The Most Loved of All

by Tinnean

  “Ah, well. Never hurts to ask. But…”

  “But?”

  “You used to call me Tommy.”

  I blushed and smiled but didn’t.

  He sighed. “Care for another, Mr Sayer?”

  I tilted my head. “And you used to call me Roddy.”

  “Sauce, dear boy.”

  “Eh?”

  “What’s sauce for the goose…?”

  “Oh, very well. Thomas.” Although I’d continue to think of him as Captain Smythe in the privacy of my mind. He was altogether too attractive, and I daren’t let myself become overly familiar.

  We carried our drinks to a table away from the bustle at the bar and caught up on the years between our last encounter. Being strangers in a strange land, it was as if we were long lost brothers.

  The barman was starting to nod off when I noticed the time. “Good God, is it really four A.M.? I’ve got to leave for the desert in a couple of hours.” We staggered to our feet and wavered a bit. I didn’t realise how much I’d drunk—I was usually more abstemious, since I tended to become amorous after I’d had a few too many—but I must have lost track of the amount I’d imbibed, enthralled by Smythe’s scintillating tales of what he’d been up to in the ensuing years.

  “Let me give you a hand, dear boy.” He slid an arm around my waist, and we made our way out the door.

  Smythe’s digs were in the same direction as my hotel, and as we walked companionably, arm in arm, he began to sing. I turned my head to stare at him. It was a very naughty song.

  I swallowed a grin and picked up the next line. I knew some very naughty songs also, having learned them from my love. Brother must have been spinning in his grave.

  The captain’s mellow baritone joined my tenor, and as we finished the chorus, heads popped out of windows and voices shouted in various languages, no doubt telling us to cease our caterwauling. We barely sidestepped the contents of a chamber pot that was flung at us and a pair of shoes that hit the wall on the other side of the alley.

  That didn’t stop us from continuing to sing, although much more softly. Breathless laughter interrupted the choruses, and by the time we got to my hotel, Smythe was propping me up. “I’m sorry I let you drink so much, Roddy. You’ll have a head tomorrow. Or rather, later this morning.”

  “Not to worry. I never have a hangover,” I slurred proudly. “It drives my Charlie wild, that I can match him drink for drink, and wake up the next morning, none the worse for wear.” I straightened out of his hold, feeling slightly melancholy to be separated from the man I loved, and I extended my hand. “Well, now. It’s been marvellous seeing you again. Perhaps when we pass through Cairo again—”

  The remainder of my suggestion was cut short as Tommy’s lips found mine, and his tongue began a thorough reconnaissance of my mouth. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck, hooked a leg about his hips to bring our groins closer together, and rubbed against his body, actively pursuing the kiss.

  “Roddy. I’ve wanted you for such a long time.” His voice sounded different, almost breathless. “Come back to my rooms. I promise I’ll make it good for you.”

  I was about to agree. God forgive me, I would have broken my vows without a single thought, without a regard for the man who awaited me in the desert. It had been long months since I had been brought to climax by the loving mouth or prick or hands of my partner. And since coming to the Valley of the Kings, those dreams had kept me in a constant state of arousal, although other than a vague recollection of an ivory phallus, I could never remember their content.

  Suddenly I yelped, feeling as if I was actually being impaled on that phallus, and it was piercing me to the core. I sobered abruptly, regaining my senses.

  “Roddy? What is it, pet?”

  I ignored the endearment and tucked my hands behind my back; I didn’t dare reach out to shake his hand. “Good night, Captain.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps another time.”

  I didn’t respond to that, just limped stiffly to the hotel. I could feel his gaze on my back as I entered the hotel, and I closed the door. I climbed the stairs to my room, stripped off my clothes, and had a quick wash. Finally I crawled into bed, where his whispered promise followed me into slumber.

  Chapter 6

  I pushed the men hard, and although this time we were accompanied by wagons, our return to the Valley of the Kings took less than two weeks. We arrived back at camp on 26 November.

