Читать книгу Whispers in the Sand - Barbara Erskine - Страница 11

The things which are abominated by the gods they are wickedness and falsehood. If found wanting, what future is there for those who escape the blood grimed jaws of Ammit? He who fastens the fetters on the foes of the gods; those who slaughter in the shambles; there is no escape from their grasp. May they never stab me with their knives; may I never fall helpless into their chambers of torture. Better to return to the body in the silent heat of the death chamber and wait. I am Yesterday and Today; I have the power to be born a second time.

Thoth the god of judgement sees the human hearts and frowns as the first is laid in the balance and the beam begins to tremble.

Ammit, the eater of the dead, licks her fearsome lips as she sits beside the scale. Should this heart weigh more than the feather of Maat, hers will be the reward. These men served the gods. The one was a priest of Isis and Amun. The other the priest of Isis and her sister, Sekhmet, the bloody-jawed lioness, goddess of war and anger – and, oh strange and wonderful contradiction, of healing. They should pass the test; they should go on to eternal life with the gods they served. But there is blood on their hands and there is revenge in their hearts and there is greed in their spirit for the elixir of life. If they fail the test now, they will flee the terrors of Ammit and the tortures of the damned and they will return to the chamber of death to wait. All grows dark.

Louisa was ready at dawn. Hassan was waiting on the bank with three donkeys. Food, water and her painting equipment was loaded quickly and silently into the panniers on one and Hassan helped her onto one of the others, then, keeping a firm grip on the leading rein of both, climbed onto his own. Behind him the crew of the Ibis were busy going about their chores. Of the Forresters or Jane Treece there was no sign. Louisa hid a smile of relief. They were going to manage to escape.

The Forresters had not so far proved to be the hosts she had hoped for. In fact their regime was even more restrictive than that of Isabella and Arabella. They too could see no reason to visit the antiquities, and particularly not those which involved half a day’s ride through the blazing sun. More importantly, they seemed to feel that they were responsible for Louisa’s moral welfare. Though a dragoman had been hired for her, she was not to be with him alone. Though she had come to Egypt not only for the sake of her health, but in her own mind at least, to paint the antiquities, they did not consider that it was important or even advisable for her to do so. They were in fact due to leave for a gentle sail up the Nile as soon as the steamer had arrived at Luxor with the post from England. In near despair of ever visiting the Valley of the Tombs, Louisa had had to resort to secrecy. She had found Hassan sitting in the shade of the deck awning, writing in his own small notebook. He rose to his feet the moment she had appeared, and he listened gravely to her whispered instructions. Well aware that Lady Forrester might at the last minute insist on Jane Treece accompanying her as a chaperone, Louisa had told them that she would not leave until mid-morning. To Hassan she explained privately that they must leave at dawn.

She had awoken while it was still dark, climbing into her clothes as silently as she could. Her first brief meetings with the man who was to be her dragoman – guide, escort, servant, interpreter – had gone well. He was a quiet, refined man, grave and very conscious of his responsibility. His loyalties, he made clear immediately, were to Louisa alone. Wherever she wanted to go he would take her.

‘Does he have a name?’ Louisa patted her animal’s neck as they set off.

Hassan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hired them for the journey.’

‘He must have a name. Perhaps I should give him one. Caesar. How does that sound?’

Hassan smiled across at her as they rode swiftly away from the river bank and turned between some square mud-brick houses out of sight of the Ibis.

‘That is a good name. I shall call mine, Antony. And this our beast of burden shall be Cleopatra.’

Louisa laughed in delight. ‘Then we shall be such an intelligent party.’ He was a good-looking man, of middle height, slim, dressed in loose blue trousers and a striped robe. He had large dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. Looking across at him surreptitiously she wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell. His hair was hidden completely by his red turban. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laughter creases from nose to mouth, but apart from that his skin was smooth.

‘How far must we ride to the valley, Hassan?’ In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder.

He shrugged. ‘We will know when we get there. We have all day.’ His smile was warm and without guile.

Louisa laughed. In Egypt, she had discovered, things happened when they happened. That was the will of God. With a contented sigh she settled onto the felt saddle and concentrated instead on trying to accommodate herself to her donkey’s pace.

The track through the fields of berseem and wheat and barley was cool in the dawn light beneath the eucalyptus trees and the tall graceful date palms and she relaxed, enjoying the scented air, the greetings of the fellaheen they passed making their way out to the fields. It was all too soon that they reached the edge of the cultivated land which bordered the River Nile and struck out into the desert. In front of them rose the long red shoulder of the Theban hills, so visible, and so mysteriously close that they could be seen from the deck of the boat and yet now, shrouded in the misty distance.

They stopped briefly for a breakfast of slices of watermelon and cheese and bread before the sun was too high, then they rode on. Ahead the hills at last drew closer. Louisa stared up, fanning herself beneath the shade of her broad-brimmed hat. A kite circled overhead, a dark speck against the brilliant blue of the sky.

‘Soon there. Very soon.’ Hassan reined back his little donkey. ‘You are going to draw pictures of the mountains?’

Louisa nodded. ‘I want to see the mountains and the tombs of the pharaohs.’

‘Of course. What else?’ Hassan smiled. ‘I have brought candles and flares for us to see them.’ He gestured towards the pack animal. ‘Not far. Then you can rest.’

She nodded again. Perspiration was trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her clothes felt heavy and stifling. ‘I expected to see a lot of visitors along this road,’ she called across to him. The loneliness was beginning to unnerve her.

