It felt wonderful.
As the roaring in my ears subsided I heard voices and laughter. The dancing must be over. People were coming out of the lounge. I didn’t know whether any of them had seen us. I didn’t care.
My evening bag had fallen to the deck. I picked it up, took out my handkerchief, and scrubbed my mouth. John had retreated into the shadow, his hand on his cheek. I threw the handkerchief down and walked away.
I didn’t want to go through the lounge. I knew I looked like a Gorgon, my hair straggling, my lip dripping blood and my face set in a snarl. After blundering up a stairway marked ‘Crew Only’ I reached the upper deck and made it to my room unobserved. I closed the curtains, then stripped and examined the damage. I ached in so many places it was hard to tell which hurt most. The reddened spots on my arms would be purple and black by morning. Nice, I thought. Mary and I could compare bruises.
I made it to the bathroom just in time. Kneeling by the commode, in the ultimate posture of humiliation, I faced the ugly truth. After the first split second that kiss had not been one-sided. If he hadn’t held my arms pinned, they would have been around him.
And he’d found the rose pendant. It had been outside my dress when I reached my room. The movements of those long deft fingers, tracing the length of the chain to where the rose rested between my breasts, had been prompted by curiosity and amused malice. What a boost to his ego that must have been, to find another infatuated woman wearing his trinket.
One hard tug snapped the chain. I threw the ornament across the room, stepped into the shower, and turned it on full blast.
I didn’t hear the pounding at the door till I turned off the water. It had to be Schmidt; nobody else would make such a racket. I might have expected he’d notice my absence and come looking for me. I swathed my dripping body and my bruises in a terry-cloth robe and went to open the door. He’d continue beating on it until I did.
He must have used shoe polish or some other water-soluble substance on his moustache. It had run, leaving long black streaks down his cheeks. He looked like Fu Manchu.
‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, looking me over critically. ‘You have been sick.’
‘How did you know?’
‘I know the look,’ said Schmidt. ‘Let me in. I will take care of you.’
I sighed and stepped back. ‘I don’t need you to take care of me, Schmidt, I just need to go to bed.’
‘Yes, that is true. We must be up at dawn, for the visit to Abydos. I will put you to bed.’
I laughed and started to protest. The laugh was a mistake. It stretched my lower lip and the cut opened up again. Schmidt’s face softened, and he said, in a voice he seldom used even to me, his favourite flunky, ‘You have done it for me, Vicky, when I was sick or hurting. Let me do something now for you.’
I bent my head to keep him from seeing the tears that stung my eyes. ‘Okay,’ I muttered. ‘Thanks, Schmidt. Just don’t suggest a glass of beer to settle my stomach.’
‘It is very good for a weak stomach,’ Schmidt said seriously. ‘However, I have something better. I will get it while you put on your nightgown. Unless you would like me to help you?’
He gave me a giggle and a leer and trotted out without waiting for an answer. I had time to change and hide the reddening bruises before he got back. He was so sweet and solicitous I swallowed the ghastly stuff he gave me without a whimper, and accepted a sleeping pill as well. After he had tucked me in he stood by the bed looking down at me.
‘Do you want to tell me what is wrong?’
I turned my head away. ‘Nothing’s wrong, Schmidt. I over-indulged, that’s all.’
‘Hmph,’ said Schmidt.
‘Good night, Schmidt. And thanks.’
‘Schlaf’ wohl, Vicky. And do not worry. Farther along we will know all about whatever it may be.’
He had deliberately garbled the quote to make me smile, so I smiled; he patted me clumsily on the shoulder and trotted out, leaving the bedside lamp burning. After he had gone I reached to turn it off. The rose pendant lay on the table, with the broken chain coiled around it like a tiny golden snake.
IV
I’d forgotten to leave a wake-up call, but Schmidt remembered. A good thing, too; I am not used to sleeping pills and I’d have snored on until mid-morning if he hadn’t telephoned to say he was on his way down.
‘Give me half an hour,’ I mumbled pathetically.
‘Fifteen minutes.’
