"It's settled then,” Abdul said, coming to his feet. “I'll merely take a minute to see if Peter would like to come with us."
"I hardly expect he would even miss us,” Gil said, wishing his disappointment hadn't come out sounding quite so evident.
"Oh, I think you're very wrong there,” Abdul replied with a charming smile. He was wearing a black galabia that might have seemed far too warm for the high temperatures, but Gil knew the garment was more effective in preserving body moisture than a lighter fabric which would have allowed sweat to evaporate. Quickly wrapping his head with a strip of matching black cloth that concealed his short-cropped black hair from the sun, Abdul stepped out from beneath the protection of the awning. He didn't bother to elaborate on his opinion that Peter would care about being deprived of Gil's presence. Gil suspected Abdul unable to back up any such statement, what with Peter so fully engrossed with Hatshepsût. It seemed obvious, at least to Gil, that Peter could care less how Gil and Abdul occupied their time. Still, watching Abdul's firm and steady stride cross the sand toward Peter and the trainer, in the near distance, Gil couldn't quell the niggling hope that Peter would prefer Gil's company to that of the bird, even if Peter and Gil would have had to share with Abdul. After all, Peter had been out in the hot sun watching the falcon for well over an hour. Surely, even the most avid advocate of the sport would welcome a breather at some time. Gil was actually optimistic when Peter turned to greet Abdul and then faced in Gil's direction in apparent response to hearing what the sheikh proposed. Then, though, Peter turned back to the falcon, and Abdul headed back across the sand to Gil. “He said to go; he might join us in a while,” Abdul said.
"Oh, I think we'll manage well enough without Peter,” Gil said, once again determined that Peter wasn't going to ruin the day. Peter had certainly made known his prerogatives from the moment Abdul had mentioned Hatshepsût; those prerogatives obviously hadn't changed, either.
Abdul and Gil mounted horses that had been made ready. A short distance away, three other men simultaneously mounted. Those same men had accompanied Abdul, Gil, and Peter, on the ride from the pyramids. “After a while, you'll get used to the guards and forget they're even there,” Abdul said, noting Gil's distraction as all the horses were reined in the direction of one high sand dune. Gil, though, doubted he would ever get used to being so shadowed 24/7. Something about those trying-so-hard-to-be-inconspicuous men hinted of violence waiting in the wings—more so, even, than all of those armed soldiers presently posted on Cairo streets.
"I hope your friends never have to see action,” Gil said, nodding toward the men falling into place behind them.
"Unfortunately they already have,” Abdul replied. Gil glanced in his direction, thinking Abdul would counter with a smile that would indicate a joke having been made. The sheikh wasn't smiling when he said, “Although it would be rash to expect them to offer complete protection against all would-be assassins, I can hope they'll continue to be fast enough to make any attempted killer less accurate with his gun, his knife, or with whatever other weapon he might choose.” Gil shuddered at the implications, wondering what kind of a position Abdul held that he should have been labeled a target by anybody. Gil knew Abdul's business had something to do with oil only because the sheikh had mentioned having just returned from the United States, where some kind of business deal with an American petroleum conglomerate had been finalized. The details, as provided by Abdul, had been sketchy at best, mentioned merely in passing, and Gil certainly hadn't felt it prudent to press the sheikh for specifics then any more than he did now. “Oh, you mustn't look so gloomy, Gil,” Abdul said, finally giving a smile that came a little too late to dispel the somber revelations that had preceded it. “I often find myself thanking my enemies for my scars."
"I'm sure,” Gil said. That Abdul had scars was in itself disturbing, let alone that the Arab might be actually glad to have them.
"I'm serious,” Abdul said. “More often than not, I'm thanking the culprit who provided me with the knife scar I have, here.” He pointed to his right side and drew a line leftward to the center of his stomach. “I have a bullet scar, here.” He indicated a spot on the inside of his upper left thigh very near his groin. “I'll be most happy to let you have a closer look at that one later, by the way.” That was an attempt at levity, but Gil had a hard time laughing. “You'd be surprised by how many men and women find battle scars decidedly erotic,” Abdul said. He laughed, indicating that if Gil was taking any of this too seriously Gil would have done better, like Abdul, to look less on the negative side. “We all have to die sometime,” Abdul said; that still didn't give Gil suitable consolation. “We merely spend our lives preparing for that finality.” His comment on the inevitability of death had been made with macabre timing, since their horses had chosen that particular moment to top the high dune that afforded the riders an all-encompassing view of the Saqqâra necropolis stretched out below them. This city of the dead, constructed in counterpoint to ancient Memphis, city of the living, was known mainly for its dominating Step Pyramid, a picture of which had hung (and probably still did) in Gil's room in the Nile Hilton. Constructed during the reign of Zozer, the first pharaoh of the Third Dynasty, the pyramid's architect was Imhotep, whose genius had transferred into reality this, the world's first major building in stone and a masterpiece recognized in its own time as the greatest structure known to man. “Most of the information we have on my country's past comes from the early Egyptian's preoccupation with death, doesn't it?” Abdul said; his horse stopped on the hilltop, and Gil's horse halted beside it. “But then, I don't have to tell you, an archaeologist, that Egyptian temples and tombs were built to last only because they were for housing the gods and the immortals. All else was made of mud brick which has long since crumbled to dust."
