The Amarnan Kings, Book 6: Scarab - Descendant

by Overton, Max

  "He is no longer my master, Dr Andrews," Nazim said. "I intend to retire from his service as soon as I can."

  "Good for you."

  "Thank you, Dr Hanser, though I do not doubt he will make life difficult for me."

  Massri and his men had worked his way to the slab of rock and were now pouring fire down on the bandits, who also found themselves under attack from Sarraj as he worked his way round. The bandits fell back and as they ran for new cover, a shot caught one of them and spun him around. He recovered and threw himself behind a rock, though blood had soaked his sleeve.

  "Did that man look familiar?" Dani asked.

  Daffyd shook his head, and Marc muttered, "They all look the same to me. Why? Who do you think it was?"

  "I thought it was one of the Bedouin tribesmen who brought us into Egypt."

  "Great," Marc groaned. "If Sarraj wins, he shoots us; if the Bedouin win, they hold us for ransom and then shoot us."

  "How did they know where we were?" Dani asked. "We didn't exactly leave a trail to follow."

  "If it is indeed them," Daffyd murmured. "Look!"

  Sarraj had over-reached himself in his attempt to harry and pursue the retreating foe. A burst of gunfire from an unexpected direction cut down his two men and sent him scrambling back to the rocks, bullets whining off the boulders near him. Massri worked round further with the remaining five men, but now with them bunched in one place, he came under fire from at least three different positions.

  "If it is them, the odds are nearly even now," Marc said. "There were six Bedouin and ten soldiers--two died of fright and now three have been shot. That's seven left including Massri and Sarraj."

  Zewali rejoined them at the cave mouth. "That is an incredible find, Dr Hanser," he said. "Very basic furnishings, and the prayers and inscriptions are cut down to a minimum, but there is much in the way of valuable things. I fear too much is transportable, and Sarraj will plunder it. I hope we can persuade him to leave the coffins intact. I'd very much like to take them back to the museum for proper study."

  "You could just leave them to rest in peace."

  "It would be hard to guard this site, and inconvenient to travel all the way out here to study the remains."

  "Where's Bashir?" Daffyd asked.

  "He shows a lot of interest in the coffins," Zewali said. "I left Maroun to keep an eye on him."

  Down below, amid the jumble of rocks, one of the attackers called out in Arabic. A few moments later, Sarraj replied.

  "What are they saying?" Marc asked, as a further burst of Arabic was hurled back and forth.

  "The bandit tells Sarraj that he is surrounded and should surrender," Zewali translated. "Sarraj replies that he...well, suffice it to say he is quite crude in his suggestion." Zewali listened, and translated as best he could.

  "Hand over the infidels...the foreigners..."

  "It is the Bedouin," Dani said. "They followed us somehow."

  "Why do you want them?" Sarraj shouted back.

  "Our business is not your business. Hand them over and you may withdraw in safety--upon my word."

  Sarraj laughed. "Of what worth is the word of a bandit?"

  "I am not a bandit," shrieked the man. "I am badaw�, Zufir ibn Walid of the family of ibn Hawid. My honour is not to be questioned, you son of a diseased camel."

  The conversation disintegrated into a flurry of invective and insult, and a few minutes later shots were once more being exchanged.

  "You know these people who attack us?" Zewali asked.

  Daffyd explained the situation. "They probably want to ransom us as before, but it's also possible they're now motivated by feelings of revenge. We sort of rubbed their noses in the dirt by escaping so easily."

  "I was going to suggest you made your way into the desert to meet up with them as a way of escaping Sarraj, but that might not be wise. You might be safer here, at least for now."

  "Dani's safe enough as long as she has the golden scarab, and she might be able to protect one or two more, but..." Daffyd glanced at Dani. "I know, lass, you think you can protect us all, but it's a big ask."

  "How exactly does Dr Hanser intend to protect you, or even just her?" Zewali asked.

  "The god Set promised Scarab that evil would be turned back on the one offering it," Daffyd said. "It appears that Dani can command the same protection."

  "Not command," Dani said quickly. "I can only ask and the god answers my prayer if he so desires."

  Zewali shook his head. "Forgive me, Dr Hanser, but a belief like this could be a very dangerous delusion. Please do not rely upon this supposed protection."

