by Overton, Max
I offer no excuse for my actions. Nakhtmin was the son of a usurper and had shown himself to be a base and degenerate individual. What he did to me cried out for revenge and I had no compunction in killing him. That is the law of god and man. As for Ay--Death had already marked him. All I did was hurry it along a bit. It could be argued that had he lived even a day longer, many ordinary men would have died. He would not have given up his power and would have fought Horemheb to the death, army against army. Did I rejoice in his death? Yes. Though he was my mother's brother, he had set himself at odds with his relatives, sacrificing a daughter, granddaughters, and nephews on the altar of supreme power in Kemet. Though it will not bring them back, I think his death will bring peace to the spirits of my brothers Smenkhkare and Tutankhamen.
The Two Kingdoms are remarkably quiet for having skirted a civil war. The Amorite army has taken over the fort of the Bay of Gulls, as agreed by Nakhtmin in Gubla, and Horemheb has ordered Djedhor to the northern border once more with four legions, though only two are battle-hardened. They are to contain the Amorites and dispossess them of the fort if possible. The other legions, under Paramessu, have gone south. Word has come to Men-nefer that the Nubians are invading and have already plundered several cities between Abu and Waset. It seems they are led by Menkure, my brother Smenkhkare's erstwhile lieutenant. I do not doubt that Paramessu will harvest them like a reaper in a wheat field.
Twenty days have passed since Ay's death and in another fifty there will be a new king crowned in Waset. If I am to avoid the fate Horemheb has in store for me, I must escape with my companions. However, we are so closely guarded I cannot see that happening - unless the gods return their gifts to me. I lost the golden scarab of Atum between Taanach and Gubla and as I cannot think how it could return to me here, I must perforce search for it there. Rather, I must have others search for me. The next time my companions are allowed into the city, I shall have Terrik and Salom escape. I can give them gold and jewels to speed their journey north. I only hope that they can find Atum's golden scarab and return with it before I am made Horemheb's Queen."
* * * * *
"I'm going to stop there," Dani said. She unscrewed the top off her water canteen and drank thirstily. "It seems like a reasonable place to have a break."
"You've done a marvelous job," Daffyd murmured. He took a last pull at the stub of his cigarette and stubbed it out in his empty tobacco tin. "And by a happy coincidence, I need a fresh tin of tobacco and some more papers."
"Yes, Dr Hanser, you may stop here." The Under Minister of the Department of Natural History, Ahmed Bashir, looked at his watch and made a note on a pad of paper next to his chair. "I think we could all do with stretching our legs. May I suggest we take half an hour?"
Dani shook her head. "No. When I said stop, I meant it. I'm exhausted. I'm going down to the camp, have a hot meal, a hot shower if the water has been heated, and then I'm going to sleep. You can wake me tomorrow morning."
Ahmed Bashir scowled. "It's eight o'clock in the morning now."
"Then I'll have a good long sleep."
"But we haven't found any further reference to her brother's tomb. We must find it. You cannot stop now."
"I don't think you're listening, Mr Bashir." Daffyd rummaged in his jacket pockets for his tobacco and then remembered he had finished it. "When Dani said she's tired, she means it. Why, I heard her make three mistakes in the translation, just since Scarab reached Memphis." He shrugged. "Nothing of importance, but if you force her to go on and she makes a mistake over the description of the tomb, you'll never find it."
"Makes sense," chipped in one of the two young men still sitting in the folding field chairs. "You don't want mistakes made when treasure's at stake. Bob agrees too, don't you Bob?"
"Yup," Bob agreed. "I'm with Al."
Bashir glared at the two young men. "How many times do I have to say it? I am interested because this may be a previously undiscovered tomb, not because of any wealth it may contain."
"I'm sure we all ascribe the highest motives to you, Mr Bashir," Daffyd said. "But where would we be if Dani collapsed through physical or mental exhaustion? It's not as if the work will come to a complete standstill if she takes a long break."
