The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  "A scarab beetle," Daffyd exclaimed. "I'd call that a sign from heaven, lass."

  Dani looked at insect in wonder. "It did come to me, didn't it?"

  "Hell of a coincidence anyway," Marc murmured.

  Muammar leaned closer and looked at the beetle. "May I ask the significance of this creature? They are common enough in this region."

  Dani looked at her friends enquiringly. Marc shrugged and Daffyd murmured, "Up to you, lass."

  "It's a long story, Muammar, but we were in Syria on an archaeological expedition when we found a chamber with the account of an Egyptian princess written on the walls. The princess had a nickname--Scarab--and she owned a special scarab ornament that she said came from the gods of ancient Egypt. Well, I found that ornament and I felt a...a connection to the princess."

  "Do you have this ornament, Dr Hanser?" Muammar asked. "I would very much like to see it."

  "It was stolen from me, and the thief fled into Egypt."

  "Ah. That is why you go there--to recover your property. But why do you not enter Egypt openly instead of going to all this trouble?"

  "The thief is a powerful man," Daffyd said. "He's closed the borders to her."

  "And now," Dani said, softly stroking the hard carapace of the beetle, "As we start on our journey through Egypt's back door, the gods have sent a scarab to me. I choose to look upon it as a sign of their approval."

  "I am a Muslim," Muammar said, "though as I have said, not a strict one. However, I cannot accept the existence of other gods but Allah the Merciful and Beneficent. These ancient Egyptian gods were afrit or djinni and they do not look kindly on humans."

  "I believe differently, but I do not seek to impose my beliefs on you, Muammar. Let us just agree to differ."

  Dani lowered her hand to the sand and tipped the scarab off. It scrabbled off into the gloom and was lost to sight amongst the scrub and leaf litter.

  Daffyd eased his back and stretched. "I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be just as cramped, dusty and exhausting as today. I suggest we turn in for the night and make an early start."

  "A word of caution," Muammar said as he got to his feet. "Scorpions have a habit of creeping into boots and bedclothes at night, looking for dark, warm places. Be careful and do not put your hands or feet into either without checking there is nothing there."

  "If a scorpion comes anywhere near me, it's dead," Marc swore.

  "They are God's creatures too. Just be careful."

  The night passed without disturbance from either serpents or arachnids, and though everyone shook out their bedding before packing it away and knocked their boots together to disturb possible unwelcome residents, they found nothing. Coffee and toasted bread completed their preparations in the cold dawn, and as the first shaft of sunlight speared the eastern horizon, they set off for Al Jawf.

  The road from Ajdabiya ran southeast into the desert and within a mile or two of the village disintegrated into a corrugated dirt track. The suspension on the ancient jeep complained and twanged, shaking their bodies even as a cloud of dust enveloped them. Shafts of morning sunlight threw their shadow out behind them, dazzling Muammar's eyes as he guided their rattling vehicle over the rough surface.

  Marc complained bitterly about the dust enveloping them. "I thought dust was supposed to stream away behind us. I'm choking to death here."

  "We have a following breeze," Muammar explained. "We can either suffer the dust or shake ourselves to bits trying to outpace the wind."

  They opted to maintain their slower speed and suffer the dust, and as the sun climbed into a cloud-free sky, the wind from the northwest dropped and the dust cloud of their passing drifted away behind them. The desert spread out in all directions, patches of rolling dunes interspersed with rocky wastes and the occasional wind-scoured stone outcrop. There were few plants, mostly dry looking scrub or stunted shrubs. They saw few animals--once a boy with a flock of goats, the scavenged carcass of some unidentified animal by the side of the road, and a hawk or two almost motionless in the faded blue above them.

  "What a ghastly place," Marc commented. "There's nothing here of any interest."

  "I suspect you're wrong there," Daffyd said. While they had been enveloped in the dust cloud he had refrained from smoking, but now he took out his tobacco and rolled a cigarette. He lit up and exhaled a faint blue cloud that whipped away behind them with the dust. "We won't see much while we're travelling, but if we were to stop and sit quietly, I think we'd see quite a bit of animal life."