  "You saw it when Sarraj tried to shoot Marc and missed at point blank range. It's another aspect of the same power that brought him back to life."

  "You know my views on that," Zewali said. "However, I think this is neither the time nor the place to debate such things. We should be looking for a credible way of extricating ourselves from this situation."

  Footsteps crunched in the debris on the cave floor, as Nick came up behind them. "I heard you discussing ways of escape. What about this Guardian chappie? He's already killed two soldiers--would he remove a few more for us?"

  "I'm not sure he did it for us," Dani said. "In his eyes, we're probably all trespassers."

  "Oh, come on, Dani," Marc said. "It's Khu. Can you imagine him acting against the legitimate bearer of the golden scarab?"

  "Perhaps not."

  The gunfire became sporadic and died away, and everyone's attention turned to the situation below. The Bedouin were still hidden among the boulders, their presence only revealed by glimpses of keffiya or robes, but the watchers from the cave could see Sarraj gathering his men for an assault. Massri was evidently wounded in the leg, so he lay behind a jeep ready to give covering fire. The men broke cover, sprinting across an open space and disappearing among the boulders, from which erupted shouts and screams. Gunfire broke out again, a short eruption of sound that fell away as first one, and then three other Bedouin stepped out into the open. One raced across to the jeep and kicked away Massri's rifle, dropping to his knees beside the prostrate man, curved knife held to the captain's throat.

  Sarraj emerged from behind the rocks, pushed along by another Bedouin. A man in khaki stepped out, helping the sixth Bedouin, who had been wounded. He helped his wounded comrade to a seat by a jeep and turned to face the hill, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  "Ho, Marc! Are you there? Dani, Daffyd, Nick. Come out. You are among friends once more."

  "It's Muammar," Marc yelled. He raced down the slope, barely keeping his footing, and grabbed the young Libyan, hugging him unashamedly. "You bugger. I thought you were dead."

  "I told you I'd seen them on the ferry," Muammar said. "I headed back to find them and bring them to your rescue."

  "Our rescue? Really?"

  "Well, sort of..."

  The others from the cave followed more sedately, and greeted Muammar warmly. Daffyd looked askance at Zufir and the other Bedouin, and moved to stand beside Dani as if to protect her. Zufir spoke, and Muammar translated.

  "You owe me a ransom," he said, a wolfish grin creasing his bearded face. "I am minded to double it for all the trouble you have given us. My brother Tahir has spilled blood and you must pay him."

  Dani nodded. "And so I shall. That man there..." She nodded in the direction of Sarraj, "...has gold in his pockets. It is yours as a reward for your service on behalf of Sheik ibn Hawid. It will cover the ransom and the blood price on your brother Tahir."

  Zufir swung round and stared at Sarraj. "Search him."

  A Bedouin grabbed the colonel and dug through his pockets, hauling out a dozen finger-length gold bars. He threw them down on the sand and let out an ululating cry of joy and triumph.

  Sarraj moved, his hand snaking inside his jacket. He stepped forward, a pistol suddenly in his hand and fired into the Bedouin's back, striding forward even as the man started falling and, pushing Daffyd to one side, took hold of D
ani. One arm swept around her neck and the other pressed the barrel of the pistol to her right temple.

  "Have no doubt;" Sarraj said coldly, "I will kill Dr Hanser if anyone tries to stop us leaving."

  "You won't kill me," Dani said calmly. "It would not be in your interests to try."

  "You forget I am the military authority here. No one will question me should an unfortunate accident occur."

  "Alif, Abu," Zufir rapped out. "Aim at the army man. If he kills the woman, shoot him dead. If he does not release her in a minute, shoot him dead anyway."

  The two Bedouin raised their rifles obediently, but Alif said, "If we shoot him, we may hit the woman also."

  "It is a price that must be paid," Zufir replied. "I will have vengeance for my brother Tahir's wound and for the life of my brother Abdul who now lies dead at this man's hand."

  "Surrender," Dani said, "And I'll protect you."

  "You? Protect me?" Sarraj uttered a bitter laugh. He started shuffling toward the jeep, and the two Bedouin moved with him, maintaining their aim. "Stay back."