"What do you mean?"
"Al has taken hundreds of flash images of the murals and writing, Nazim has filled notebooks with his shorthand and every word Dani has said is on reels of tape. While Dani is taking a well-earned break, I suggest we knuckle-down and put the account into order."
"I thought that was being done already. What are you doing when you're not sitting in here listening?"
"It's being written up, as you know. You've seen some of it. We're somewhere in Tutankhamen's reign at the moment. How about giving us all a break and we can brainstorm about what we know?"
"Brainstorm?"
"Talk things over. A free association of ideas with everyone chipping in. After all, Dani and I are always up here. We read it or hear it firsthand but we never get to think about it, discuss it with the others. Who knows, maybe we've missed something important that someone else has found."
Bashir scowled but nodded. "You have a point. Take the rest of the day..."
"A week," Daffyd said.
"Too long. I will agree to three days off. Then we will return to the task refreshed."
The members of the expedition climbed up the shaft first, aided over the lip by Bashir's men in the second chamber. Nazim followed and Bashir came last, hanging behind and talking quietly with Mahmoud and the other sonic spectroscope technicians.
Dani fixed herself a sandwich back at the camp and took a coke from the refrigerator humming and rattling in the main tent. The other members of the party were up and trooped in for breakfast but Dani just brushed aside questions.
"Later, guys. I'm bushed." She took her half-eaten sandwich and coke with her, decided against a shower and collapsed on the cot bed in her tent.
Daffyd, Al and Bob joined them for breakfast shortly after, helping themselves to tea and toast, carrying them to the main table.
"So? Don't keep us in suspense," Angela said. "What happened with Scarab?"
"Yeah," Marc agreed. "Inquiring minds want to know."
Daffyd took a big bite out of his marmalade-smothered toast and gulped hot tea after it. "That's better. Well, let's see, where did the last shift leave off?"
"Ay was marching out to face Horemheb," Doris said. "Did they fight? Who won?"
"Don't be a ditz, Doris," Will said amiably, "We know Horemheb was the next king. He must have won."
Doris blushed. "You know what I mean. What happened?"
"They didn't fight," Al said. "The two sides met to talk but Scarab decided to taunt Ay about the how she killed Nakhtmin and how she was going to kill him. He snapped and grabbed a weapon to kill her." Al grinned. "I bet she had that in mind all along. Ay had a heart attack and died, so Horemheb just took over."
"Is that what really happened?" Doris asked. "In the history books?"
Marc shrugged. "Who knows? I've never heard of anything like that but we know so little of those times."
"So it could have happened?"
"Sure," Bob said. "We have no evidence that Scarab is lying."
"In fact, just the opposite." Daffyd pushed back his plates and took out a new tin of tobacco and his cigarette papers. "There are enough little snippets of information in the text that can be verified through Egyptological studies. I'd be interested in seeing how old the hieroglyphs really are, but there's no reason to suppose they are a modern hoax."
"This could still be a story Scarab invented. A fireside tale to tell the children."
"You don't believe that, Marc," Daffyd said, lighting up his cigarette. He grinned and glanced toward the tent flap. "And I wouldn't let Dani hear you call Scarab a liar." The others laughed and for a few minutes, there was some light-hearted banter at Marc's expense.
Al got up to pour himself another cup of tea. "We took some of that timber
we found in the first chamber home last year. Wasn't Dani going to get it carbon-dated? That'll tell us the age of the writing."
Marc nodded. "She showed me the report. It said two thousand two hundred years, plus or minus thirty."
"Wow," Doris breathed. "That old? That was back in the time of the pharaohs wasn't it?"
"The Ptolemies," Angela said. "The time we're interested in--the Amarnan period--was at least nine hundred years before."
"So it's all a lie?" Doris looked ready to cry.
"Don't be a goose," Will said. "That's the age of the timber, not the paint on the walls. All it means is that somebody entered the chamber nine hundred years after Scarab wrote those words and left some timber behind."