‘There are lots of visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘The steamer has not been here for several days. When it comes they will arrive again.’

‘I see.’ She smiled uncertainly. The barely distinguishable road was empty of other riders. There were no tracks.

‘There are no footmarks, no signs of anyone else.’ She gestured nervously.

He shook his head. ‘Last night the wind blew. Poof!’ He blew out his cheeks, gesturing with his hands. ‘The sand comes and all things disappear.’

Louisa smiled. That was a phrase for her diary. She must remember it. The sand comes and all things disappear. The epitaph of a civilisation.

The road grew steeper as they made their way into the hills and eventually they turned into the hidden valley where she could clearly make out the square doorways cut in the brilliant limestone cliffs. Drawing to a standstill Hassan slid off his donkey and came to help her dismount. As she stood staring round, listening to the moan of the strange hot wind and the cries of the circling kites he unloaded her sketchbooks and paints and a Persian rug which he spread nearby on the sand. He also produced some poles over which he draped a length of green and blue striped cloth to make her a shelter, like a Bedouin tent, to give her some privacy in the barren valley. The donkeys and he remained in the sun, seemingly oblivious to the heat.

‘I expected to see people digging. Excavating. Why is it all so empty?’ She was staring round, still overwhelmed by the desolation of the valley.

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes there are a lot. Sometimes none. The money stops.’ He raised his shoulders again eloquently. ‘They have to go away to find more. Then they return. Then you will see the wadi full of people. The local men are always here. We will see them, I expect. They dig in the night. If they find a new tomb they dig in the early morning, even in the heat of the day. They are supposed to take what they find to the authorities at Boulak, but …’ Again the shrug of the shoulders she was beginning to know so well.

Digging into the donkey’s pannier he produced two candles and a small flare. Flourishing them he bowed. ‘You would like to see inside one of the tombs now?’

She nodded. The tombs would be blessedly cool after the endless sun. She reached for a bottle of water and Hassan hastened to pour some out for her. The water was warm and brackish but she drank gratefully, then she dipped her handkerchief in the cup and wiped her face with it.

When she turned to follow Hassan towards one of the square doorways in the cliff, there was a sketchbook under her arm.

‘We will start here,’ he waved at one of the entrances. ‘It is the tomb of Rameses VI. This has been open since the days of the ancients.’

‘You have brought other people here before. You know them all as well as a local guide?’ she asked as she made to follow him.

‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I have heard the guides from the villages a thousand times. I no longer need them.’

As they entered the passageway Louisa stared into the darkness completely blinded after the brilliant light outside. Then slowly her eyes began to acclimatise. The flickering light of Hassan’s candle barely lit the walls of the long passage in which they found themselves, but from its pale glow she could see the breathtaking riot of figures and colours stretching into the distance. Then he lit the flare and in the streaming flame and smoke she could see hieroglyphs and gods and kings covering the walls and ceiling in rich colours. Standing still on the steep sandy floor of the passage she stared round in amazement and delight. ‘I had no idea,’ she gasped. ‘No idea at all that it could be so …’ she fumbled for words, ‘… so wonderful!’

‘Nice?’ Hassan was watching her.

‘Very, very nice.’ She took a few paces forward, her shoes slipping on the steeply sloping passage. ‘Hassan, it is more wonderful than I had ever dreamt.’

The intense silence of the place was overwhelming but far from being cooler in the darkness the tomb was hot and airless as an oven. She moved across to the wall and rested a hand for a moment on the paint-covered stone. ‘It would be very hard to copy this. Even to convey this wonder. This mystery. I could never do it. My sketches will have to be so impressionistic, so inadequate.’ She shrugged helplessly.

‘Your pictures are very good.’ He raised the flare higher so the light shone a little further into the darkness.

‘How do you know? You haven’t seen any,’ she retorted over her shoulder.

‘I saw. When I was loading the donkey the wind blew open the book.’ He followed her with a grin. ‘I could not help but see. Here. Be careful. There are steps now going down a long way.’

Behind them the small square of daylight at the entrance to the passage abruptly disappeared as they began to descend a long flight of roughly excavated steps. The candlelight condensed on the multi-coloured walls, then as they reached the pillared chamber at the bottom it spread and faded again, mixing and losing itself in the vast darkness. A further series of passages led deeper and deeper into the dark, then at last they reached the burial chamber at the bottom. Louisa stopped with a gasp. Soaring overhead in the flickering shadows two huge strangely elongated figures spanned the ceiling above her head.

‘Nut. Goddess of the sky.’ Hassan was standing beside her, holding the flare high and she found herself suddenly intensely aware of his closeness to her. She glanced sideways. He was gazing up at the figures, his face a silhouette in the soft light.

He turned and caught her staring at him. She blushed. ‘May I have the flare?’

‘Of course, Sitt Louisa.’ For half a second their hands touched as her fingers closed round the wooden shaft. Then abruptly she stepped away from him. ‘Tell me about the goddess of the sky.’

Anna woke with a start to find the light in her cabin still on, the diary lying open on her chest. Daylight poured through the slatted shutters, sending bright narrow wedges of light onto the floor and up the wall. Leaping out of bed she reached across to the window and slid the shutters back. Outside, the river was a brilliant blue. A Nile cruiser was making its way upstream, whilst across the broad stretch of water she could see the palm trees on the distant bank, a strip of brilliant green fields and beyond them in the distance a line of low hazy mountains, pink and ochre in the early morning sunlight.