  "Yeah, snakes and scorpions."

  "Certainly those, but other things too. Libya has a number of interesting animals. I'm not sure what you'd see around here, but there might be jackals, camels and antelopes--ostriches even."

  "And the smaller animals like lizards, hyraxes, small birds, insects and spiders," Dani added.

  "What you won't see easily but is here nonetheless, is oil and water," Muammar said. "You'll find oases and wells dotted through the desert, and water seeps where palms and grasses flourish, where animals and especially birds come in their thousands at dawn and dusk. British and American oil companies are drilling wells to bring deposits of oil to the surface. This could mean great things for Libya, though the common people may see little of this wealth. These assets are firmly in the hands of King Idris."

  "I take it you're not a supporter of the king," Daffyd said.

  Muammar was silent for a while, and then said, "One learns to guard one's tongue in politics, but you are all foreigners and passing through. I think I can safely say that Idris will not last forever."

  "Governments come and go," Daffyd said. "Sometimes they are helped on their way."

  "Yeah, but what will the next king be like?" Marc asked. "He may be worse than the one you have."

  Muammar shook his head. "We will have no king. He will be overthrown by the army and then the people and a council of educated men will rule wisely and democratically for the common good."

  "Lots of luck with that," Marc muttered.

  The road speared deeper into the desert, and as they progressed on the bone-shaking way, the heat steadily mounted. They drank thirstily from their water bottles and spared a little to dampen cloths and wipe the dust and dirt from their faces. A little after noon, when slim shadows appeared once more, Muammar pulled off the road into the shade of a rocky outcrop and switched off the motor. The sudden silence plunged in upon them, though their bodies still seemed to feel the vibration of their travel. Heat blasted up from sand and rock now that they were motionless, and sweat broke out on their bodies.

  Muammar refilled the petrol tank from a spare can, and topped up their water flasks while Daffyd gathered a few dry twigs together to make a small fire. They brewed a pan of tea and broke out a packet of biscuits, sitting around and refreshing themselves. Dani found a passage between the rocks and attended to her personal needs, while the men wandered off in the opposite direction to do the same. On the way back to the jeep, Daffyd laid his hand on Marc's arm, stopping him and pointing off to one side.

  "There."

  "What?"

  "On that rock. A lizard."

  "So?"

  Daffyd grinned. "Some of the life in this desert. If you take the time to look, you'll see it everywhere."

  Marc squinted into the westering sun and briefly scanned the outcrop and surrounding sand. "Nope, can't see anything interesting."

  "That's because you're a philistine," Daffyd commented, grinning. "There's more to life than old bones and artefacts."

  "Thus speaks my archaeology lecturer who bombards his students with those very things."

  Daffyd laughed. "The old bones were living once, and the artefacts were made by living beings. Living beings that had thoughts, people who believed in gods, in love, had babies, got ill and died--people who lived life. They're not just old bones and possessions. They're reminders of one's own mortality, boyo. The past can come alive if you look hard in the right places, but the present is spread out all aro
und you. Learn to enjoy it."

  "Enjoy this heat? This dust?" He waved his hand in front of his face. "Flies? Don't tell me you do."

  "Not exactly," Daffyd conceded. "But those minor inconveniences don't rob me of a greater enjoyment. Here we are off on an experience of a lifetime. We're in a new country, about to break international law by crossing a border illegally, in pursuit of an undiscovered tomb and a magical artefact--and all you can think of is the heat and the flies. Where's your sense of adventure?"

  "Sitting in an air-conditioned hotel sipping on a long cold drink."

  "As I said--you're a philistine."

  They camped that night a further twenty miles south, though they could not be certain as the speedometer cable broke during the course of the afternoon. Rocky desert surrounded them as dusk fell and the heat of the day drained away, leaving the air crisp and clear. Twigs and dried dung made up the fire that night and everybody was too tired to complain about the evil-smelling smoke. They retired to their tents after a quick meal of spit-roasted lamb, bread and sweet coffee, and fell asleep quickly.

