Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  They soon pulled to a stop; as Hafez had indicated, the tomb of the god-king’s daughter had been discovered by accident and relatively close to the narrow entrance to the Valley of the Kings, cleft in the bedrock. The unlooked-for presence of the princess lent credence to the theory that there were more tombs in the immediate area—including that of the great Seti himself—and the find had inspired other Egyptologists to carefully survey the area for clues. They could be seen scattered along the high cliffs, wearing broad hats and tapping the rocks and crevices with long slender poles, their native guides alongside them. Hattie contemplated the topography, and decided it was an excellent place to store weapons and treasure that may be needed at a moment’s notice—the area was desolate and yet was relatively close to the river.

  The entrance to the hillside excavation was cordoned off and manned by two armed guards who were seated in the shade of a small makeshift awning. While the ladies remained in the cart beneath their parasols, Berry and Hafez approached the guards and presented their bona fides. The moment that the gentlemen made reference to Hattie became evident as both guards looked her way with interest.

  “I am infamous,” Hattie remarked with a sigh.

  Bing could not disagree. “It is a compelling story and some curiosity is to be expected. You are a sympathetic figure.”

  Hattie remembered what had happened outside the consulate. “I hope they do not recognize my supposed likeness to the princess—they will expect me to raise the level of the Nile or some such thing.”

  “They do not appear credulous,” Bing remarked. “And they wear British uniforms.”

  The two men returned to escort the ladies to the tomb, having secured the permission of the guards. Hafez was red-faced and unhappy and the nature of his complaint soon emerged.

  “…it is an insult and I shall make a complaint through diplomatic channels.”

  Berry soothed him, “I imagine there is a concern for Mademoiselle Blackhouse’s safety—it is unknown as yet what has happened to her parents, or who was responsible.”

  “Nonetheless,” the other exclaimed angrily. “I should have been consulted.”

  “Why, what has happened, Mr. Hafez?” Bing touched his sleeve in sympathy.

  “The consul has stationed British guards here in place of the usual ones.” He bowed his head to Hattie in apology. “I mean no offense to you, Miss Blackhouse—but it must be remembered your parents had no claim to the tomb itself, and neither does the English king.”

  “I quite understand,” she soothed, and did not look at Berry. “It is indeed an affront to you, and you are ill-served.”

  Her mild outrage seemed to mollify the minister. “Exactly so—an affront.”

  “I can’t imagine the soldiers would think to countermand you—after all, you serve the viceroy.” Unspoken was the addendum that as matters stood, it was not a calamity, perhaps, to ingratiate the British.

  On reflection, Hafez appeared to come to the same conclusion. “True,” he agreed. Drawing a sigh, he shook his head. “I must apologize; I am beset by troubles and should not have lost my temper.”

  “Small blame to you,” offered Bing. “It is as though your poor country is the prize in a tug-of-war, and you are merely a bystander.”

  Only the stakes are not at all like the children’s game, thought Hattie. Too many have died, and I imagine more are slated to die before it is all over. Gazing around her at the tombs, she wondered if anything had changed over the millennia, and very much doubted it. It seemed there would always be conquerors and those who resisted them—and the bloody havoc that was the certain result.

  “Shall we go inside?” Berry was apparently not as interested in human nature and its historical ramifications as he was in securing the missing disk from the body of the mummified princess.

  The gentlemen assisted the ladies up the crude wooden steps that had been applied to the hillside to expedite access to the tomb. A narrow entryway hewn into the rock was revealed at the crest, and several wooden signs were posted; one contained a warning in several languages, including English. Normally, the tomb entrances were fashioned on a downhill slope but this one was unusual in that it was located on a hillside. As a result, the rubble of the excavation had been cleared out a smoot hole to the side of the entry and a long cascade of discarded rocks and rubble sloped down the hill.

  One sign warned of severe penalties for trespassing and another indicated the tomb was presumably that of Seti’s daughter. Hattie found it unfair that history defined the princess only by whose daughter she was—the slight was one well familiar to her. “Isn’t there a record of her name somewhere?”