  Sarraj bumped his hip on the jeep and stumbled, recovering himself quickly, but Dani dropped to her knees, wrenching herself free of Sarraj's grasp and elbowing him sharply in the groin as she fell. The two Bedouin fired their rifles, missing him as the colonel doubled over in pain. He held onto his gun though, and shot the Bedouin kneeling beside Massri, thrusting him out of the way and scrambling behind the jeep. Rifle bullets slammed into the vehicle, narrowly missing Dani.

  She waved back Daffyd who started across to help her, and called out to Sarraj again. "Surrender, Colonel. Please. It's not too late."

  "Too late for you, bitch." Sarraj lifted his gun and took aim at Dani, ignoring the bullets that hissed past him.

  "Shoot him, you imbeciles," Zufir yelled.

  Sarraj's hand trembled, and an agonised expression gripped his sweating face. "H...help me. Allah, I call on you..."

  Abruptly, Colonel Sarraj brought the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger. His head jerked sideways in a shower of blood and bone fragments, and an instant later, a rifle bullet caught him in the chest and another in the shoulder, flinging his lifeless body backward onto the hot sand.

  Daffyd rushed to Dani's side and held her, wiping away spatters of blood with his handkerchief, the others close behind.

  "Set's breath," Daffyd murmured. "That was a close one. It was the scarab wasn't it?"

  Dani offered up a shaky smile. "You know, I quite forgot to ask him, but perhaps he was listening from earlier."

  Captain Massri, the sole survivor of Sarraj's squad, got shakily to his feet, holding onto the jeep for support. He limped across to the group around Dani, putting them between him and Zufir, who had now turned to his fallen comrades.

  "I...I surrender to you, D...Dr Hanser," Massri stuttered. He offered up his pistol and Marc grabbed it, stuffing it into his belt.

  Zewali went over to where the colonel's body lay and squatted beside it, looking down dispassionately at the ruin of the man's head. "He died with Allah's name on his lips," he said. "Perhaps God will have mercy on him."

  Zufir's men were swarming over the corpses of the soldiers, stripping them of items of clothing, their boots, rifles and wallets. The Bedouin leader saw Dani watching him and grinned fiercely.

  "We take what is our due, infidel, and leave you your lives."

  "Leave us the jeeps too," she said. "We will need them to return to Luxor."

  Zufir nodded. "You have more gold?"

  Dani patted her pockets. "No."

  "If the gold had been yours I would have left you some, but it belonged to that piece of offal, so it is mine now."

  "Then go in peace, Zufir ibn Walid. You have been rewarded for your trouble."

  The Bedouin gathered together their spoils and loaded their two dead comrades and the wounded Tahir onto their camels and departed, heading westward. Daffyd organised a burial party and they searched out the fallen soldiers, carrying them into camp and laid them out while Massri identified them and made notes. They dug a mass grave in the lee of the hill, covering the soldiers with sand and rocks, and erecting a small cairn of rocks as a marker. Sarraj they buried separately as Captain Massri did not want his men associated in death with such a wicked man.

  "He might have died with God's Name on his lips," the Captain said, "But Iblis had already claimed his black soul. I do not want the fires of hell touching the souls of my men."

  "Speaking of black-hearted bastards," Marc said. "Where's Bashir?"

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ahmed Bashir had been making an inventory of the contents of the chamber. He had freed the gold bars from the rotted detritus of the boxes and bags they had once been held in, and stacked them neatly to one side. The hippopotamus ivory made another less neat stack, and he noted down how many of each there were, estimating the value of each pile.

  "It's not right," he commented. "I get the artefacts, while Michel gets the bullion. There must be a million pounds worth here, but only a handful of necklaces. Is that fair?"

  Dr Hosni Maroun, his arms folded, regarded the Minister with distaste. "You are both thieves and will not get away with this."

  "I am not a thief," Bashir said hotly. "This treasure is mine by right of discovery. I was the one in charge of the expedition in Syria that discovered the inscription. It was by my efforts that we found the tomb, so of course I must have a share of its contents."