  When we rolled into camp, the head man took charge of the men and supplies. I unsaddled Hubini and released her into the corral with George, where their pleasure in seeing each other again was obvious. I thanked Rashid and hurried to find my love, where I hoped to make my own pleasure in seeing him as obvious.

  He wasn’t in his tent, however, and I ran into the person I least wanted to see when I emerged from it.

  “You’re looking for the old man?” Edward Cramdon sneered at me. “He’s in the field office with Mr Carter and the earl. Three days ago we found an important tomb.”

  I ignored him and hurried to the large tent. Unfortunately, he followed me.

  As he’d said, the three men were in the tent, along with the man who oversaw the dig.

  Charlie looked around. “You’re back, little Rev.” He smiled to see me.

  It wasn’t like him to state the obvious, and I grew worried, especially by the slightly vague look to his eyes.

  “We’ve definitely found it!” Lord Carnarvon sounded beyond pleased.

  “Tutankhamun’s tomb?” I asked.

  “Indeed.” He’d been searching for the Boy King’s tomb for the past seven years.

  “Don’t get your hopes up, m’lord,” Cramdon whinged to the earl. “This looks more like a high official’s tomb than a king’s.”

  “Speak for yourself, Cramdon,” Mr Carter said coolly. Was he growing weary of the younger man’s obnoxious attitude? “This tomb gives every indication of never having been looted.”

  “So did that other tomb, the one belonging to Teremun, whoever he might have been.” Cramdon hunched a shoulder. “I am the expert in deciphering hieroglyphs,” he muttered.

  Mr Carter seemed oblivious to the “expert’s” petty words. “We were about to have breakfast.” Mr Carter glanced at me. “Would you care to join us, young Sayer?”

  “Thank you. I’ll just wash off the dust of the journey and meet you shortly.”

  Charlie followed me to my tent. A camp follower had brought warm water, and I stripped off my clothes, wet a flannel, and wiped myself down. I was surprised when Charlie remained, but I welcomed his presence.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Me? I’m fine. But why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Dunno. I’ve…I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Oh, Charlie, have you?” In spite of my nudity…or perhaps because of it, I flung myself into his arms. But instead of him laughing, pulling me tighter against him, and perhaps stroking my backside, he staggered back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Never better.” But it was obviously a lie. I realised that as I studied him, growing more and more disturbed by his appearance.

  Odd how one sees exactly what one expects to see. Over the years, my partner’s body had softened, and his stomach had developed a bit of a paunch. But I loved it, loved resting my cheek on the soft flesh, loved having it rest on my back as he furiously ploughed my back passage. That was what I expected to see when I looked at him, and so that was what I did see.

  Our time apart opened my eyes, and I really saw him that day and realised how long it had been since he had allowed me to observe his body. He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, and I wondered if he had eaten at all in the time I’d been away from the dig. His bones stood out in relief, and he looked so fragile I almost feared to touch him. But his abdomen was grossly distended, and he looked like a woman about to give birth.

  Had this occurred in the time I’d been away from camp, or had it been happening all along? Was th
is why he’d kept me at a distance?

  Charlie hadn’t noticed my stunned silence; he’d just continued talking. “…and it had been buried under the rubble of another excavation.”

  “What?”

  “The tomb. The workers who remained cleared off the rock and debris and shored up the winding passage that lead deep under the ground.”

  “Mr Carter must be pleased.”

  “Pleased? That’s putting it mildly. He was beside himself with excitement. In the years he’s been searching for the Boy King’s tomb, this is the closest he and Lord Carnarvon have come to success.” Abruptly he seemed to realise I was naked. “We’re keeping everyone waiting. Put your clothes on.”

  “Yes, Charlie.” I turned away and reached for the clean clothes he’d laid out for me.

  “I…I missed you, sweetheart.”

  “Charlie!” It had been ages since he’d called me that. I whirled around to embrace him, but the flap of my tent was already closing behind him.

  * * * *

  I joined Charlie, Mr Carter, Lord Carnarvon, and Edward Cramdon at breakfast.

