Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  “No,” the other corrected, “General Picton—and Colonel William Merryfield was my commanding officer.”

  Berry is testing him, thought Hattie as she studied her cards. Because in his mysterious business, you do not trust anyone and the good vicar suddenly seeks our company.

  “Was the 3rd Division involved in any of Wellington’s great victories?” asked Bing. “I’m afraid I must profess some ignorance.”

  “I had the honor of meeting the Iron Duke at Salamanca,” Smithson replied, “and heard his stirring exhortations before the coming battle. A great man—one could sense it immediately.”

  “‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,’” quoted Bing, impressed. “‘For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’ How fortunate, to take part in such events.”

  Making a discard, the other shook his head. “I’m afraid I shall not ‘stand a tip toe when this day is named.’ War is a terrible thing—thank heaven it finally came to an end.”

  “I beg your pardon,” said Bing, a trifle mortified.

  “Oh dear—I meant no rebuke,” the other explained hastily. “There is no question that this was a just war, and well fought by the Allies; I only regret the necessity.”

  Hattie noted that the other man did not inquire after Berry’s service, probably because Berry was, to all appearances, French and there was every likelihood the two men fought against each other—good manners precluded such a pursuit. I wonder for whom he fought, if anyone, Hattie thought, watching Berry from beneath her lashes. And if he also saw heavy action or if he merely lurked behind the scenes as he does here.

  They played for an hour and then Smithson stood to take his leave, thanking them for allowing him the pleasure. “A very amiable man,” pronounced Bing, watching him leave. “It appears he has hidden depths.”

  But Berry was not interested in pleasantries, and dealt another hand so that it appeared they continued to play. “You have made a translation?”

  “Yes—as you say, I believe it is a map. The disks are marked with a pair of numbers that correspond to squares on the board, rather like ‘four across and two down.’ When they are laid out in order on the board, the measurements upon them explain the direction and how many feet to travel to follow the map.”

  “Excellent,” Berry said with approval. “You have done extraordinary work.”

  But Bing made a gesture of regret. “Unfortunately, there was one additional safeguard made to ensure the secrecy of the clues. One cannot ascertain where the map begins or ends without some sort of starting point and a reference to a compass of some sort.”

  The other two stared at her. “It does not explain which way is north?” asked Hattie.

  Bing nodded. “From what I can understand, the disk at the center of the puzzle must be replaced with another to ascertain this information—and the location of the missing disk is disclosed upon the false one.”

  “Well then, Bing; where is the missing disk?” asked Hattie impatiently.

  “It is affixed on the princess herself,” explained Bing in a regretful tone. “Inside the sarcophagus.”

  Chapter 27

  “‘The hundred-gated Thebes,’” quoted Bing in reverent tones as she stood on the deck, shading her eyes against the bright sun. “Sacred city to countless generations of the ancients.”

  The barge had docked at the wooden quay the night before and its passengers now prepared to disembark onto the embankment, which was enclosed by a gated palisade hewn from new wood. Observing it, Hattie noted, “It seems the dock here is more secure than the one in Cairo.”

  “Of a necessity,” explained Hafez, who stood beside them. “Visitors must now register upon arrival and no one may depart absent a search of the vessel. Fortunately, the river is the only practical means of transportation and this allows us to control the comings and goings. We must do what we can to prevent the further depletion of my country’s treasures.”

  With a nod of her head, Bing indicated the west bank on the opposite side of the wide river, the ruins of the Necropolis near the shore and the famed barren cliffs rising starkly in the background. “Edward said it was helpful that the only entrance to the Valley of the Kings is narrow—any other entry or exit is nearly impossible.”

  Hattie held the brim of her straw hat pulled low over her eyes, and tilted her head back to contemplate the famous Necropolis across the Nile. That morning she had noted with some alarm that she was indeed so brown that she could be mistaken for an American Indian; it came from walking on the deck in the hopes of meeting up with Berry. Poor Bing, on the other hand, was deprived of her sun bonnet as it served as the hiding place for the senet board. “The tombs are beyond those cliffs in the back?”