Dressing quickly in a blue shift she made her way out between tables and chairs in the lounge onto the deserted deck and stared round in delight. It was already hot on the afterdeck, but under the awning it was shady. She walked to the rail and leant on it, staring at the palm trees on the far side of the river. The cruiser was out of sight now, and for a moment the river was empty. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to turn her back on the view and head for the dining room and breakfast. At the door she met Serena, Charley’s cabinmate, who the night before had been sitting at the next-door table. About forty-five, slim and attractive with short dark hair and huge green eyes she gave Anna a cheerful smile. ‘See you later,’ she said by way of hello and goodbye. She held the door open for Anna, then disappeared in the direction of the cabins. In the dining room only Charley was sitting at the table they had all shared the night before.

‘Good morning.’ Anna sat down near her. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Not a wink.’ Charley scowled. She was nursing a cup of black coffee. She sighed. ‘I hate flying and I hate boats.’

Anna hid an astonished smile. She resisted the temptation to ask why in that case Charley had come on such a holiday. ‘Can I get you something from the buffet?’ Behind them the serving table was laden with cereals and fruits, cheese, cold meat and eggs.

Charley shook her head. Her long hair was caught back in a ponytail this morning and she was wearing a tee-shirt and jeans ‘Just ignore me. I’ll improve when I’ve had a couple of these.’ She gestured at the coffee.

‘Have the others had breakfast?’ Anna eyed the empty places, already cleared by the waiters.

Charley nodded. ‘All early birds.’ She gave Anna a sideways glance. ‘Andy and I are an item, we’ve been together for several months.’

Anna watched while the waiter poured her coffee then she stood up ready to go to the buffet. ‘I thought perhaps you were.’ She smiled. Charley’s comment was a clear warning shot across the bows. Yet hadn’t Andy said he was unattached? Piling up fruit and cheese and a delicate crumbling croissant onto her plate she turned back to the table. Charley had gone.

Returning to her cabin to collect her sun hat, glasses and guidebook, Anna stood for a moment staring round. She had left the diary on the bedside table. Hesitating briefly she swung her suitcase down from the top of the locker where she had stowed it and put the diary inside. Locking it, she lifted it back into place. As she was collecting a hairbrush and some sun cream from the dressing table to toss into her bag her eye was caught by the scent bottle. Should she have locked that away as well? She hesitated, glancing at her watch. They had been told to meet in the boat’s reception area at six forty-five to leave at seven a.m. She did not want to miss the bus. The decision was simple. She would take it with her. Picking up the bottle she wrapped it in one of the fine silk scarves she used to knot back her hair and tucked the small scarlet bundle into her bag. Then, turning, she let herself out of the cabin.

A small coach collected them from the river bank and drove them to the ferry in Luxor. To her surprise as she sat down alone towards the back of the coach and waited, staring eagerly out of the window, Andy came and sat down beside her, wedging his broad frame into the narrow seats with a familiarity which, she had to admit, she did not find entirely unpleasant. ‘So. How are you this morning? Excited?’

In spite of herself she glanced round for Charley. Not seeing her she nodded. ‘I’m fine. Very excited. Yes.’ She recognised all the faces now. Near her were Sally Booth and Ben Forbes. And Serena, sitting next to an elderly lady in a cerise trouser suit. Then two more couples whose names she didn’t know. And at the back of the bus on his own she saw Toby Hayward.

‘Did you bring your precious diary?’ Andy was looking at the tote bag on her knee.

She shook her head. ‘It’s locked in my suitcase.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’m sure it’s all right, Andy. There wouldn’t be anyone around who would want it. Really.’

He was still staring at her bag and she glanced down to see what interested him so much. Her scarf had worked free and the little scent bottle was lying on top of her guidebook in full view.

‘Souvenirs already?’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t let the peddlers badger you into buying anything you don’t really want. They’re awfully persuasive.’

She shook her head, feeling suddenly defensive. He had clearly not recognised it as antique. Wrapping the bottle up again she pushed it to the bottom of the bag. ‘I won’t. I’m good at saying “no”.’ She caught sight of his raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye and chose to ignore it.

As the coach lurched up the track from the river and onto the narrow dusty road she stared out of the window at the squat, square mud-brick houses on either side. They seemed to rise to two or three storeys then they would stop, unexpectedly, as though only half finished, with yards of metal reinforcements projecting from the top, like clusters of TV aerials. Huddled together they gave the impression of shanty towns clustered around the outskirts of the city itself, all built in a uniform yellowy-grey colour but some brightly painted, with wild designs and patterns, a contrast to the sandy dust which was everywhere, and many further decorated with the rugs thrown across the sills to air. Some had nothing more than a few palms or straw mats strewn across the top, instead of roofs, and all over the place Anna saw rows of amphora-like clay pots lying on the rooftops or around the doors. She shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe I’m here, to be honest.’

He laughed. ‘You are here, believe me. So, did you read any more of the diary last night?’

Anna nodded. ‘A bit. I found the section where she went to the Valley of the Kings. There was a wonderful description of the valley. It was empty. Deserted. There was no one there with her except her dragoman, Hassan. They sat and picnicked on a Persian rug.’

Andy laughed. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be like that for us. It will be packed with tourists. I’ve heard a lot of people say there are so many crowds there that it spoils it. No atmosphere, or not much. And no dragomen!’

‘It’s such a lovely term. I should love my own dragoman!’ She clutched at the back of the seat in front of them as the bus hit a pothole and then turned sharply to the right, hooting furiously as it hurtled out onto the busy main road.

‘Perhaps I can be of service?’

