by Cheryl Bolen
“I suppose it has something to do with the flow of the Nile,” Mr. Maxwell speculated.
“Forgive me for laughing at you, Lady Daphne,” Mr. Arbuthnot said. “I’d never heard Alexandria referred to as Upper Egypt before—though I will own, it was awfully clever of you.”
Perhaps Mr. Arbuthnot wasn’t so unwelcome, after all.
By the time Cairo and its hundreds of chimneys smoking with the day’s bread baking were behind them, she was happy to inhale the clean desert air beneath the awakening sun. She was only now becoming accustomed to riding a camel. At first it had been rather terrifying because it was so steep a fall to the ground. And the silly thing made outrageous noises that had initially frightened her.
Before they’d ridden half an hour, the full sun was bearing down on them. She was awfully thankful she had dressed as an Arab woman. Most of all, she was thrilled to be able to leave off her stays. Why women had to be laced into the wretched breast smashers was totally beyond her comprehension. As was most fashion.
“How do you like wearing native dress?” she asked her sister.
“It’s thrilling.”
“Even if I say it myself I do believe my husband would have made an exceedingly handsome Arab. I tried this morning to persuade him not to shave. A couple of days beard growth, and he could pass for a native.”
“Daphne . . .” Jack was using his scolding voice.
He did so dislike it when she boasted on him. “Sorry, dearest, I didn’t mean to embarrass you by boasting out loud about your handsomeness.”
She could almost hear him gritting his teeth.
Rosemary flicked a glance at Mr. Maxwell. “I believe Mr. Maxwell did forgo this morning’s shave.”
“I am flattered that my lady noticed. Whenever I dress as a native, I prefer growing a beard.”
“I promise to withhold my judgment until it’s grown a bit more,” Rosemary said playfully.
“I cannot think when I’ve ever had so much fun,” Daphne said. “I don’t even mind the heat.”
“You will find,” Mr. Arbuthnot began in his didactic voice, “that even though we are close to Cairo, the desert heat is much more intense. For one thing, Cairo is near the river, and there are often breezes on the water. So, as hot as it was in Cairo, compared to what you will experience today, it's almost cold. For another thing, the sun reflecting off all this sand with its heavy glass content acts rather like a heat igniter, much like when one holds a piece of glass over a piece of paper in intense sun. Flames have been known to erupt.”
“I hope none of us erupts into a fire ball,” Daphne said with a little laugh. “One can see a shimmering heat radiating off the sand. It’s quite lovely to view from up here on the dromedary.”
Mr. Maxwell's dromedary came to a complete stop. "I should like to direct your attention to those two stones that are placed about five feet apart."
They all stopped. The stones were smaller than a woman's head.
"Oh, allow me to guess!" Rosemary said.
"Please, my lady," Mr. Maxwell answered.
"The stones mark the shallow grave of a desert nomad."
Mr. Maxwell nodded. "Very good."
"I don't suppose they use coffins?" Daphne inquired.
"No," Mr. Maxwell said. "Muslim belief dictates that they be buried on the day they die. The head of the deceased must point to Mecca."
"One would think the hyenas would get to the body," Jack said.
"If they are known to be in an area," Mr. Maxwell said, "then stones are placed all over the location of the grave."
"No markers ever?" Daphne asked.
Rosemary and the scholar both shook their head. "It's very likely the grave will never again be visited by loved ones," Mr. Maxwell said. "It's quite odd, though, to find a single grave this close to a large city." He encouraged his dromedary to move forward.
"Yes, I quite see," Daphne said. "One on the verge of death wouldn't be riding a camel in the desert unless there was no civilization around for hundreds of miles."
Maxwell nodded.
“How long, Arbuthnot, to get to the pyramids?” Jack asked.
“We ought to be there in an hour. I will be happy to serve as your guide.”
“Actually, Maxwell has already offered," Jack said. "He’s been here before, and he’s studied the Seventh Wonder of the Ancient World extensively.”
“Then I shall look forward to hearing what he has to say.” Mr. Arbuth-knows-it-all's voice could not conceal his disappointment.
“Will we be able to see riches in the tombs?” Daphne asked.