  “Seti had many daughters and her name is as yet unknown,” Hafez explained. “We are hopeful that soon we can make a determination based upon the hieroglyphics in the chamber. What we can translate, however, refers to the pharaoh’s ‘hidden treasure.’ It is possible that the description is actually a form of her name but we are not yet certain.”

  “A devotion that transcends time,” Bing observed. “Most touching.”

  Hafez gestured to another wooden sign, this one written in Arabic. “A warning to tomb raiders of the terrible punishment that will be imposed,” he explained. “It also warns of the curse—and those who have died—for added menace. The thieves are almost impossible to thwart, but we must make the attempt—otherwise, if there are rumors of treasure the guards will be attacked.”

  At the mention of the curse, Hattie was suddenly reminded that this visit could not be an easy one for Bing. Taking her companion’s hand, she offered, “If you’d rather wait outside, Bing, I will wait with you.”

  But the other woman only shook her head. “No, Hathor—Edward lived for this and he died for it, also. I hold no resentment, and would very much like to see what is inside.”

  Berry lit a lantern, and the party stepped inside the tomb of the god-king’s daughter.

  Chapter 29

  Hattie could immediately sense the antiquity of the place, the indescribably musty smell that resulted from centuries of isolation and airlessness. The dancing lantern light revealed a narrow entry hall carved from the rock that slanted downward for perhaps two dozen yards or so, and then made an abrupt turn to the left, presumably into the burial chamber. The men were forced to bend over to navigate the low-ceilinged entry hall and no one spoke at first, the weight of history having put paid to any trivial thoughts. Hattie grazed her hand along the wall as she walked and then withdrew it, thinking of the countless hands that had done the same.

  They confronted the burial chamber at the end of the entry passage, and Hattie saw that the excavators had mounted the stone door to the chamber onto a wooden frame with leather handles so that it could be slid aside more easily. Hafez did the honors, and the group entered the chamber, where the ceiling was higher and the men could now stand erect.

  Once within, Hattie paused and the others were also silent as they gazed around the sanctuary, the men holding the lanterns aloft. The soft light revealed a chamber perhaps fifteen feet by thirty, the room dominated by a free-standing sarcophagus that stood at the far end. Hafez swung the lantern to illuminate the walls and Hattie could hear Bing’s delighted intake of breath. The chamber was bordered at the bottom by a pattern of brightly colored lotus blossoms and palm leaves, and the upper walls revealed illustrations and hieroglyphics, the vibrant hues presumably chronicling the life of the decedent. Bing walked toward one, leaning to scrutinize it with her hands clasped behind her back. “Horus,” she pronounced, “—borne on the horns of the bull, Apis. And here is Priapus, being carried in triumph to the underworld.”

  “Preserved in the same condition as the day they were drawn,” agreed Hafez with reverence. “It is of all things remarkable.”

  “Are there illustrations of the princess?” asked Hattie, trying to make sense of the fantastic renderings that covered the walls.

  “None that are labeled as such,” Hafez explained. “Although oftentimes in thes
e tombs the deceased is drawn in, consorting with the gods.”

  “Edward believed there was no likeness portrayed,” Bing noted. “He was greatly disappointed.”

  Looking about her, Hattie realized the sarcophagus was the only remaining artifact in the sanctuary. The heavy reliquary was not gold-gilt as so many others were; instead it was plainly decorated, of carved rose-colored stone.

  “Unusual,” mused Bing as she walked to stand beside it. “The sarcophagus is alabaster, which was used at a later time, not at the time of Seti. And it seems a bit plain for a beloved princess; perhaps there was a reason for haste, or there was fear of contagion.”

  “Perhaps,” the minister agreed. “Or tomb raiders have stripped whatever precious metals and gems adorned it—I’m afraid we will never know its original condition.”

  “She has lain here for so long,” said Bing in a quiet tone, standing in contemplation of the stone sarcophagus. “It does give one pause.”