She smiled at him. ‘I don’t think Charley would approve,’ she said gently. ‘Where is she, by the way?’

‘Up front somewhere. With Joe and Sally. She’s been chatting up Omar.’ The lurching of the bus threw him against her for a moment. ‘Have you got your camera?’

She nodded. ‘Photography is one of my passions. I’m not likely to forget that.’

‘Good. You’ll have to take a picture of me in front of some great pharaoh so I can brag about my trip at home.’

They climbed out of the coach to queue for the short ferry ride across the Nile and found another identical though older vehicle waiting for them on the other side. When Anna looked round for Andy as they climbed aboard, she saw that Charley was by his side. For this second part of the journey she found herself next to Serena.

‘My first visit to Egypt.’ The dark-haired woman was wearing a cool cheesecloth skirt and blouse of brilliant contrasting blues and greens.

‘Mine too.’ Anna nodded. ‘You’re a friend of Charley’s, I gather?’

Serena laughed. ‘For my sins. We’re sort of flatmates in London. Well, in fact she rents a room in my flat. It was my idea to come out to Egypt and before I knew it Charley was coming too. She knew how long I’d wanted to come out here and I suppose I was so enthusiastic and excited I sold her the idea.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘She and Andy had been going out together on and off for several months and when he heard about it he half jokingly said he’d come as well. Charley was over the moon and he realised he might have committed himself a bit more seriously than he intended so he asked the Booths and there we were, a veritable wagon train!’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. Does that sound as though I’m complaining?’

Anna shook her head. ‘I should think it’s more fun coming with friends than on your own.’

‘Perhaps.’ Serena did not sound too certain. There was a moment of silence as the driver climbed into his seat and leant forward to turn on the ignition. The bus gave a shudder and settled down into a violent but steady rattle. ‘You’re on your own?’ Serena’s enquiry was almost lost in the noise of grinding gears.

‘Newly divorced and stepping out for independence.’ Anna had a feeling that her jaunty tone had a wistful ring to it. She hoped not.

‘Good for you.’ Serena nodded. ‘My partner died four years ago. For a while it was like losing half of my own body. We had been so close there was a physical loss; part of me had died with him. But it gets better.’ She gave a big smile. ‘Sorry. That’s a bit intense for a first conversation, but at least you know there’s someone who understands if you need a chat.’

‘Thank you.’ Anna was astonished by the wave of warmth she felt for the other woman. It wasn’t the same, of course. Felix wasn’t dead. And her feelings for him – had they ever been so intense that she had felt him to be part of her? She wasn’t sure they had ever been that close.

Conversation was impossible above the noise of the engine and they turned their attention to the passing countryside. Apart from the cars and buses the landscape was, Anna realised, exactly as Louisa had described it a hundred and forty years before. And, with its intense air of timelessness, it might for all she knew have been the same fourteen hundred years before as well.

She stared out of her window at the intense green of this narrow strip of fertile fields, watered by narrow canals, and at the shade of the eucalyptus trees and palms which formed darker patches on the dusty road. She caught glimpses of water buffalo and donkeys and even camels; of men dressed in galabiyyas, boys dressed in jeans and some on bicycles, but most perched on the rumps of small trotting donkeys, whose ribs stuck out like harp strings. And there too were the fields of sugar cane and small allotment-like squares of onion and cabbages. Amongst them were scattered small, shabby papyrus and alabaster factories.

They stopped briefly to get out of the bus and photograph the Colossi of Memnon, two massive figures carved out of pink quartzite, standing alone on the bare rubbled ground, then they were back into the coach and heading once again towards the edge of the green fertile countryside. At last they were nearing the range of mountains she had seen from the boat in the early morning light. As they drew closer they changed colour. They were becoming less brown, less pink, more dazzling as the sun reflected off the dusty stone and the sand. They passed villages nestling into the cliffs with dark holes amongst the mud-brick houses which could have been modern or ancient, caves or dwellings or antiquities.

It was hard to tell, Anna realised, if something was two years old or two thousand. Here there was no green to be seen at all. The ground was everywhere a rubble of rocks and shale and scree.

The bus park in the valley dispelled all her visions of Louisa’s lonely visit to the tombs. As Andy had warned it was packed. Acres of coaches, hundreds of tourists and round them, like wasps round a jam pot, dozens and dozens of eager noisy men, dressed in colourful galabiyyas and headscarves, holding out postcards and statuettes of Bast, Tut and souvenirs galore.

‘Ignore them and follow me.’ Omar clapped his hands. ‘I will buy your tickets and photograph permits then you can explore alone or stay with me and I will take you into some of the tombs.’

Anna looked around in dismay. It was nothing like the place she had imagined. Nothing at all. For a moment she stood still, overwhelmed, then she was swept into a loosely gathered queue making its way alongside the barren cliffs, past a line of colourful booths and stalls where yet more souvenirs were being hawked. Andy and Charley, and Serena had disappeared. For a moment she wondered if she should try to find them, then she decided against it. With a smile she took her ticket from Omar and resolutely she set off to find her way around on her own.

The narrow valley absorbed the sunlight, turning it into a blinding oven. The mountains all around them were huge, ochre-coloured, awesome, rugged and uneven and deeply fissured. It was a landscape utterly untouched by time. The square entrances to the tombs were black enticing shadows scattered over the cliff faces. Some were barred with gates. Many were open.