  Hafez nodded. “And within them—as Miss Bing indicates, there is a single narrow entrance to the Valley.” Leaning over, he pointed to explain the location on the opposite shore and Hattie was impressed—despite herself—by the sheer history of it.

  Turning her gaze to the east bank, where they were now docked, Hattie asked the minister, “And Thebes is on this side?”

  “Thebes is actually on both sides of the river; the town and the principal temples are on the east bank—where we are—and the west bank consists of the Necropolis and the tombs. Most of the government offices are here on the east bank, and I shall register with the local authorities so that they are aware of our presence.” On a somber note he added, “Ever since your parents disappeared there are additional precautions—the authorities wish to be informed of all visitors.”

  Reminded, Hattie turned back toward the Valley of the Kings. “Where is the new tomb? Is it located near the tomb of Seti?”

  “The princess’s tomb is the one nearest to the entrance—closest to the river. It was discovered almost by accident—a pile of rubble obscured the entrance and the tomb is not a large one. It is presumed that Seti’s tomb is nearby, but it has yet to be discovered.”

  “Her tomb is most unusual,” noted Bing. “The queens and princesses were normally buried in the Valley of the Queens, which is opposite to the Valley of the Kings and nowhere near as grand.”

  Hafez agreed. “It is theorized that Seti the Great could not bear to have his beloved daughter so far removed from him in death.”

  How gratifying—to be a cherished daughter, Hattie thought with a pang, then quickly diverted her thoughts by looking about her for Berry; they had made a plan to rifle the sarcophagus and secure the missing disk first thing this morning. Hopefully it would be apparent upon opening; Hattie was uneasy with the idea of disturbing the mummified princess. However, instead of Berry she observed the Cantons, coming their way to bid them goodbye before they caught another vessel for Abu Simbel, further up the river.

  Shaking hands, Mr. Canton said in his hearty manner, “Good luck, Miss Blackhouse—perhaps we shall return to Cairo together at the conclusion of our respective visits.”

  “I would enjoy it very much,” said Hattie politely.

  With a meaningful look, the bluff man added, “Our oldest son is a likely lad—perhaps you will permit him to call upon you once you are back in England.”

  “Frederick,” remonstrated his embarrassed wife. “I beg your pardon, Miss Blackhouse—pay no attention to my husband’s schemings.”

  The man laughed good-naturedly. “Can’t blame me—imagine sitting down to the Christmas goose with the Blackhouses—I couldn’t ask for more in life.”

  Hattie laughed also, to show she wasn’t offended. Best not to mention she had never sat down to the Christmas goose with the Blackhouses, either—Christmas was instead a merry affair spent at the busy Tremaine household with Robbie and his family. Hattie had a strong premonition, however, that her next Christmas would be spent elsewhere—the exact location as yet unknown. With defiance, she lifted her face to the sun, unable to suppress her happiness. I decided to seize hold of my life, she thought, and instead my life seized hold of me.

  As the Cantons waved and left th
em, Berry joined the party on deck. Watching him, Hattie thought he seemed a bit preoccupied. “Is all in train?” she asked in a low voice as he stood between Hattie and Bing. They had decided that Bing would distract the minister once they were at the tomb so that she and Berry were left in the inner chamber with the sarcophagus. As an excuse, Hattie was to pretend to sketch the interior, which was truly a deceit—Hattie was no artist. Berry had at first been reluctant to allow her to participate in the tomb-raiding scheme but she had insisted. “It is my inheritance, after all,” she had said in front of Bing, and so he had been outmaneuvered.

  “Yes—do you have your sketchbook?”

  It was actually Bing’s sketchbook as Hattie would have scorned such an accessory, but she nodded nonetheless. Glancing around to see that no one was within earshot, she asked a question that had occurred to her last night. “Did you have an opportunity to translate the Napoleonic cipher on my disk? Perhaps it is a second source, so to speak, and we needn’t disentomb the miserable princess.”