"Why would they do that?"
"Beats me, but it explains why there was dressed stone and mud brick sealing the first chamber. Somebody broke in and then somebody else repaired it."
"Who would repair it?" Angela asked. "And why? All that stuff would be meaningless to anyone living around here nine hundred years later. Scarab would have passed out of even folk memory."
Daffyd shrugged. "Chances are we'll never know. Anyway, we have more important things to worry about. Bashir is driving Dani too hard with the translating. I'm afraid she's going to have a breakdown or something unless she gets some rest."
"I'm not sure we can do much about it," Bob said. "You heard the bugger when we finished up today. Three days, tops, then it's back to work."
"Precisely. Can anyone think of a good reason to delay going back to work?" Daffyd looked around at the other faces and grimaced. "Neither can I, but if you think of anything, tell the rest of us."
"She couldn't work if she was ill."
"Very good. I'm sure Dani would much rather be puking than translating."
Bob flushed. "Well, you did say anything."
"Anything sensible. Now, there is another thing..."
"What about a headache?" Doris asked. "When I get one of my headaches every...er, month...I...er, well, I can't do anything except lie on my bed with a wet cloth..." She blushed deeply.
"Might work," Marc said. "It's hard to prove someone hasn't got one. And with all the close-up work she's been doing, eye strain could well be a factor."
Daffyd nodded. "Dani doesn't like lying, but I'll see if I can't talk her into bending the truth a little. Now, there is something else--we need to speed up with the transcribing and checking of the photos against the tapes and Nazim's shorthand. We are still back in Tut's reign in here, but up in the caverns we are on the brink of Horemheb's. I don't know how many more chambers there are after this one but we have to keep Bashir thinking he's going to find buried treasure."
"I really don't see why we have to do that," Marc complained. "It's bad enough the History Minister is willing to play fast and free with the rules of archaeology, but now he wants to go off and plunder an Egyptian tomb."
"When the hieroglyphs tell us where it is," Al added.
"If they tell us," Will murmured.
"I've always wanted to see Egypt," Doris said. "We'll all go, won't we?"
"This isn't some comic book adventure, Dor," Angela said quietly. "I don't think Bashir has such good intentions."
Daffyd hesitated, wondering if there was any point in telling everyone of Bashir's plans. In the end, he decided they had a right to know. "There is every likelihood that when we reach the end of the chambers and the translating, Bashir will go tomb hunting in Egypt. That treasure--if it exists--is a powerful lure."
"What about the rest of us?" Marc asked.
"As the spy novels say--we know too much. If we told our story, the Egyptian and Syrian authorities would be down on Bashir like a ton of bricks. He cannot have that happen, so there would be an unfortunate accident. My guess is a cave-in at an archaeological dig and--so sorry--no survivors."
"Shit," Al muttered.
"He wouldn't do that," Doris whispered, her face pale.
"I hope you are right," Daffyd said. He started rolling another cigarette. "But I wouldn't bet on it."
"So what do we do?" Will asked. "We can't just sit here and wait for the sky to fall."
"I say we take them out," Al growled.
"There are twenty soldiers of the Syrian army out there," Bob objected.
"Yeah, but there's only one minister. We could overpower him in the chamber..."
"And then what?" Marc asked. "The soldiers capture the rest of us in the camp. How are you going to force him to release us? We still have to get out of the country."
"Well, we've got to do something," Al grumbled.
"Agreed." Daffyd lit up his cigarette and blew a cloud of blue smoke toward the roof of the tent. "Actually I do have an idea, but I need to think about it a bit more. In the meantime, we need to show Bashir that we are co-operative, so let's please do a good job with our transcribing."
"Jeez, you expect us to concentrate on that with this...this bloody sword of...of that Greek guy hanging over us?"
"Damocles," Angela murmured. "Sword of Damocles."
"Lovely. Thank you Angela," Al grumbled. "That makes things so much better."