‘You look bemused, Anna, love.’ Ben Forbes was beside her suddenly. ‘Want to venture in with me?’ His broad-brimmed hat flopped idiosyncratically to one side and the green canvas bag hanging from his left shoulder looked as though it had seen quite a few expeditions in the past. He had his guidebook already open. ‘Rameses IX. This is a particularly splendid tomb, I believe. It is as good a place as any to start.’ He led the way down a sloping ramp where they joined the queue of people wanting to go in.

‘Interesting man, Andy Watson. We were both a bit late applying for places on this holiday and as fate would have it there was only a double cabin left so we’re sharing. I don’t find him irresistible, but I can see the ladies might.’ He had taken off his glasses and was polishing them with his handkerchief.

‘Yes.’ She nodded.

‘Seems to have taken quite a shine to you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. He’s just being friendly.’

Ben nodded. ‘Probably.’ There was a moment’s silence as they shuffled forward in the queue. ‘I sat next to Charley on the bus.’

Anna glanced at him. ‘His girlfriend?’

‘According to her, yes. Forgive me poking my nose in, Anna, especially at this early stage, but I’ve been on cruises before and ours is an exceptionally small boat.’

Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I being warned off?’

‘I think the lady could turn a bit nasty, if provoked.’

Sighing, Anna shrugged. ‘Isn’t it a shame when one can’t just be friends with someone of the opposite sex? I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. He was friendly. I don’t know anyone. That’s all.’

‘You know me.’ Ben gave her a warm smile, his eyes crinkling into deep folds at the corners. ‘Not so attractive, I grant you. Not so young. But infinitely less dangerous. Come on.’ He touched her elbow lightly.

They were in front of a large square entrance, the heavily barred gate standing open but overseen by watchful guards, who solemnly took their tickets, tore off one corner and returned them to each tourist. Slowly, shoulder to shoulder with people of every nationality, they shuffled down the long slope into the darkness, staring at the walls on either side of them, and at the ceiling over their heads. Every available surface area was covered from top to bottom in hieroglyphics and in pictures of pharaohs and gods – the overwhelming colours ochre and lemon yellow, green, lapis and aquamarine and black and white, stunningly preserved and covered now in plexiglass. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. So many books, so many pictures – ever since she was a child she had seen them, as everyone has, but never had she realised the overwhelming beauty and power they would present, or the sheer scale of them. To her amazement she found she could ignore the people milling round her, ignore the shouts and excited talk, the high-pitched competitive commentaries of the guides, the laughter, the irritations of people who, having come so far, to this wonderful, awesome place, proceeded to gossip and talk amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the beauty and history around them. The incredible silence was overwhelming. It drowned out the noise. It was all encompassing.

The further they walked into the tomb, the hotter it got. Used to British and European caves, which grow colder as you penetrate further in, Anna found it a shock. The darkness did not give respite. The silence and heat grew more and more dense.

On they moved, through three successive corridors, towards a huge pillared hall and then, at last into the burial chamber itself, with nothing but a rectangular pit to show where the sarcophagus would have been.

Ben glanced down at Anna. ‘Well, what do you think?’

She shook her head, ‘I’m speechless.’

He laughed. ‘Not an affliction which seems to affect many people down here.’ Slowly they turned and started making their way back towards the daylight. ‘What about going to see Tutankhamen’s tomb next? He’s back in there, you know, minus his treasure, of course.’ As they came out once more into the sunlight, he gestured towards one of the smaller entrances. ‘We’re lucky. I think they close his tomb every so often to give it a rest from all the visitors who come here. According to my guidebook it’s small and relatively low key compared with some of the others, because he died young and no one was expecting his death. He might even have been murdered.’

Once more they queued, once more a corner was removed from their ticket and slowly they made their way into the darkness. This tomb was indeed very different from the last one they had seen. Besides being smaller, it was simpler; there was no decoration, but there was something else. Anna stopped, allowing the people around her to pass on, unnoticed. Staring round she let her eyes become accustomed to the low level of lighting. Ben had moved on and for a moment she was alone. Then she realised what it was that was so strange. This tomb was cold.

She shivered, conscious of the goosepimples on her bare arms. ‘Ben?’ She couldn’t see him. A crowd of visitors were making their way into the inner chamber. She turned round, half expecting to find someone standing behind her. There was no one there. ‘Ben?’ Her voice was muffled in the silence.

Confused, she put her hand to her head, conscious suddenly of a group of tourists speaking Italian loudly, happily, as they filled the entrance behind her; in a moment they were all around her and she found herself being swept on in their wake.

She frowned. The tomb was no longer cold; it was as hot as the other they had visited and she could hardly breath. Suddenly panic-stricken, she pushed her way forward. She still couldn’t see Ben. She wasn’t usually claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to be closing in on her.

The people near her were anonymous black shadows, faceless in the dark. Her mouth had gone dry.

She stared round frantically and diving for the next entrance she abruptly found herself standing in the burial chamber itself, looking down at the open eyes of the young king Tutankhamen. He lay gazing up at the ceiling of his dark, hot tomb, disdaining the presence of the peasants who had come to stare at him, divested of the riches which had bolstered his royalty, but still he was awe-inspiring. How many of the people standing round him, she wondered, were as suddenly and as intensely aware as she was of the emaciated, broken body of the young king, lying inside that gilded wooden coffin? She shivered again, but this time not with cold.

‘Anna?’ Ben appeared beside her, his camera in his hand. ‘Isn’t he amazing?’

She nodded. The bag on her shoulder had grown very heavy. Why had she not taken out her own camera? She swung the soft leather holdall to the floor and was pulling open the zip when a strange wave of dizziness hit her. With a gasp, she straightened, leaving the bag to subside into the dust at her feet, spilling its contents over the ground.