Motivated by that promise or threat, I managed to get in and out of the shower and into my clothes before he arrived. I do not have transparent garments in my wardrobe – not for day wear, at any rate – so I had no trouble finding a shirt that covered the bruises, which were darkening as expected. Studying myself in the mirror I was pleased to find that the excesses – physical and emotional – of the previous night hadn’t left visible marks, and when Schmidt insisted we go down to breakfast I agreed. I wanted John to see me smiling and calm, cool, collected, and contemptuous.
He wasn’t in the dining room. Neither was Mary. The place was only half full, so I concluded the others were breakfasting in their rooms. Alice was sitting with Feisal; they waved and I waved, and joined Schmidt at a table as far from Alice as I could get. The less we were seen together, the safer for her.
She’d be looking for her contact when we went ashore. I wondered what disguise he’d assume – another tourist, a seller of souvenirs, a beggar? The set-up was perfect for a seemingly casual encounter, the sites were swarming with people. He’d be there, I felt sure. The change in schedule must be known to the authorities, and after Ali’s death it was imperative that they reestablish contact.
Schmidt stuffed himself with eggs and cornflakes and fruit and bread, and then proceeded to fill his pockets with titbits. For the cats? ‘Yes,’ said Schmidt, when I asked. ‘And the poor dogs. Ach, Vicky, it is sad to see – ’
Feisal interrupted the speech, stopping by our table on his way out to warn us we’d better hurry. ‘Don’t forget a hat, Vicky. We are farther south, and the sun is hot.’
I hoped that was a hint; but after I had dashed upstairs and opened the safe, nothing was there that hadn’t been there the night before. Maybe it was a hint of another kind? And maybe it wasn’t a hint of any kind. After deliberating for a few seconds I put the gun into my bag.
Most of the passengers had assembled. After all that time cruising, even the lazy ones were ready to go ashore. Schmidt had cornered Larry; ignoring his winks and nods, I joined Anna Blessington. She looked cute as a button, eyes bright in her wrinkled face, a broad-brimmed straw hat tied under her chin with a jaunty bow. The hands resting on her stick were mottled with age spots and twisted with arthritis. If she was a crook or a secret agent I’d turn in my Sherlock Holmes badge.
‘Did you enjoy the party last night?’ I asked.
‘Yes, it was splendid, wasn’t it?’ She grinned, producing an even more astonishing set of wrinkles. ‘Especially Feisal’s dancing. To think I am the only female whom he has held in his arms!’
‘I’m thinking of spraining my ankle,’ I admitted.
‘You don’t have to resort to such painful expedients, my dear.’ She hoisted herself to her feet and reached, unselfconsciously, for my arm. ‘Just till we get down the gangplank, if you don’t mind; it’s a bit steep.’
The ancient cemeteries and the temples that served them are in the desert; we had a long ride, through the cultivated fields and the town of Hammadi. The children were on their way to school; I was pleased to see girls among them, modestly clad in long-sleeved dark robes, their heads covered with white kerchiefs. Older women all wore black. Stalls along the street sold a variety of goods, from fruit and vegetables to cheap plastic dishes. After we left the town we drove through fields of cabbages and sugarcane. The road, paved but narrow, bordered a canal. We roared past donkeys loaded with reeds and rusty trucks loaded with pots and turbaned men riding bicycles, and another tourist bus.
The area outside the en
trance to the archaeological enclosure was a modern disaster – rows of stalls selling film and souvenirs, a couple of coffee shops with rows of rusting tables and chairs outside. Feisal raced around like a Border collie, shepherding us into a compact group and assuring Suzi, who kept trying to break away and head for the souvenirs, that she would have a chance to spend her money after we had seen the temple. He lost Schmidt when we started up the ramp to the entrance. looking back, I saw my boss surrounded by lean dogs and peremptory cats. Handing Anna over to Feisal, I went back to him.
‘For heaven’s sake, Schmidt, come on. Feisal has the tickets.’
Schmidt had emptied his pockets of food. His stricken face was turned towards a child who sat on a low wall nearby. The kid’s hand was out and he was whining for baksheesh. He had only one leg.
‘Ach, Vicky – ’
‘I know, Schmidt. I know. Come on.’