  “Yes—but it was not helpful; the words on your disk refer the reader to the senet board, and since we are already aware of the senet board’s existence it proved of little help.” Bending his head, he met her eyes and addressed her in a very serious tone. “Now that we are to travel on land you must stay close to me at all times. Do not speak to any strangers—I will have your promise on this, Hattie.”

  Hattie nodded, her expression somber for a moment—it was easy to forget that opposing forces were intensely interested in the secret chamber and by extension, in what she knew.

  Reading her thoughts, he added. “You will be kept safe. I will see to it.”

  Eugenie drifted up beside them in a cloud of perfume and Berry gave her a severe glance. “You must not cause trouble, Eugenie—I will send you home.”

  “Bah,” the other girl exclaimed in disgust. “Who would believe such a rich man would have such a cheap watch?”

  “Did you return it?”

  Her pretty bosom rose as she sighed with regret. “But of course—I do as you say.”

  Hattie inferred that Mr. Canton had been her unknowing victim and was intrigued. “How did you manage to get close enough?”

  Eugenie gave her an arch look, the implication of which Hattie found a bit shocking but Berry forestalled any further explanation. “You are not getting close enough where you need to.” He threw a meaningful glance back at Hafez, who was standing next to Bing and conversing with her in an animated fashion as he gestured toward the landmarks on shore.

  Eugenie pouted and protested, “What am I to do?” She shook her head in exasperation. “A very strange man, that.”

  Hiding a smile, Hattie suggested, “You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink.”

  “Eh bien,” Eugenie nodded her head emphatically. “He does not wish to drink the water.”

  “Make him thirsty,” Berry ordered her.

  Eugenie tossed her head toward Hattie. “Perhaps this one should make the attempt—if she is so irresistable.”

  “I cannot hold a candle to Bing, I’m afraid,” Hattie demurred. She could almost sympathize; it must seem incomprehensible to the beautiful girl that both Berry and Hafez had other preferences.

  “Go,” directed Berry. As Eugenie turned with a flounce to join Bing and Hafez, Berry asked Hattie, “Where is Smithson? He could be of use.”

  Hattie blinked, as this seemed a non sequitur. “How so?”

  “There is an attraction, there,” he explained, as though to a child.

  Hattie stared at him. “Bing and Smithson? For the love of heaven—that woman is a siren.”

  But her sally earned her only a perfunctory smile as he watched the others. Deciding she may as well ask, Hattie ventured, “What is Eugenie supposed to discover?”

  Having no real expectation he would tell her, she was surprised when he replied, “There are the French, there are the British, and then there are the minister and his allies.”

  So—another potential enemy. “Perhaps he merely seeks to secure his country and its treasures against the others.” In Hattie’s opinion, Hafez truly did not seem to represent a hazard.

  “He is dangerous because he is uncertain—I believe it was he who sent the man who was in your room that night.”

  Hattie blinked. “Why—I assumed it was the French; after all, it is the French who seek the cache.”

  “No, it was not the French who sent the intruder,” he said with certainty. “Which leaves the minister, in league with your parents’ solicitor.” He paused. “And possibly Monsieur Auguste, when he yet lived.”

  Hattie looked at him in alarm. “If that was the alliance, then Hafez is the only one left alive. It is indeed ominous—small wonder if he is nervous.”

  Berry nodded. “Which is why he is dangerous.”

  “I don’t understand,” she said, thinking it over. “Why don’t you believe it was the French who came after me…?”

  “Hush, Hattie. Tell no one.” The words were barely out before Robbie joined them, his gaze meeting Hattie’s with a warning at finding her deep in conversation with Berry. He casually took her elbow to turn her toward himself. “Hallo, Hattie; monsieur.”

  After greetings were exchanged, Robbie deliberately addressed only Hattie. “Should we tour the Necropolis, Hattie? Although I’ll wager it isn’t half as fearsome as the Devere family cemetery was on a certain occasion.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she laughed. “But I am slated to tour my parents’ last excavation with the minister this morning.”