  The next few days passed in much the same fashion as the first. Their supplies of water and fuel steadily dropped, but Muammar said he was not worried.

  "We can refill both at Al Jawf. There's a small permanent community there and a greater number of itinerants, including my mother's people."

  "Who are your mother's people exactly?" Dani asked.

  "They are badaw� or Bedouin as westerners call them."

  "Really?" Marc queried. "Honest to God desert dwellers? Camels and tents and such?"

  "Indeed. Many of my people have settled in towns and villages but my mother's brother--my uncle--has maintained the old way of life. They should be in or near Al Jawf at this time of year."

  "Will we be welcome, though?" Daffyd asked. "I've read that Bedouin are suspicious of strangers."

  "That is true," Muammar confirmed. "The badaw� tend to keep to themselves. We have a saying - I against my brother, my brothers and I against my cousins, then my cousins and I against strangers . However, my uncle will welcome me as family and if I vouch for you, he will welcome you too, I am sure."

  "Thank you, Muammar," Dani said. "It looks like we were fortunate to find you."

  "What about your father?" Marc asked. "Is he Bedouin too?"

  Muammar hesitated. "Yes, but of another tribe. He lives in Sabha, far to the west. I lived there with him and went to school there."

  "You didn't live with your mother?" Dani hesitated, reading the tension in the young man's shoulders. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry," she said.

  "There were...reasons. Reasons that are important to badaw� . I will say no more."

  An awkward silence fell which lasted for several minutes until Daffyd lit another cigarette and filled the vehicle with strongly smelling smoke. Marc and Dani's protests lightened the mood and talk resumed on other subjects.

  Two days later, the road passed an oasis, where date palms and other vegetation grew in abundance. They looked for an open body of water, thinking of the western concept of an oasis, but there was only a grassy depression. Marc asked about it.

  "The water comes closer to the surface here," Muammar explained. "But if any rose above the sands it would quickly evaporate."

  The phenomenon was short-lived, and within a mile they were back into sandy desert, where the only hints of water were the lies of darkly dancing mirages.

  The journey seemed endless, the thin rutted road stretching out to infinity before and behind, endless vistas of sand and rock meeting their eyes, uncomfortable seats and poor suspension numbing their bodies, and the ever-present heat and dust sapped their strength and their desire to go on.

  At last, eight days after leaving Benghazi, Al Jawf came in sight. The collection of houses was unprepossessing and the whole town gave off an air of dusty dejection and sun-baked lassitude. People stopped and stared as the ancient jeep ground its way along the streets to the far side of the town, where the road petered out into the desert. Muammar continued driving carefully over sand and rock until he came to a grove of palm trees, a stone-lipped well, and a patch of lank grass and shrubs.

  "We wait here until my uncle's people come," Muammar said.

  Dani looked around at the oasis and surrounding desert. "For how long?"

  "Who can say? A day, a week? I will ask in the town. Maybe somebody has heard when the tribe is due back."

  * * *

  "Colonel, it is Ali Hafiz again."

  "What news do you have for me?"

  "The woman, the older man and the young man bought tickets to Rome in Italy. They left word with their colleagues and students that they were going on holiday. I have tracked down the flight they took out of London. It went to Rome."

  Sarraj pondered this news while his man waited in silence on the other end of the line. "I must know the truth of it. Go to Rome and find them."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Ahmed Bashir had been on holiday for a week, enjoying the hospitality of his friend Colonel Michel Sarraj and taking in the sights of Cairo and the associated archaeological wonders of the area. He toured the city itself, wandering through the Khan el-Khalili bazaar, breathing in the rich aromas of the produce and listening to the hubbub of the crowded streets. He nibbled on sweetmeats from street stalls and sipped coffee in small caf�s, losing himself for a time in the rich fabric of the ancient city. The al-Azhar university and associated mosque attracted him as it was nearly a thousand years old, a third of the way back to the time of Smenkhkare. More modern universities rated a quick visit too--the Cairo University and the recently completed Ain Shams. Other buildings occupied Bashir's interest also--the Khedivial Opera House and the Cairo Tower, the Borg Al-Q�hira. He stood on the street below the Tower and stared up at its shaft, marvelling at this modern example of technology. The tower was not yet completed, so he could not travel up its six hundred foot length to the observation deck, but he vowed to return in a year or so and see the city laid out below him.