"Cool it, Al," Marc cut in. "Getting upset with each other is not going to help."
"Yeah, sorry Ang. Didn't mean to take it out on you but I could throttle Bashir."
"I'm sure we all could but while he holds all the cards, we need to keep him sweet. If he gets the idea that we are all just too much trouble, he may decide to get rid of us now. All he really needs is to keep Dani alive to do the translating."
"What about...?" Doris blushed again and became very interested in her teaspoon.
"What, Dor?" Angela asked.
"Yeah, what have you got?"
Doris did not look up from her cutlery. "It's nothing, really, I was just...well, I was thinking about Scarab's golden scarab. We heard about how her powers depended on it and how she was just about invincible with it. I...I thought maybe Dani's golden scarab...could...Well, could she do the same?"
Will snorted derisively.
"The god powers were only a myth, Dor," Al said, surprisingly gently. "That can't happen in real life."
"Well, no, I suppose not, but...are you sure?"
"The old gods of Egypt don't exist. Therefore, they cannot give anyone powers. The story we are hearing from Scarab is just a way of explaining things in a way that primitives can understand. She survived the desert despite her wounds--hence, she must have had divine help. She fought and beat trained men--so obviously the gods helped her because a woman could not fight better than a man could. She..."
"She won fights before she got the scarab," Doris said. "That Nubian chieftain for one. I forget his name."
Al nodded. "True, but the general idea is there. It was a time when people really believed the gods stepped in and helped people. If you are telling a tale of overcoming great odds, it is natural that gods will be in the story. It doesn't make it real though."
Marc did not say anything, but he was thinking about how they had found the chambers in the first place. She had held the golden scarab, rescued from the mud in the front of the cave and stared at a blank wall. Somehow, she knew the chamber lay behind it. Later, inside that first chamber, she had known where the second one lay. Was that just blind luck or something else ?
Daffyd was also silent, also remembering something. When Bashir had first stepped in and taken over the dig, he had made Dani and he turn out their pockets. The golden scarab had been among the notebooks, pens, tobacco and handkerchiefs piled on the table. Bashir had ignored the gold artifact, seemed not to have even seen it at first, and then, when he picked it up, thought it was a rock. How was it hidden from him ?
"No, we're in this alone, guys," Al said. "We can't expect help from anyone."
"All the more reason to be co-operative for the time being," Daffyd said softly. "However, I would like you to do a couple of other things as we continue the transcribing. Look for any reference to the tomb or treasury of Smenkhkare. Ma
ke a note of the tape it's on, and where on the tape; identify the photo that describes it; mark the shorthand book and the pages as you type them up."
"Why?"
"Can you just do it for now? I'm not completely sure in my own mind, so I don't want to commit myself, but that's the thing that interests Bashir most."
Al shrugged. "Okay. What do we say if Bashir asks why we are doing it?"
"How about we just tell him we are doing spot checks on the translation and transcription?" Marc said. "Don't say anything about the treasure though."
"What about the rest of the story? Do you think there will be any more references?"
"Who knows? We are about half way through this chamber and the first half was just on Ay's reign of four years. Horemheb reigned at least twenty-eight, so there must be at least one more chamber. Plus, we don't know how much she wrote about following kings. Paramessu is Ramses the First, remember, and her son Set is Seti the First. Did she write about them?"
"Did she even live that long? Scarab's thirty now in the narrative. She'll be near sixty when Horemheb goes."
"That's not old. Ay and Horemheb were both older and we know Ramses the Great, her grandson, lived to be ninety."
"There can't be much more happening though," Will said, "I mean, Ay has been the villain all along and he's dead now. In fact, all Scarab's relatives are dead except her son, and we know what happened to him. She looks up to Horemheb as a just man, so he will be a good ruler. Perhaps the rest of the narrative is just a recitation of how many temples he builds, how many enemies he conquers--all sorts of dull stuff. Bashir may lose interest quickly."