‘One moment only . . .’ He trotted towards the boy and filled the outstretched hand with crumpled bills. That wasn’t as generous as it sounds, since Egyptian currency consists mainly of paper money, the smallest being worth approximately ten cents. But I don’t think Schmidt looked at the numbers on the bills.
He’s a volatile old guy, though, and he cheered up after we got inside. There are those who consider the Abydos temples the most beautiful in Egypt, and I wouldn’t argue with them. Some of the other tourist favourites – Dendera, El Kab, Philae – are better preserved, but they date from the Greek or Ptolemaic period, a thousand years later. Abydos is Nineteenth Dynasty, one of the high points of Egyptian art.
Schmidt hauled out his camera and took pictures of everything. Then he forced it on me and made me take pictures of him in front of everything. Then he forced it on Bright, who happened to be nearby, and made Bright take pictures of both of us in front of . . . well, practically everything. By the time we reached the inner courtyard he’d used up the first roll of film and retired behind a pillar to reload.
I took advantage of his absence to escape, not only from Schmidt’s obsession with snapshots, but from the others. Feisal was lecturing. I didn’t want to hear a lecture, I just wanted to look.
Some of the others had wandered off too. I saw Alice going up the steps that led into the Hypostyle Hall and John and Mary, hand in hand, following her. Bright and Sweet were nowhere around.
Perched on a low foundation wall of cut stone, I sat soaking it all in and trying not to think about what Alice might be doing. I sincerely hoped she was doing it, but I didn’t want to think about it. After a while Feisal led the group into the pillared hall. I went on sitting. It was hot, but not unbearably so. The square pillars of the vestibule opposite were decorated with the mighty form of pharaoh being greeted by various gods. Exposed as these were, they had lost most of the paint that had once covered them. I tipped my hat so it shaded my eyes and relaxed. Gradually the voices of guides lecturing in six different languages faded into an agreeable background hum, and somehow I wasn’t at all surprised to see that the reliefs were now bright with fresh paint, the king’s body and limbs red-brown, his crown a soft blue, his collar and bracelets picked out with turquoise and gold.
One of the painted figures stepped out of the pillar. He wasn’t wearing a crown, and his hair was pale gold, not black. Raising one eyebrow at me in distant acknowledgment, he turned and began removing objects from the wall. They solidified and took on dimension in his hands: jewelled and beaded collars, heavy bracelets, golden cups, bowls and containers . . .
‘There you are.’
I shook the sleep from my eyes and looked up. The figure standing over me wasn’t wearing a white kilt and beaded collar but dust-coloured pants and shirt. Larry gave me a tentative smile. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’
‘It’s a good thing you did. I was about to fall over.’
‘Some of us are going to have a look at the Old Kingdom tombs,’ Larry explained. ‘Anton thought you might want to come along.’
‘The First Dynasty royal tombs? I thought nothing remained of them.’
‘Nothing worth visiting, no. But there are tombs of all periods here; this was one of the holiest places in Egypt, the legendary site of the tomb of Osiris. Last year an expedition from Boston located a new cemetery of Fourth Dynasty burials. Normally tourists aren’t allowed, but I happen to know the chap in charge and . . . He broke off, eyeing me doubtfully. ‘But perhaps only an enthusiast like myself would be interested.’
He looked like a little boy whose mum has rejected his offering of a toad or a garter snake. Close your eyes and think of the National Museum, I told myself. The tombs must be mastabas, like the ones at Sakkara. The superstructures were all above ground. If anybody invited me to visit the sunken burial chamber I would politely decline.
‘I’d love to,’ I said.
We were a select group, as it turned out. Ed Whitbread was present, of course; he trailed Larry and me at a discreet distance. Sweet and Bright had also joined us.
‘Where’s Schmidt?’ I asked, turning to look back as we started off across the sandy wasteland.
‘Feeding cats, I expect,’ Larry said. ‘Shall we go back for him? He may have changed his mind.’
‘He’s easily distracted,’ I admitted. ‘Wait a minute, here comes . . . No, it’s Feisal.’
The sun was in my eyes or I wouldn’t have made that mistake. Feisal soon caught up with us. He was frowning.
‘Sir, the bus will be leaving in an hour. Where . . .’