  “Will it be safe enough to enter the tomb, Mr Carter?” I asked around a slice of toast.

  “Indeed yes, young Sayer. The extra men you returned with will be of great assistance to us as well, I assure you.” He glanced around the cookfire. “Well, gentlemen, shall we get to it?”

  Charlie began coughing harshly and wasn’t able to rise. I bolted to his side and caught him before he could topple over.

  Irritably, he brushed my hands away from him. “I’m fine. I’m fine!” he insisted, and he lurched to his feet.

  “Oh, love, you’re not well,” I whispered. “Stay here in camp and let me care for you today. You’ve been over-doing it again.”

  I thought the reference to our trip down the Ruzizi—when he’d tried to drag the Nile Goddess through a forest of reeds after she’d taken the wrong channel and washed up on them—would bring a smile to his face, but he scowled at me and pushed me away. “You ain’t my nursemaid, Roddy. Leave me be. I intend to go into that tomb today.”

  My lips tightened. “Stiff-rumped, opinionated old fool. Fine! You go into that bitch of a tomb, and I’ll—”

  He drew up short and faced me, so pale I feared he might collapse in a faint. “You’ll…you’ll leave?”

  “What? Good God, no!”

  He swallowed. “I’m sorry. I have to do this,” he said in low tones.

  “All right.” I scrubbed my face. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Only I wasn’t. For some reason, I couldn’t.

  The entrance of the tomb was like a hungry, black mouth, waiting to swallow me whole. I had never been claustrophobic, but I could not force myself to take a single step. I was trembling and perspiring. One after another, the men brushed past me, Cramdon with his lip curled, until only Charlie and I were left above ground.

  “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked.

  I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t know. I can’t make myself go in there. Oh, please, love. Don’t go. Don’t go!”

  He led me back to the fire and pressed me down to a canvas camp chair, and I whimpered at the discomfort when I sat.

  “Roddy, I have to go. If I’m there when they find the treasure room, Carter’s promised me a decent cut. You’ll—I mean we’ll be able to pay off the farm, and have enough to live comfortably for the rest of your—our lives. I’ve got to go.”

  He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared into that goddamned, fucking bitch of a tomb.

  I was shivering constantly now, terrified to go forward, but even more terrified that my love was going in to face…what? What horror was I so certain lay in wait for the twenty-four men who had gone into that tomb?

  * * * *

  It was like trying to advance against an invisible army. I would get to within feet of the gaping maw, and then be forced to retreat when my heart would start racing out of control, and my breath would clog in my throat.

  Finally, however, I put a foot over the threshold and took the first step down. The difference in temperature was shocking, probably a good twenty degrees cooler than above ground, and now I shivered from the cold as well as from anxiety.

  I could hear the shouts, and I followed the sounds down the passageway the men had worked so hard at shoring up. Torches had been set along the wall, casting fitful light to illuminate the way.

  And then I was in what I discovered was the first of the five rooms that belonged to the Boy King.

  Piles of dust covered the floor, starting to scatter now that fresh air was entering the long-sealed tomb—all that was left of the slaves who were to serve their master in the afterlife.

  There were earthen jugs that contained foodstuffs. A number of them had been overturned in the rush to examine all the tomb held, and the powdery residue that was their contents danced like dust motes in the air.

  The next room contained personal belongings of the young king. Bed frames covered in gold leaf. A chariot in hammered gold. Bridles and saddles laden with gemstones, saddle blankets that were woven from threads of precious metals. These spilled over into the third room.

  I walked through there, passed on into the room beyond, and had to edge my way along a wall. This was the treasure room, where baskets and chests were filled to overflowing with pearls, rubies, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds, and figures carved in jade and ivory. Semi-precious stones lay scattered carelessly about as if they had just been dumped there. Except for Mr Carter, Lord Carnarvon, Edward Cramdon, and Charlie, all the men were here, and I wondered how much of what was in this room would find its way into their pockets.