‘Are you OK?’ Ben had caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. He stooped, and hastily began pushing everything back into the bag for her. She saw a flash of scarlet as the silk-wrapped scent bottle was scooped out of sight, then his arm was round her shoulders.

‘I felt weird suddenly.’ She pressed her hands to her face. ‘I’m all right. I must have bent over too quickly to get my camera. Too much excitement, and too early a start, I expect.’ She forced herself to smile.

‘Perhaps that is a sign that it’s time to go and have a rest up in the fresh air.’ He took her arm, glancing over his shoulder. ‘These tombs are a bit overpowering, to my mind.’

‘There’s something down here, isn’t there?’ Anna could feel the perspiration on her back icing over. She was shivering again. ‘I thought all that business about the “curse of the mummy’s tomb” was rubbish, but there is an atmosphere. I don’t like it.’

A shout of laughter near her from a party of Germans, and the earnest mumble from a group of Japanese photographers in the treasury beyond the burial chamber, seemed to contradict her words, but it made no difference. ‘I do want to leave. I’m sorry.’

‘No problem. Come on.’

Grateful for the strength of his arm she stumbled after him, back towards the entrance corridor and the blinding sunlight outside.

Once sitting in the shade of the visitors’ resting area, she felt better. They both drank some bottled water, but she could see Ben was longing to move on. ‘Go without me, please. I will be all right soon. I shall just sit for a few minutes longer, then I’ll follow.’

He gave her a searching look. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course.’

She couldn’t see where it was that Hassan had taken Louisa and pitched her a makeshift shelter on a soft Persian rug. She desperately wanted to get away from the crowds, to find the place and to experience the silence as Louisa had done. She stood for a moment shading her eyes, looking up one of the white, dazzling paths which led away from the noisy centre of the valley. Could that have been where they went? Glancing over her shoulder she saw Ben disappearing with another queue into a tomb on the far side of the well-trodden centre of the valley. Near him she recognised one or two other people from their party. She hesitated, then, resolutely turning her back on them, she began to make her way up the empty track past a dusty fingerpost labelling yet more tombs, and, her shoes slipping on the dust and stones, she scrambled on upwards away from the crowds.

Above her the rock martins circled and swooped into holes in the cliffs but apart from that nothing moved. Almost immediately the sound of the crowds behind her diminished and disappeared. The heat and the silence were overwhelming. She stopped, staring round, scared for a moment that she might lose her bearings, but the path was clearly marked. Just empty. The colours of the rock were monochrome. Blinding. The sky the most brilliant blue she had ever seen.

Somewhere near her she heard footsteps suddenly, and the sound of scraping on the limestone. She frowned, shading her eyes as she scanned the cliff face. There was no one there. It was no more than a shifting of the sands.

But her mood had changed again and once more she began to feel uneasy. After the noise and bustle and colour of the main valley – the crowds, the shouting guides, the raised voices in a dozen different languages – this intense silence was unnerving. It was the silence of the grave.

In spite of the heat she found herself shivering again. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched, a weird sensation that there was someone near her. She stared up at the cliff face, narrowing her eyes against the glare. There were other tombs in this direction. She had seen them on the plan. But no one seemed to be visiting them. Perhaps they were closed as the greater part of the tombs were, to protect them from the massive tourist interest. She took a few steps further up the path, rounding another corner. The cliffs were arid, silent, but for the birds. Far above she could see a dark speck against the blinding sky. Perhaps that was a kite, like the one Louisa had seen. The feeling that there was someone there at her shoulder was so intense suddenly that she swung round. Tiny eddies of dust swirled momentarily round her ankles in an undetectable breath of wind, then the air was still again.

Stubbornly she moved on. It was round here that Hassan had pitched the shelter for Louisa, she was sure of it. Here they had sat together on the rug and she had opened her sketchbook and, unscrewing her water jar, had begun one of her paintings of the rugged hillside.

‘Do I gather you too prefer to be away from crowds?’

The voice, a few feet from her, shocked her out of her reverie. She spun round. Toby Hayward was standing nearby. He swung his canvas satchel off his shoulder onto the ground and wiped his face on his forearm. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t see you until I came round the corner.’

Astonished at how relieved she was to find out the presence she had felt was that of a real person, she managed a smile. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘The right place for it.’ He stood for a moment in silence. ‘I find it hard to catch the atmosphere with the crowds down there,’ he said suddenly. ‘So many of them, and they snap endless pictures, but don’t look. Have you noticed? Their eyes are closed.’

‘The camera remembers. They are afraid they won’t,’ Anna said quietly. ‘We all do it.’ Her own camera was still in her bag.

‘I’m sure you look as well.’

The anger in his voice disturbed her. ‘I try to.’ She decided to try a different tack. Her quest, after all, was not secret. ‘I was trying to picture this place a hundred years ago, before it was commercialised.’

‘It’s always been commercialised. They probably brought guided tours here before the corpses were cold.’ Folding his arms he stared up at the cliffs. ‘Did I hear you right last night? You are a relation of Louisa Shelley?’ No apology for eavesdropping, she noticed.

‘I’m her great-great-granddaughter, yes.’

‘She was one of the few Victorians who empathised with the Egyptian soul.’ He had narrowed his eyes, still studying the rock formations above their heads.

‘How do you know that’s how she felt?’ Anna stared at him curiously.