“All the graves were robbed long ago,” Rosemary answered. “A pity. Still, I couldn’t be more thrilled. I’ve brought my sketch book and plan to fill it with drawings from Gizeh.”
Mr. Maxwell regarded the young lady admiringly. “I did not know you were an artist, my lady.”
She shrugged. “I try.”
“I wish you’d been along on my other travels, then. How I longed to be able to capture in an image the things I saw—especially Petra. I curse that I have no abilities in that direction.”
“I will be happy to share some of my drawings with you, sir. I shall be very jealous that you actually got to visit Petra.”
“You are not thinking of entering the Great Pyramid, are you, Lady Rosemary?” Mr. Maxwell asked.
“Nothing could keep me from it.”
The scholar was silent for a moment. Daphne knew his silence was in reaction to her sister's desire to go inside the pyramids. After some little while, he cleared his throat. "I will have to advise you against it."
Rosemary whirled at him. "Why, pray tell?"
"I've not heard of a woman entering a pyramid. You see, even in winter, one must strip off most of one's clothing in order to crawl around within the stifling hot shafts."
"I have heard of this," she admitted, "therefore I also have procured for myself and for my sister the type of costume that the dragomen wear. It's not unlike our Scottish kilts."
Daphne was shocked. "You mean we will allow our bare calves to be seen by the gentlemen?"
"I've been thinking about that," Rosemary answered. "Before you and I emerge from our tents in the young men's clothing, we will ask that all the Egyptians and all our soldiers turn their heads whilst we move to the entrance of the Great Pyramid."
"What about Mr. Maxwell?" Daphne asked.
Rosemary turned to face him. The poor fellow's face had flushed, and Daphne was certain it wasn't from the sun. "You are of such noble character and so knowledgeable about those from other cultures, I know you won't presume to judge my conduct, nor would a gentleman like you ever try to take liberties," Rosemary said.
He coughed. It was a moment before he could articulate his thoughts. Daphne would wager that Rosemary was the first unattached, pretty female with whom the man had ever conversed. Finally he spoke. "My lady can trust me with her life as well as her virtue, and I vow that I would never presume to be judgmental against you."
"Then it's settled," Rosemary said. "My sister and I will explore the Great Pyramid."
“You know there are some shafts in which you’ll have to crawl through dirt?” Mr. Maxwell said to her.
“Yes, I’ve read about that.”
“There may be bats,” he continued.
“I have read that if you will discharge a pistol, it will scare the wretched creatures away.”
“That’s true.”
“Do you have a pistol, Mr. Maxwell?” Rosemary asked.
“Always when I travel in the Orient.”
“Then I anoint you my protector.”
Daphne found herself wishing that Mr. Maxwell were more handsome. If he were, Rosemary may have been able to transfer to him the affections she held for the odious, egotistical, heart-ensnaring, sinfully handsome Captain Cooper. Dear Mr. Maxwell was so much more worthy.
As it was, Rosemary seemed unaware of Mr. Maxwell as a man. Or a prospective suitor.
When one was the
daughter of an earl, it rather scared off suitors who weren’t of the aristocratic class. Were Mr. Maxwell handsome and were he to fall blindingly in love with Rosemary, he would never act upon it because of their unequal stations.
Jack had been in that position once. Now even Papa, who favored Daphne over all his daughters, never questioned that Jack was good enough for his most beloved child. If anything, Papa had learned to love Jack as if he were his own son.
“I suppose all the men will be climbing to the top of the Great Pyramid,” Mr. Arbuthnot said.
“It is perhaps the most memorable experience of my life,” Mr. Maxwell said. “I do don breeches for better accessibility in climbing the stones of the Great Pyramid.”
“Good thing I brought mine, then,” Jack said.
“What about the women?” Daphne asked. “Can we not climb?”
“It would be most difficult,” Mr. Maxwell said. “First, one needs to have unrestricted use of one’s legs, and there’s also the fact that it takes great strength to climb. Each stone to be mounted is at least waist high. I do not believe a woman’s arm strength up to the task.”
Jack’s camel drew up beside Daphne’s. “Don’t get any ideas, love. You know you’re not the least bit strong.”