  “It was built to withstand eternity.” Hafez indicated the drawings on the ceiling with his hand, tilting the lantern’s shield so as to provide illumination. “The Book of Heavens often decorates the ceiling—it depicts the journey of the sun god through the darkness. The emphasis is upon the eternal, not the worldly. It is ironic that the Book of Heavens looks down on the tomb raiders, who will gladly risk eternal damnation for worldly goods.”

  To cut short such tedious philosophizing, Hattie produced her sketchpad and pretended to begin a sketch of the ceiling, hoping Bing would take her cue and create a diversion.

  Alive to her role, Bing turned to the minister. “Edward mentioned in one of his letters a trap door near the entry, but I did not notice one. Do you know of it, Mr. Hafez?”

  Hafez turned to stare at her, much struck. “Did he? Why—I have never heard of such a thing.”

  “I have my parasol,” Bing indicated, brandishing it. “Shall we do some prodding?”

  While the minister indicated an eager consent, Hattie demurred, “I shall stay and sketch, I believe.” Hafez was too distracted to think of chaperoning duties and in short order she was left alone with Berry in the burial chamber. Wasting no time, they both leapt to the sarcophagus, Berry testing the weight of the lid. “It is heavy,” he warned. “Step back and mind your fingers.”

  Straining, he pressed upward with his palms and shifted the stone lid to one side while Hattie held the lantern aloft. A dark cavity within the sarcophagus was revealed, and Hattie felt a moment’s qualm at thus desecrating a grave site. I beg your pardon, she offered; but it will only be for a moment and the stakes are quite high.

  With the lid balanced off-kilter, Berry took the lantern from Hattie and lowered it into the sarcophagus, Hattie, on tiptoe, leaning in to see. It was completely empty.

  Berry cursed softly and fluently in his own strange language.

  “I don’t understand,” said Hattie in bewilderment. “Who would take her? Who else would know of the disk?” Nonplussed, she looked across at him, and saw that he was frowning, thinking.

  “I know not.”

  Hattie was doing some thinking, herself. “Even if the disk were the object, there seems little point in taking the entire mummy.”

  When he did not respond, she tried to find some encouragement to offer. “I suppose we could make a hit-and-miss attempt, to guess which way is intended to be north on the senet board—there are only four possibilities.”

  But he was not to be consoled and bent his head between his arms in frustration. “You are assuming it is that simple—the reference may not be to points on a compass.”

  Gauging the level of his frustration, she inquired softly, “Is there so little time, then?”

  “There is little time,” he agreed, his jaw line rigid.

  Ominous to think the Corsican Monster would soon make another attempt at world domination, but she did not doubt Berry’s mysterious sources and stood in sympathetic support while he contemplated this latest catastrophe. “Surely no one else knows of the senet board,” she consoled him, “—even if some unknown rival has secured the disk.”

  He looked at her but she could see his mind was elsewhere. “It makes little sense.”

  After waiting for a few moments in respectful silence she ventured, “We’d best put it to rights. I imagine Robbie will appear in short order.”

  The topic, however, seemed only to exacerbate his foul mood as he shoved the lid back into place with an angry gesture. “You must not allow him to touch you.”

  Hattie was surprised. “Does he touch me?”

  “Yes.” The syllable was bitten off. “He does.” He aligned the lid so that it was straight and wouldn’t look at her.

  “I love you,” she said simply, the words echoing in the stone chamber. “You have no reason to be jealous—he is like a brother to me and nothing more.”

  He was not happy with his own loss of composure, she could see, but he seemed unable to stop himself. “It is you who were jealous of Madame Auguste,” he reminded her.

  This, of course, was undisputable, and seemed as though it had happened a hundred years ago. Calmly, she replied, “That was before I met you—when I just wanted to marry someone and start my life. I love you. I will never love another.”

  They faced each other in the flickering light across the empty sarcophagus for a long moment. “Good,” he said.