‘From her painting. They have a set of watercolours at the Travellers’ Club.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

He nodded abruptly. ‘On the staircase. I’ve often studied them. She lingers over details. She’s not embarrassed by form or feature. And she’s never patronising. She uses a wonderful depth of colour unlike Roberts. He sees all this –’ he waved his arm at the cliffs – ‘as one tonal range. She sees the shadows, the wonderful textures.’

Anna looked at him with a new interest. ‘You talk like an artist.’

‘Artist!’ He snorted. ‘Stupid word. If you mean a painter, yes, I’m a painter.’ He was still staring up at the cliff and she took the opportunity of looking at him for a moment, surreptitiously, taking in the rugged features, the thatch of unruly greying-blond hair beneath the faded blue sun hat.

‘Louisa loved Egypt. I’m reading her diary, and it’s apparent on every page.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘I almost envy those Victorian women. They had so much to contend with and yet they persevered. They followed their dreams. They worked so hard for them –’ She broke off in mid-sentence, aware suddenly that he had turned his attention from the cliff and was watching her intently. She met his gaze and held it for a minute, but it was she who looked away first.

‘It sounds to me as though you wished you too had had to work hard for a dream,’ he said quietly.

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I’m not the intrepid type, sadly.’ How could she be when she had remained so meekly in her marriage and at home?

‘No?’ He was still looking at her thoughtfully.

‘No.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Or not until today. Breaking away from the group and coming up here was pretty intrepid for me.’

He laughed and suddenly his face looked much younger. ‘Then we must encourage your intrepidness. Which tombs did your great-great-grandmother visit? Not young King Tut, obviously.’

‘No.’ Anna’s smile died.

Watching her, he raised an eyebrow. ‘So, what have I said now?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Something about Tutankhamen’s tomb?’

She shook her head. He was intuitive, she would grant him that. ‘I was in there. A little while ago. Something strange happened.’

‘Strange?’

She shook her head. ‘Claustrophobia, I suppose. Nothing really. Only it made me need to get away from everyone and come up here.’

‘And I spoilt your solitude. I’m sorry.’

‘No. No. I didn’t mean that.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘The trouble is, it didn’t work. The feeling, whatever it was, followed me up here.’

Again he gave her that long, disconcertingly direct look. There was no judgement in it. He wasn’t laughing at her. On the contrary he was considering her words, mulling them over, scanning her face for clues. ‘I think this whole valley could have that effect on people,’ he said at last. ‘In spite of the numbers of tourists who come here, the atmosphere is extraordinary. It is uncomfortable. Have you met Serena Canfield yet? She was sitting next to me at dinner last night. You should talk to her if you’re a sensitive. She is into Ancient Egyptian magic and stuff which might appeal to you. She has read all the books about star gates and Orion and Sirius.’

Anna raised an eyebrow. Was he being dismissive of her, gently taking the mickey or was he making the suggestion in good faith? It was hard to tell. Those steadfast eyes, the colour as clear as water, were impossible to read.

‘I might just do that,’ she said with a small touch of defiance. ‘There is room for so much that is strange and out of the ordinary in Egypt.’

He shrugged, but the angling of his head could have been a nod of agreement. ‘What I do hope is that she doesn’t go too near our revered guide, who is a devout Muslim and will not hear a word about all that stuff on his ship. He has enough trouble with the “legends” of the pharaohs. Did you notice that? He will not allow them even to be history.’

Anna shook her head, laughing. ‘I had no idea there was so much ideological conflict going on on the boat. It will make for an extraordinarily interesting trip. I have spoken to Serena. She sat next to me on the bus, but we didn’t talk about Sirius. That aspect of Egypt’s history seems to have passed me by. My interest stems from travel books, people like Lawrence Durrell, my mother’s books about archaeology, even school where we had a teacher who was passionate about pyramids.’

‘And Louisa.’

‘And Louisa.’

‘Can I see her diary one day?’ He held her gaze once more with that disconcerting directness which seemed to be his trademark.

She looked away first. ‘Of course you can.’

‘Now?’ He raised an eyebrow hopefully.

‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t bring it with me. It’s on the boat.’

‘Of course. Silly me.’ He swung his bag back onto his shoulder. ‘OK, I think I’m heading back down to the valley to see another tomb or two before we leave. I’ll go and find Omar and plague him with some deep philosophical questions! Will you be all right on your own?’

She wasn’t sure whether the question was posed out of real concern or was a subtle way of telling her that he did not expect her to walk back with him and indeed, no sooner had he spoken than he turned and began to lope back down the path. In seconds he had disappeared behind the rocks.

The silence and the heat flowed back over her in a heavy curtain. Standing stock still she found she wanted to call him back. The loneliness in the valley was intense. Shading her eyes, she stared round for a moment scanning the cliff face then she turned and looked after him. At her feet a few pieces of shale rattled down the path. The sound emphasised the quiet. She was trying to recall the diary, the picture of the valley as Louisa had seen it, trying to visualise the rug, the shelter, the simple companionship of the man and the woman as Louisa laid out her painting things, but she couldn’t bring the picture into focus. The shadowy image of Louisa and her parasol, the click of the donkeys’ hoofs on the stone, the tap of the paintbrush against the rim of the water pot had all faded into the silence. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to run after Toby. This was ridiculous. What was there to be afraid of? The silence? The emptiness after the crowds in the valley bottom? She cast one last look over her shoulder up at the sun-baked cliffs and then she began to retrace her steps, hoping at every moment to catch sight of Toby ahead of her on the path. Twice she glanced over her shoulder again and then suddenly panic overwhelmed her. She lengthened her stride and before she knew it she was running back down towards the valley as fast as she could, slipping and sliding in her anxiety to catch up with Toby. It didn’t matter what he had said, she didn’t want to be alone in that spot for one second longer.