“But, my dearest husband, I shall have you to assist me.”
“There is that,” he said, frowning. He then lowered his voice and spoke so that only his wife could hear him. “I shouldn’t like for other men to be peering at my wife’s drawers.”
Daphne’s cheeks turned hot. “Instead of commissioning a native costume, it appears I should have asked for men’s trousers.”
“How I wish I had trousers,” Rosemary said. “I should love to climb to the top of the pyramid above all things.”
Mr. Maxwell turned toward Rosemary. “I can understand your great disappointment, but truly, my lady, you could never be physically strong enough to hoist yourself up nearly five hundred feet of those massive stones.”
“I suppose I shall have to satisfy myself by going into the interior of the pyramid—and with drawing you as you climb atop the pyramid.”
“I hope you’re not afraid of small dark places,” Mr. Maxwell said.
Rosemary shrugged. “I don’t think I am, but I’ve not been put to the test.”
“Mr. Maxwell?” Daphne asked.
“Yes?”
“Are there rats inside the pyramid?”
“I’ve not seen them there. There’s no food stuff for them there any longer.”
“I should die of fright were I to be crawling through the Great Pyramid with rats,” Rosemary said.
“Mr. Maxwell?” Daphne asked again.
“Yes?”
“Are there snakes?”
He hesitated a moment before answering, his tenuous gaze on the young lady beside him. “The desert is filled with snakes. It is possible that sometimes they could be inside the pyramids.”
“I wish you hadn’t brought that up, Daf!” Rosemary chided. “Now I shan’t be able to crawl inside of the pyramid. I am mortified by the idea of snakes.”
“It’s not my fault snakes are crawling around the pyramids,” Daphne protested.
Mr. Maxwell cleared his throat. “I didn’t actually say they were crawling around the pyramids, Lady Daphne.”
“But you said it was possible,” Daphne defended.
“Not everyone wishes to go inside the pyramids,” Mr. Arbuthnot said. “And there are also many people who go happily barreling into the pyramid only to emerge moments later, feeling as if they’re suffocating.”
Mr. Arbuthnot was a gleeful font of negativity.
“The heat and stuffiness can be almost unbearable,” Mr. Maxwell admitted.
Mr. Arbuthnot nodded. “And some people realize they are not able to tolerate small spaces. A sort of apoplexy seizes them under such conditions.”
They had all been so busy conversing they hadn't realized they were coming upon the Sphinx. Daphne was the first to gaze upon it. “Allah be praised! Look at the Sphinx!”
There before them, several hundred feet away, the famed Sphinx’s lion’s body rose from the shimmering sands that were much the same bland, almost colourless shade. From this distance it did not appear to be any taller than her dromedary. But within a few moments, they came close to it.
The granite head of a man atop the giant Sphinx soared far above her camel. From bottom to top, the Sphinx was as tall as her parents’ London house. Four stories. They drew up their horses and camels and began to climb down. Daphne was obliged to wait until a servant brought her steps upon which to climb down.
“Please,” Rosemary said, “Can we not pitch our tents here? I’m dying to get at my sketch books so I can draw the Sphinx.”
Daphne looked at Jack.
“Very well. Maxwell, will you direct the servants to begin unpacking the camels?”
While the Egyptian crew of eight began unpacking and assembling tents, Jack strolled to the Sphinx. “When would you say this was built, Maxwell?”
“Over four thousand years ago.”
Jack whistled, his gaze swinging to the Great Pyramid, which was no very great distance away. “Was the pyramid constructed at the same time?”
“Yes, the Great Pyramid was built for the pharaoh Khufu, and it’s said the man’s head on the lion—what we know as a Sphinx—is the head of Khufu.”
Jack's gaze shifted to the Great Pyramid. “What an incredible engineering marvel.”
“It’s even more impressive,” Mr. Maxwell said, “when one considers that it was constructed before the invention of the wheel.”
“Do you mean those giant blocks of rock were conveyed solely by men's strength?” asked an incredulous Daphne.