Larry explained. ‘I’d have asked you to join us, Feisal, but I thought you had to stay with the group.’
Feisal’s scowl changed to a look of bright-eyed interest. It wasn’t directed at me. I kept forgetting he was a trained Egyptologist. ‘They are now buying souvenirs and cold drinks. I haven’t had a chance to see the excavations, so I will join you if you don’t mind.’
He fell tactfully behind, leaving me to Larry, who proceeded to tell me all about the Old Kingdom tombs. I must say it made a pleasant change to have a man flex his mind instead of his muscles to impress me.
It was also a pleasant change to leave the crowds behind. An ambitious ‘guide’ trotted along with us until Larry dismissed him with a curt Arabic phrase. We had been walking for ten minutes when he gestured. ‘There it is.’
I looked around for walls and cut stone. All I could see was a low mound up ahead. A sinking feeling came over me as I realized I had made a slight error. Anything that had been above ground in two thousand-plus B.C. would be under it now, buried by encroaching sand. I followed Larry up the slope of the mound, and cheered up when I saw below me, not a dark sinister hole in the ground, but a large pit open to the sky. It was paved with stone and there were a few stretches of wall, none of them over a metre high. In front of one such stretch squatted a tan bundle, which unfolded into a man.
‘Sorry, folks, nobody is allowed . . .’ he began. Then his narrow face relaxed. ‘Mr Blenkiron! I heard you were in Egypt, but I didn’t expect you’d honour us with a visit.’
‘Hope we’re not interrupting anything.’ Larry offered me his hand and we scrambled down into the excavation.
Having lots of money makes one welcome in all social circles. The excavator would have kicked Cleopatra out of his bed to welcome the rich patron of archaeological excavations. He greeted Feisal by name, invited the rest of us to call him Ralph, and apologized feverishly for the fact that nothing particularly interesting was going on.
‘The men are off today,’ he explained. ‘It’s Friday. Pat will be sorry to have missed you; he’s gone to Luxor to work at the library at Chicago House.’
He showed us some of the reliefs. They were fragmentary but very beautiful, delicate low reliefs like the ones at Sakkara. He and Larry went off into a spate of technical discussion, and before long Sweet said he thought he and Bright would go back. Larry looked at his watch. ‘Yes, go ahead. Tell them we’ll be along shortly. I’d like to have a quick look at the burial chamber.’
He produced a huge fla
shlight from his pocket. ‘No need for that, sir,’ Ralph said proudly. ‘We’ve run a wire and stuck up a few lightbulbs. I’ll turn them on, shall I?’
From the northwest corner of the pit, a gently sloping ramp led down. It was low-ceilinged but fairly well lit by a series of bare bulbs. I followed Larry and Ralph until we got to the dreaded, anticipated hole in the ground. The top of a rough wooden ladder showed at the edge of the shaft.
Somebody called from up above, and Ralph said, ‘Damn. I’d better go see – ’ He scrambled back up the ramp. Larry, already on the ladder, looked up at me and for once in my life I decided to be sensible instead of foolhardy.
‘Sorry. I can’t . . .’
I tried to keep my voice steady, but I didn’t succeed. Larry looked startled. ‘Why, Vicky, I had no idea. Is that what was bothering you when we were in the royal tomb at Amarna? I thought you looked . . . We’ll go back. I don’t have to do this.’
‘No, you go ahead. I’ll wait for you here.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’ His head sank down out of sight.
I thought the scream, high and piercing as a bird’s call, had come from Larry until he echoed it. His startled cry was followed by a rattle and a crash. The lights went out.
There was daylight behind me, only thirty feet away – a bright, heavenly square of brightness. I could crawl up the ramp . . . and leave Larry down below in the dark. The ladder must have broken. He had fallen from it – how far? I heard a faint groan. It died into silence.
Did I mention that I shared that tunnel under the Schloss in Rothenburg with two other people, both of them injured? One of them was Tony, once my Significant Other, still my cherished friend. The groan from the darkness shot me back into the past, and for a few horrible moments I lost track of where I was and when I was. I thought it was Tony down there, unconscious, gasping for breath. I had to go to him, help him . . .
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