  Chapter 30

  Voices could be heard echoing in the entryway; Bing and Hafez speaking to Robbie with Bing’s level of volume raised so as to give them warning. Berry moved quickly to stand by the door while Hattie went to the opposite corner with her sketchbook. She made a half-hearted attempt to sketch the bull, but an observer could be forgiven for thinking her rendering nothing like the original. The bull’s name was Apis, Bing had said, so she dutifully wrote the name down so as to give more credence to her questionable endeavors. It was undoubtedly some god who turned into other things—as did the Greek gods, who were constantly causing problems for humankind by such maneuvers. A ridiculous religion, truly, that tried to convince one that one’s king was, in fact, a god. Wellington had famously said that no man is a hero to his valet and it could be presumed that the pharaoh’s servants were very much aware their master was not, in fact, a god—it was only a farce to enforce a hidden agenda. Her hand stilled. A farce, she thought, gazing up at nothing in particular. Why, I believe that is the solution to this puzzle.

  Distracted, she didn’t even notice that Robbie had come into the chamber until he was next to her. “Hattie,” he apologized with some ruefulness. “I’m afraid I overslept.”

  Aware that he had placed a hand beneath her elbow, she carefully withdrew it—no point in inciting fisticuffs—not with Berry in his current mood. “Small matter, Robbie—we are only just getting our bearings, and Bing and Mr. Hafez are looking for hidden trapdoors.”

  “Capital,” he said with some enthusiasm. “Perhaps there is one in the entryway.” He looked about. “I need some sort of a prod.”

  “I have a knife,” offered Berry, and pulled one out of his boot.

  “Excellent,” said Robbie, taking it. “But what will you use?”

  “I have another,” said Berry, and pulled a wicked-looking, narrow dagger from a sheath at his waist, which earned him a long look from Hattie. She wandered after the two men as they exited into the entry hall to discuss who would cover which area. Both then knelt to prod the packed earth with their knives, moving along slowly, foot by foot. Robbie would occasionally direct Berry, who would obey him in his best imitation of a subservient. Her mind filled with her new theory, Hattie squeezed by them so as to rejoin Bing but she took the opportunity to run a caressing hand down Berry’s back as she passed him by—it seemed like years since he had held her in his arms, and she was growing impatient.

  She found Bing and the minister near the entrance, discussing the likeliest location for a hidden underground chamber. Hattie explained the search that was underway in the entry passage and with much
enthusiasm, the minister took Bing’s parasol and went to their aid.

  When he was out of earshot, Bing pounced on Hattie. “Well?”

  “Nothing—no mummy in the sarcophagus.”

  Shocked, Bing’s brows drew together. “How extraordinary. And it seemed so promising.”

  “I don’t know, Bing—I am thinking there never was a mummy to begin with.”

  “Are you indeed?” asked Bing, crossing her arms. “Well.”

  Hattie explained, “Remember what Edward wrote—that he thought the find was inconsistent with what my parents believed?”

  “He did,” Bing agreed. “But he deferred to your parents and kept his doubts to himself.”

  In a low tone, Hattie continued, “Don’t you see? If my parents determined this was the tomb of Seti’s daughter, no one would dare question it. Not even Edward, who could see for himself that this was actually—I don’t know—probably only some sort of minor official.”

  Bing considered, one hand on her chin. “It is true the sarcophagus does not match the dateline. But to what end, Hathor?”

  Brought up short, Hattie tried to think of a non-treasonous explanation to relate to Bing. “Perhaps to have a secret place to store something valuable? Museum pieces,” she suggested vaguely, “—or something.”

  “But why wouldn’t Mr. Hafez be aware of this deception, if this were the case?”

  “Perhaps they didn’t trust him.” Glancing at her companion, she then suggested, “Or perhaps they were doing something unlawful.”

  “Unthinkable,” Bing protested. “On the other hand, Monsieur Berry warned us not to speak of the chamber to Mr. Hafez.”

  “It does not look well for Mr. Hafez,” Hattie agreed tentatively. “Say nothing as yet—allow me to speak to Monsieur Berry about it.”