But the path was empty. There was no sign of him. Arriving at last in the valley bottom once more amongst the crowds and the shouting guides she made her way panting to the shaded resting place where groups of other tourists were sitting, exhausted by the intense heat which seemed to pool in the valley. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, trying to steady the thudding of her heart under her ribs. There was no sign of Toby anywhere.

It was Andy who found her. Sitting down heavily on the bench next to her he took off his hat and fanned his face with it. ‘Hot enough for you?’

She nodded, struggling to steady her voice. ‘I thought the tombs would be cool. In the darkness.’

‘More like tandoori ovens.’ He grinned. ‘Are you enjoying yourself? You look lonely sitting here. I thought Ben was taking care of you.’

‘I don’t need taking care of, thank you!’ Her indignation was only half feigned. ‘But he was with me, yes. He’s a nice man.’

‘And so am I.’ Andy raised an eyebrow. ‘Can I escort you into another hell hole? We gather for our picnic in about an hour.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Then this afternoon it’s off to the Ramasseum and Hatchepsut’s temple. There’s no slacking on this trip!’

A shadow fell across his face. Charley was standing there looking down at him. ‘I am sure Anna doesn’t need an escort. If she needs someone to hold her hand in the dark, Omar can do it. That’s his job, after all.’ Her voice was acid.

Anna stood up hastily. ‘I don’t actually need an escort of any sort. Please, don’t worry.’ She grabbed her bag and slung it on her shoulder. ‘I’ll see you back on the bus, no doubt.’ She did not wait to see their reaction, plunging back into the sunlight to make her way across the sandy path towards the shadow of another tomb entrance.

It was only when she was standing in the queue, her guidebook in her hand that she realised Andy had followed her.

‘I’m sorry. That was embarrassing.’

‘Not at all. Charley is right. I don’t need an escort.’ She glanced behind them. ‘Where is she?’

‘Still over there in the shade.’ The queue shuffled a few steps closer to the entrance. ‘Egyptology is not her thing. She feels she has seen enough for one day.’

‘I see.’ Anna glanced at him sideways, unsure whether she should feel triumphant or sorry for the other woman. She liked Andy. His good-natured friendliness had done much to put her at her ease amongst so many strangers. Not that they seemed like strangers now. It was her first day in Egypt and yet she felt as though she had known them for a very long time.

‘Hello there.’ As though to confirm her thought Ben emerged from the entrance in front of them. His face was pink with heat, a marked contrast to the whiteness of his hair. As the sun hit him he smacked his hat back onto his head and grinned at them hugely. ‘One of the best tombs, this. Magnificent! The mind just boggles at the thought of how much work has gone into it all, and how many men it took to do it.’ His face sobered a little. ‘Charley! Are you going in too?’

Charley was suddenly beside them. Her face was tense, her eyes smouldering with anger. ‘Yes, I’m going in too. Stupid thick Charley is actually interested.’

‘Stay here!’ Andy’s hand on Anna’s wrist was like an iron clamp as she turned to move away. Startled, she frowned. ‘Andy, please –’

‘No. I asked you to visit this tomb with me. I meant it. If Charley wants to come too, then that’s up to her. She has a ticket, the same as the rest of us.’

Charley’s face was red with fury. ‘That’s right. And I’m coming in.’

‘Please do.’ Andy’s smile was, at least on the surface, as affable as ever.

When Anna glanced round for Ben, he had gone.

As they walked down into the darkness Anna spotted Omar ahead of them with some half-dozen of the other passengers from their boat who had elected to stay with him for the tour. With relief she hurried to catch up with him, aware that Andy was still at her side. Over the next twenty minutes or so as Omar talked to them about burial chambers and cartouches, The Book of the Dead and The Book of Gates, slave labour and the gods of death and retribution she slowly managed to distance herself from Andy and Charley in the darkness. By the time they had reached the inner pillared hall she had lost sight of them entirely.

It was as she was walking back, her concentration on the ceiling with its wonderful paintings that her arm was seized. ‘What do you think you are playing at? You hardly know him!’ Charley’s hiss in her ear was full of venom. ‘Why? Why are you doing it?’

Anna turned in astonishment. ‘Doing what? Look, Charley, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I’m not trying to do anything, I promise.’

‘You’re encouraging him!’

‘I’m not. Andy is a kind man. He has seen that I’m on my own and he is trying to make me feel welcome. So is Ben.’ She paused for a fraction of a second. ‘And Toby. And your friend, Serena. That is all it is. They are nice people and I appreciate their kindness.’

She glanced round hoping to see Andy nearby, but there was no sign of him. A long queue of people was shuffling past them as they stood at the centre of the corridor leading from the depths of the tomb back towards the light. Someone jostled her slightly and she stepped back. ‘We’re in the way, Charley. We have to move on with the others.’

‘I’ll move on. As for you, you can get lost!’ The viciousness of Charley’s remark left her speechless. For a moment she didn’t react and Charley, hurrying swiftly ahead was soon out of sight behind a sea of slowly processing backs. Anna shivered. The attack had been so swift and unexpectedly unpleasant that she wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to run after her, to argue, to defend herself, but at the same time some defiant corner of her mind was telling her to take no notice, to talk to Andy and, as long as she found him attractive, and she realised suddenly she did find him extremely attractive, to give Charley a run for her money. It was only a small corner of her mind though. A far larger portion was all for keeping the peace.