said as he fit the piece into the shallow depression seconds before the edge of the ceiling would have crushed his fingers if they’d remained in the space.
When nothing happened and they kneeled upon the floor, their upper bodies stretched out as if in supplication, Andrew fairly growled. “I thought we’d solved the puzzles. Why is the ceiling still moving?”
“So now I’m suddenly the expert on ancient Egyptian tomb traps?” Why was it that when things went wrong, everyone was quick to blame the female of the group?
The ceiling panel had reached the tops of the statuettes on the table. As suddenly as it had begun, the downward movement ceased.
A shuddering sigh escaped her. “Thank God.” The humor of the situation wasn’t lost on her, and she giggled in relief. “It would seem we are honoring the old gods in prayer just now.”
“Not amusing, Juliana,” Crispin intoned. A groan of pain followed.
“Careful, your duke is showing.” If she sounded flippant, she deserved it, for they hadn’t died, largely because of her translation skills.
Before she could say more, a horrible screech sounded in the chamber. Slowly, oh so slowly, the ceiling slab began to rise. The stone panel in the doorway where they’d arrived slid open. What was more, a matching panel in the opposite wall that didn’t contain an alcove moved downward revealing yet another dark maw beyond.
“We did it,” she managed to breathe through the tightness of her throat.
“No. You did it.” Crispin regained his feet with some difficulty once the ceiling raised enough that he could move. When he reached her location, he slipped his good arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Well done.”
“Thank you.” His praise warmed her, but she wasn’t afforded the chance to bask in it, for Andrew came around, his pistol once more drawn.
“Into the next room, if you please. No time for maudlin displays.” He gestured them ahead of him with his chin. “Now.” With his free hand, he yanked a now-dead torch from the floor.
She exchanged a glance with the duke. Beneath his tan, his face had paled even more. How much did it cost him to remain upright and conscious through the activity and the pain? Her heart constricted. And she realized a truth that had been staring at her this whole time. I am in love with the duke. “I couldn’t have succeeded if you hadn’t believed in me first,” she whispered to him as they passed into the darkened room beyond.
“Nonsense.” He snorted. His breath came in shallow pants, no doubt a pain-management technique. “You only needed to remember who you are.”
Who I am. None of it would have been possible without Crispin and his steadfast devotion and encouragement. Her heart fluttered, and then she gasped when Andrew brought the torch inside. Light bounced and reflected upon a chamber of gold, lapis lazuli, and a vast amount of funerary treasure stuffed from floor to ceiling.
“Merciful heavens. This really is a burial chamber,” she breathed in awe. More and more gilded furniture and containers were revealed as Andrew methodically went about and lit sconces fitted on the walls. “I never thought we’d actually find something this amazing.” A wealth of clay pots and urns lay jumbled in one corner. No doubt they’d contain grains and other vital things someone could consume on their other worldly travels.
In the dead center of the room, a black sarcophagus rested. Gold paint decorated the outside, curses and prayers flowed over the once-shiny lid. Jumbled about the final resting place of the princess was furniture to keep her comfortable as she made the journey. Most was sadly, personal items a young girl might want around her like a vanity table complete with a cracked and clouded mirror, several wicker chairs decorated with pleasing scenes along the Nile, reed fans, and loads of smaller containers that housed jewelry—necklaces, pectorals, charm bracelets, bangles, dangling earrings, rings, ankle bracelets and various crowns. All done in gold and precious gems. Reed baskets, some broken open from age, had linens spilling from them—no doubt clothing and bedsheets. In decaying boxes, sandals awaited a reborn foot. A few board games met her eyes as she looked about with tears clogging her throat.
“Seeing all of this makes her death all too real,” she managed to choke out. “She was merely a girl with hopes and dreams like the rest of us.”
“And she was dearly loved,” Crispin murmured. He gestured toward some of the reliefs crowded on the walls. “Her mother doted on her. Moses seemed properly enamored.”
“Yes.” For all intents and purposes, the Princess Neferure was a light in everyone’s life. She was often painted holding flowers, and in one, she had a cat. Would that feline’s mummy show up in the tomb as well? A shudder rippled up her spine. Oh, God. She didn’t wish to see a mummified cat. However, the paintings never showed the princess as older than a young lady. “She died too soon.”
“It is a hazard of life, and back then, one would have been thankful to reach five and twenty,” Crispin said in a soft voice.
The wealth was dazzling, and everywhere she looked, lavish expense met her eyes, but the humanity was heartbreaking.
What was more, none of the largess seemed disturbed. Each item stood where the devout had placed it when filling the burial chamber with the goods the dead would need into the afterlife.
“I’ve waited the last two years for this moment,” Andrew whispered. He rubbed his hands together in apparent glee. “Let’s have a look inside the sarcophagus, shall we?”
Undisturbed until now.
“You’re mad,” she said into the hush of silence. It seemed a terrible desecration to disturb this place, especially as reliefs over th
e walls showed scenes from an all too short life of a happy, beautiful girl.
“No, I love my sister, and I will save her.” Again, he slipped his pistol in its holster. “The sooner we acquire that gemstone, the sooner this will end.” His boot steps rang against the stone.
With nothing else for it, she and Crispin joined him. After several tense moments filled with swearing and barked orders, between the three of them—and the duke only using one arm—they were able to lift one side of the heavy lid and push it off, where it fell with a resounding crash against the floor and smashed into the delicate and brittle piles of wooden furniture on the other side, destroying history.
“You raging prick, at least cease breaking things in your quest for that jewel,” she bit out. But Andrew ignored her.
“She was certainly beautiful,” Crispin observed as they all peered over the rim of the sarcophagus.
A painted face mask covered the head portion of a wooden coffin. The eyes seemed to follow when Juliana moved toward the feet. Rosebud lips were depicted in a smile that must have charmed a bevy of would-be suitors. Gilding cut through the painted black hair and rimmed a crown painted with ruby stones.
“Let’s crack open the old girl’s coffin.” Andrew’s crass comment sounded out of place in this chamber of death.
“Have some respect,” Juliana cautioned with a frown.
“She’s dead but my sister still lives for the moment. She is the one I care about.” He reached inside, and with Juliana’s help they lifted off the wooden lid. “Damn it. How many bloody coffins does one person need?” Irritation flowed through Andrew’s voice as they put the wooden lid on the ground.
The actual death-mask rested on a coffin made of pressed papyrus. The paint on the previous coffin hadn’t done the real thing justice, for gold winked in the guttering light from the sconces. Rubies and onyx stones glittered. “It’s pretty.” And would fetch a fortune on the black market if thieves got hold of it. Juliana eased it off. Made of thin wood, it was as light as a feather. She handed it to Crispin, who then placed it off to the side out of the way of foot traffic.
What the Dashing Duke Deserves (Lords of Happenstance, #3) Page 28