  He took a camel ride to the Giza Plateau, and stood staring at the looming mass of the pyramids, the damaged dignity of the Sphinx; the distant views of the Nile River and the bustling city spreading outward. Crossing back over the river, he found a guide to take him to the supposed site of ancient Iunu, where Scarab had communed with her gods, and explored the presumed locality of the city of Zarw, though there was nothing to be seen in the rich farmland of the river delta and the courses of the river did not match the descriptions he had so recently heard.

  The lack of recognisable ruins left Bashir depressed, and he contemplated the likelihood of being able to track down the lost tomb of Smenkhkare and Scarab from the vague description given in the account. When Nazim arrived in Egypt with the typed up notebooks and descriptions, he would have another look at the translation and see if they had missed any clue, but in the meantime, he wondered if there was anything else he could do. Perhaps it was worth finding out what the experts knew.

  Back in Cairo, he rang his counterpart at the Ministry of Culture in the Egyptian Government and arranged for a private tour of the Museum of Antiquities. The Minister was delighted to help and sent a limousine for Bashir.

  The luxurious vehicle entered the city from the south, threading its way along the highway on the eastern bank of the Nile, into el-Tahrir Square and then turning off into Wasim Hasan where the imposing red stone edifice of the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities greeted him. The vehicle pulled up close to the main entrance and the policemen on duty there started forward to move the limousine on, before catching sight of the Ministerial insignia on the windscreen. They turned away, allowing the car to park in the no-stopping zone.

  The custodian within the museum was expecting Bashir and was obsequious, bowing repeatedly, and assuring his visitor that the museum staff was totally at his disposal. He called a guide and gave the young man instructions to take Minister Bashir around
the exhibits, to show him anything he wished to see, to answer any question.

  "I am Rusul, and I am honoured to be your guide, Minister. We have over a hundred halls," the young man said proudly. "We have everything from great statues and stone sarcophagi to mummies and scraps of ancient papyrus, jewellery and furniture. What would you like to see?"

  "Eighteenth dynasty," Bashir said. "Anything to do with the Amarnan kings, or Princess Beketaten."

  The young man frowned. "Er, I do not know this Princess Beketaten. What dynasty was she?"

  "Eighteenth. Just show me what you have."

  "Well, the displays with Tuthmosis, Hatshepsut, Amenophis and Tutankhamen are on the first floor. Do you wish to go straight there or will you examine the many fine exhibits of that period that we have on this floor first?"

  Bashir thought for a moment, wondering whether he should go straight to the exhibits of Tutankhamen, the only name he recognised from Rusul's list, and then decided he was in no hurry. "Seeing as I'm on the ground floor already..."

  They started with the Hall of Statues, moving amongst a scattering of tourists to view great granite and sandstone figures. The persons represented were caught in unnatural-looking poses, with stiff and straight limbs, stone faces staring with blank eyes into infinity. Bashir moved slowly, scanning the statues and searching for any relevance in the ancient carvings.

  The Minister stopped before a statue of Amenhotep III and stared up at the scarred and battered stone face. He stared at it for several minutes, paying little attention to Rusul's explanation of just who Amenhotep III was and his importance.

  "He is best known as the father of Amenhotep IV, who became the heretic king Akhenaten, but many historians say he was also the greatest king of the Eighteenth Dynasty, and very possibly the wealthiest."

  They moved on to view glass-topped cases containing coins of all ages. Modern coins were there, moving back through the ages to pre-Islamic times, to Roman, Greek, Persian and Late Egyptian.

  "Money was only invented some fifteen hundred years before the Prophet, peace be unto him," Rusul said. "Before that they used barter, exchanging wheat for meat, lettuces for jewellery, and only later using metals as a form of currency. Eventually, a piece of copper or precious metal would be stamped with its value or cut to size and these became the first coins."