  “Perhaps I shall join you, then.”

  “Please,” Berry interjected. “I am certain the minister would be grateful for any assistance.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Hattie, thinking this was the last thing they wanted but willing to cooperate if Berry didn’t mind. “Do join us, Robbie.”

  Berry expressed his desire to make final arrangements and then excused himself, and Robbie’s gaze held a gleam of amusement as the other man left. “For all of his sobriety, I believe he has a tendre for you, Hattie—have a care you do not trifle with his heart.”

  “I am no trifler,” she protested in a mild tone, and left it at that. Robbie would discover soon enough how matters stood and it would be his turn to suffer a shock. Thank heaven for his faux betrothal; in retrospect, the late Madame Auguste had done her an enormous favor—Hattie would have never climbed out the window, else.

  Chapter 28

  A short time later, the party assembled on the gangway to disembark for the tomb. Hattie noted that Robbie was not present, and asked Berry in a low aside, “Confess; what have you done with the poor man?”

  “I imagine he has been delayed.” He met her eye. “He is a thirsty horse.”

  Sighing, she shook her head. “Poor Eugenie is doing yeoman’s work—I hope you are paying her well.”

  But Berry was unsympathetic. “It is no hardship for such as she.” Taking her arm, he led her down the wooden planks to the embankment. “He will want to join up with us, so we had best go quickly.”

  Accompanied by Bing and Hafez, they hired transport across the river in a felucca, one of the small sailing vessels that ferried residents and visitors alike across the Nile. Hattie had remembered her hat, and the veil attached to it fluttered in the breeze as the waterman navigated the boat to the west shore of the river, using the current to make the crossing as he skillfully plied the rudder. As they approached the opposite shore, Hattie contemplated the barren cliffs and thought, we are finally to meet—the princess and me—and at last I will see one of the famed Blackhouse excavations; I wish that I could muster some enthusiasm for either. She glanced at Berry to find his gaze upon her, and she had the brief impression he was worried, even though he gave no outward sign. With a pang, she remembered that her own petty concerns were as nothing compared to his concerns, which were to avert the next war. She smiled in encouragement and saw his face soften as he moved to sit beside her.

  �
�When we pass through the town, it would be best to keep your veil over your face—I would like to avoid attention.”

  “Shouldn’t I speak to the native workers—appeal to them?” It seemed unlikely that she could obscure her identity if this was the plan.

  “Not today,” he explained. “I must make some inquiries, first.”

  She nodded. “What are we to do once we find the secret chamber?” It had occurred to her that if he didn’t quite trust the British or the Egyptians, he was running out of candidates with whom to secure the cache—certainly they were not going to carry it away themselves.

  “We shall see,” was all he said, and she shot him a look so that he was aware she knew he was withholding information from her.

  “It is a delicate business,” he explained by way of apology. “We must await events.”

  I trust him—I do, she thought, as she looked away toward the approaching west bank. But I cannot help but wish that I had more answers and fewer questions.

  Once landed, they procured a transportation cart that was little more than a wagon with benches lining the interior. The carts served as the principal means of transportation for tourists and were commanded by local boys who were constantly flicking their sticks over the backs of the placid donkeys with little perceivable effect. A slow but steady progress was made past the Colossi that guarded the Necropolis and then they entered the Valley of the Kings, the winding dusty road all that was left of the watercourse that had existed unnumbered years ago. The legendary valley was a fantastic sight—devoid of any life form, the landscape consisting entirely of rubble and rock as far as the eye could see. The entrances to several tombs could be observed in the distance, marked by crude scaffolding and equipment at each site. The area had attracted European interest when Napoleon, fresh from his conquest of Egypt, had sent French explorers to conduct a survey of the area and as a result of this heightened interest, at least twenty more tombs had been recently discovered. As there were over three hundred known pharaohs, it seemed likely that many more would be unearthed; there was an intense worldwide interest in the excavations and Egyptian-themed furniture was all the rage—everywhere except the Blackhouse manor in Cornwall, which Bing had learned to her disappointment.