  Finally I reached the burial chamber, and a massive shudder rippled through me as I stood in the doorway. In the centre of the room was a huge sarcophagus, which contained the remains of the Boy King, Tutankhamun.

  Funerary urns containing the remains of the Pharaoh’s cats stood in each corner of the room, demonstrating his devotion to the worshipped animals.

  But I couldn’t tear my gaze from the area at the rear of the room. It was in deep shadow, and for a moment I feared I would see the image of the dark god Anubis, but when my sight adjusted to the shadows, I could see propped up against the wall a wooden coffin, and although there were no jewels or precious metals attached to it, there was nothing plain about its stark wooden lines. It shouldn’t have been in such good condition after these thousands of years. I approached it, for some reason feeling the need to tread warily but I’d got no more than a handful of steps closer before my gut clenched at the sight of it. I knew something had been consigned to that case, as a warning, as a promise of retribution, as an example to those who earned the Pharaoh’s wrath.

  I backed away without investigating further. “Ch-Charlie,” I uttered through frozen lips.

  “Roddy! Come see!” His excitement jolted me out of my immobility.

  I turned my head, taking in Tutankhamun’s elegant mummy case, such stark contrast to the one in the stone sarcophagus in the other tomb. The Boy King’s mummy case was made of teak and ebony and covered in intricate hieroglyphs. Cramdon crooned over it, stroking the wood as if it were a lover.

  Finally, my gaze reached my love as he removed a rope of black pearls from a bag of intricately woven linen whose creator had been gone to dust for over thirty centuries. “It’s…it’s mag-magnificent!” The linen disintegrated in his fingers, and he gasped and began coughing uncontrollably.

  I rushed to his side and slid an arm around his waist, holding him up as his knees began to give out from under him.

  Mr Carter helped me get Charlie out of that chamber, out past the men in the other rooms. I ignored them completely, too concerned about the horrible wracking sounds that were ripping through my love’s chest.

  We got Charlie safely to his tent and onto his camp bed.

  “Thank you, Mr Carter.”

  “It’s the least I could do for my friend.” He rested a hand on Charlie’s shoulder
, then frowned at the dust that transferred to his palm and dusted it off.

  With Charlie in his tent, Mr Carter went back to the tomb, anxious to see if Lord Carnarvon would consider opening the Boy King’s coffin. Royal mummies could be buried with upwards of fifteen rings and numerous bracelets, amulets and earrings, and Mr Carter was desperate, after all those years, to see what lay entombed with the young pharaoh.

  Cramdon had spoken one evening of a scroll that was reputed to contain the secrets of restoring life to the dead.

  “All errant nonsense,” Mr Carter had snorted. “Life can never be restored to the dead.”

  “Well, you never can tell with the Egyptians. It was interesting that the scroll was kept in the temple of Anubis, who was god of the afterlife.”

  This time both Mr Carter and Lord Carnarvon snorted, and Cramdon began to lose patience.

  “At any rate, legend has it that after the temple at Thebes had been razed during Tutankhamun’s reign, the scroll disappeared.” Cramdon’s eyes gleamed avidly. “If we can discover it buried here with the Boy King, our reputations would be made for all time. And it won’t matter in the least if it’s all errant nonsense.” He’d glared at Mr Carter.

  “But why would it be buried with Tut?”

  Cramdon couldn’t answer that. He’d stalked out and spent the rest of the evening sulking in his tent.

  Now I dismissed the men responsible for this dig as well as the young king and what was or wasn’t in his tomb. I had more serious concerns on my mind.

  I knew that whatever had been ailing Charlie had taken a toll on his lungs, and whatever he had inhaled in that tomb wasn’t helping matters. I had one of the few camp followers bring me herbs and a pot of water that I heated on our own fire. When it was hot enough, I threw in the herbs and had Charlie bend over the pot, breathing in the fumes.

  When that didn’t seem to help, I soaked strips of bandages from our first aid kit and laid them across his chest, hoping they would ease the tightness that I could see constricting his upper torso. He sank into a restless slumber.