  Bashir gently teased the necklaces and pectorals away from the overlying debris, collecting up loose beads and wrapping them in twists of paper torn from a notebook. Then he started searching through the rest of the chamber. He gazed at the faded paint on the cedar wood panels and nodded.

  "I know collectors who would pay handsomely for these."

  A decayed box in a corner yielded statues, tiny figurines of men and women carved from wood or lapis, a few with gold leaf, and more fashioned from faience.

  "Not of any intrinsic value, but better than nothing, I suppose. I don't know why they couldn't be solid gold though."

  "That wasn't the point of them," Maroun said. "Don't you know anything about the things you loot? Those are shabti figures and represent servants that were there to do the bidding of the deceased. They're very common."

  "Where are the gold statues, the scarabs and things like that?" Bashir complained. His gaze roamed the chamber and stopped at the coffins. He crossed to them and stood looking at them with hunger on his face.

  "Dr Hanser appealed to my decency just now, and I listened to her. I abstained from opening them. Yet there is little else in the tomb, and unless I open the coffins, Sarraj will walk away a rich man and I will remain poor."

  "You are trying to justify your actions," Maroun said. "It will not work. Your actions are despicable."

  "You think I care what you say? You are nothing to me. If I choose to open them I will." Bashir brought one of the kerosene lanterns over and held it high, looking over the pitted and cracked coffin with the faded, painted features of a king of Egypt and of a royal, though indisputably female person.

  "I should open them, if only to check that the mummies are in good condition."

  "If you do, you will put them at risk," Maroun said. "Sarcophagi should only be opened where trained archaeologists can control the conditions. Plundering of a mummy's wrappings has resulted in much destruction."

  "I'm not going to plunder, just to look."

  Maroun snorted. Bashir knelt beside the coffin of Smenkhkare and examined it by the light of the lantern. He ran his hands around it, seeking the join between base and lid, tugging at it futilely. He took a penknife from his pocket and worked the blade into the hairline crack, twisting it. The blade tore through the decaying wood and then, all of a sudden, the lid creaked and lifted a fraction.

  Bashir gave a grin of triumph and slid the blade along a few inches, twisting and tugging with his other hand. He was rewarded
by another groan of yielding wood, and the lid lifted a little more.

  "Enough, I beg you," Maroun said. "You are damaging priceless artefacts."

  Bashir ignored the archaeologist. He got to his feet and stooped over the coffin, dug his fingertips into the narrow crack and heaved upward. The lid came free, clattering on the floor of the chamber and stale, musty, dust-laden air still smelling faintly of spices and resins after three thousand years gusted over him, making him cough. The mummy of the king lay in repose, swaddled with brown and black-stained cloths. Vaguely, through the coverings, Bashir could make out the corpse's arms crossed over his chest, and the thin, eviscerated body, but the face made him gasp. Covering the head and shoulders of the mummy was the golden mask of a young man, his features clear and calm, the sightless eyes staring into infinity. The gold glowed warmly in the lantern light and Bashir fell to his knees again, tentatively reaching out to touch the cool metal.

  "That is an artefact," the Minister said, "And as such, it belongs to me. It is worth a fortune."

  "It belongs to the people of Egypt," Dr Maroun said.

  Bashir took hold of each side of the mask with his hands and pulled. The whole mummy rose slightly in its wooden sarcophagus, but the mask did not separate from the body. He tried again, with a similar lack of success.

  "Why won't it come free?" Bashir asked in frustration.

  "Gums and resins used in the bandages have stuck face and mask together. Please cease your efforts. You could do irreparable damage to the mummy--even bend the mask."

  "That wouldn't do," Bashir declared. "It would lower the price I could get for it." He thought for a few minutes, staring down at the peaceful golden features. "I might have to remove the head and apply heat to melt the gums."

  Maroun gasped in horror and stepped forward as if to contest Bashir's possession of the mummy, but the Minister laughed and slashed the air with his penknife blade, sending the archaeologist reeling back.

  "I'll leave it for now," Bashir said. "Let's see whether the woman has a similar mask. She was the king's sister, after all."

  Maroun turned and ran from the chamber, followed by Bashir's laughter. He fled along the passage and into the outer cave, emerging onto the ledge and staring down blankly at the ravaged camp site and the people standing around.