“Remarkable, is it not?” Maxwell began to mount the Sphinx. “By the time Lady Rosemary finds her sketchbook, I hope to be atop the Sphinx.”
“My sister will have to draw your picture.” It took much self-control to keep Daphne from scurrying up the Sphinx after him. It looked like such a fun thing to do. But she remembered her husband’s admonishment not to display her drawers to these men.
Jack quickly followed Mr. Maxwell.
Daphne turned to Mr. Arbuthnot. “Are you not going to climb the Sphinx, sir?”
“Since I have many times previously, today I shall be mindful of preserving my riding costume. It’s more difficult to replace English clothing when one lives in the Orient.”
Daphne was well aware of how much stock the attaché put on the quality of his clothing. Such a pity that he was on the corpulent side and almost bald. It mattered not what the man wore. Still, she realized his deep-seated appreciation for fine things.
For the next several moments, she watched the soldiers re-assembling their tents and the Egyptians pitching three low-slung tents on the order of those used by the Bedouins. One of those would do for Rosemary, another for the two bachelors, and the third for Daphne and Jack. She’d been told the Egyptian servants were not going to sleep in tents, that they dug themselves into the sand to sleep.
The very thought of snakes made that option horrifying. But, then, those Oriental-style tents would not keep out snakes as the English soldiers’ tents would. She would have to beg that the soldiers swap with her and Jack. While she was by nature more of a tomboy, when it came to creepy, crawly things, Daphne was sheer female. Of the vapors variety.
Rosemary, too, had watched the workers, and as soon as she saw her small valise, she snatched it and secured her sketch book. She plopped right down in the billowing sands and began to draw the Sphinx with her brother-in-law and Mr. Maxwell appearing as miniscule appendages to the massive stone figure.
“Do have a care, my darling,” Daphne called up as Jack neared the top. “I shouldn’t like for you to fall.”
“How did I ever climb the Pyrenees without you to keep me safe, my love?” Jack gave her a mocking look.
“I assure you, sir,” she responded, “I shan’t have a moment’s peace until yo
u are restored to me on level footing.” Daphne came to sit beside Rosemary, even though the sand felt like hot tin. She looked over her sister’s shoulder at her sketch just as Rosemary finished getting the entire Sphinx.
The men had reached the top, then started down.
“No,” Rosemary said, lifting a halting hand. “Please stay until I’ve captured you.”
“I should treasure my own copy of this, Lady Rosemary,” Mr. Maxwell said, sitting atop the Sphinx's head and grinning at the artist, the sun reflecting off his spectacles.
“You shall have it, sir.”
After they climbed down, Daphne asked. “Do we rest in our tents for the hottest part of the day and go in the pyramids later?”
“I don’t believe there’s that much change in the interior temperatures of the pyramids between noon and dusk,” Mr. Maxwell said. “It’s entirely up to you.”
She looked at Jack. “What do you think?”
“Everyone’s dying to go. Let’s go.”
All Daphne could think of was the serpents.
Their group made a curious discovery while walking to the pyramids. Opposite of the Great Pyramid from where they had pitched their tents was a much larger camp. And these tents were of the same style used by British soldiers.
"Let us go introduce ourselves," Mr. Arbuthnot said.
As they came closer, he exclaimed. "Lord Beddington's returned from Thebes! He's the only European who travels rather like a king."
That might have been an understatement. Daphne counted no less than four-and-twenty tents. "I know most of his lordship's family prefers living in England. Does he travel with a large group of friends?"
The attaché shook his head. "Those tents are all for his servants. And assistants. He has two secretaries, a French Orientologist, a French chef, and a Turkish Man Friday. I'm so pleased I shall be able to introduce you to him."
They walked into the camp and Arbuthnot approached the first European he saw, querying Lord Beddington's whereabouts.
"Allow me to announce you," his aide said. "He's just come from one of the mestabas and is changing into clean robes. He'll be delighted to see fellow countrymen."
Daphne pictured the dirt-coloured, flat-topped rectangular structures. The first mestabas she'd seen were near the Sphinx, but she'd been so fascinated over the Sphinx she'd paid little heed to the rows and rows of these windowless structures. There were so many, it had been impossible to count them.