Gil was aware this talk of death shouldn't have depressed him. He was in the business of reconstructing times past by sifting through things found in graveyards. The ancient Egyptians had come to consider death a joyous occasion and not one to be avoided at all cost. Yet he was depressed, and if he thought somehow to ease it by glancing back over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the vitally alive Peter, all he ended up seeing was another death-dealing swoop of Hatshepsût to dispatch one more of the pigeons released for her from one more wicker cage. The horses began to move down the hillside, cutting off the back-view, and Gil turned to attend to his descent into the ruins.
Probably sensing his handsome companion's present mental state, and feeling responsible for it, Abdul attempted telling two jokes. His ineptness in recounting the first, and his forgetting the punch line of the second, finally made Gil smile. Gil's return to good humor had also been sparked by his sudden realization that his depression had really begun with Peter's rejection. Gil was determined not to let something like that get him down. If Peter preferred a bird's company, then, so be it! It certainly wasn't as if Gil had been left wanting male companionship in the face of Peter's desertion, because Abdul offered more than adequate compensation. In black-gone-blacker desert robes against the golden spread of sand, Abdul was a man of breathtaking handsomeness. He was charming; he was considerate; he was rich; and he was powerful. If Abdul, like Peter, was caught up in falconry, he obviously preferred Gil's companionship to that of his birds. That was certainly more than Gil could say about Peter.
Gil asked if they might see the Serapeum, and he experienced the same sense of pleasurable anticipation he'd had the first time he'd descended the stairway to the gloom and doom of what was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre subterranean burial complexes in all of Egypt—or anywhere else. As its name implied, the Serapeum was a temple devoted to Serapis, who was worshiped as a god of the dead. Several such temples, dedicated to him, existed in Egypt, but this one at Saqqâra was unique as the funerary site of the sacred bull Apis, the bull being the god's incarnation on Earth. Though most of the above-ground buildings had been completely destroyed, there was evidence that there had once been a rather exte
nsive complex on the site that had included a large temple with pylons, inner and outer courtyard, and an avenue of sphinxes. In the underground tombs that Gil and Abdul now entered, after leaving Abdul's bodyguards posted at the doorway, had been deposited the mummies of the Apis bulls from times prior to the pharaoh Amenhoptep III of the Eighteenth Dynasty down to those of the Roman era.
The gallery had been tunneled into the solid stone beneath the covering level of sand. It was dimly lit by low-watt bulbs hanging from the ceiling, with more of those bulbs off than on. There was an otherworldliness to the place that was reinforced by the echoing whispers of other visitors already lost somewhere within the shadows. Another tunnel shot off to the right, reminding Gil of a maze and making him wonder whether they should trail string behind them as Theseus had done in the labyrinth on Crete that had been constructed for the half-bull, half-man Minotaur. However, both Abdul and Gil had independently walked these hallways previously and knew there was little chance of actually getting lost, despite all indications to the contrary.
Intermittent chambers, likewise hewn from the stone, opened from the gallery. Each chamber had received a mummy of a sacred bull, many such remains having been found intact within their coffins at the time of Auguste Marlette's excavation in 1851. Most of the chambers were in darkness, but a few had been made available, via more dim lighting, for closer observation of their monolithic granite sarcophagi, each of which weighted up to sixty-five tons. It was at one such chamber, filled with its polished carved coffin, that Abdul and Gil finally stopped, taking the six steps necessary to descend to the chamber's recessed floor. The lid of the massive sarcophagus had been conveniently slid partially to one side, allowing anyone who so wished to mount a ladder for a peek inside. Knowing the container was now empty, Gil made do with examining the exquisite outer surface detail. He wished he or Abdul had thought to bring a flashlight to better illuminate the workmanship.
His attention, however, was soon diverted from the coffin to Abdul when Gil got the distinct feeling the handsome Arab was staring at him. Turning to face him, he caught the gaze of Abdul's dark steady eyes. The sheikh stood between Gil and the exit, completely filling the small space between sarcophagus and chamber wall. “Oh, but you are such a decidedly delicious blond and handsome young man!” Abdul said; there was a decided huskiness in his voice. “But then, you know that, don't you?” His comment had come so unexpectedly that Gil didn't know what to say, overcome with conflicting emotions—flattered that Abdul thought him attractive (decidedly delicious blond and handsome?); slightly embarrassed by Abdul having gone so far as to say so. While there had, also, been the lead-in compliment at Giza, when the two men had been standing with the horses, this came with a tad more impact. “But maybe, I'm overstepping my bounds, yes?” Abdul asked and stepped in closer. There was nothing threatening about his advance, so Gil didn't step back from it. Abdul's own commanding good looks were far more evident in the better lighting than they had been in the deeper shadows from which he'd just moved. His eyes were large pools of darkness, taking in all light and reflecting none of it. “Perhaps you're already spoken for?” he suggested. “By Peter?” he specified.
"By Peter?” Gil echoed. “Spoken for?” Of course, he was not spoken for. “Peter and I just met yesterday,” he said slightly flustered. “Although we're associates and are scheduled to work together at Hierakonpolis, our meet-up in Cairo was entirely unplanned."
"Yes, that's what he led me to believe, too,” Abdul said. “However, I thought it would be best to check. I have, after all, no desire to interfere if you and he have reached an understanding. Nor, quite frankly, do I wish to embark upon a plan for winning you if there's no chance at all for me from the outset."
"Abdul, I...” Gil began, not knowing where to go from there. This on top of the conflicting emotions he had been experiencing lately toward Peter was enough to confuse him completely.
"Oh, I can certainly hold my own in any battle against equal odds,” Abdul said. “I'm not, after all, without my own arsenal of decided charm.” His warm smile made light of his boast. “I just want to make sure I won't be treading on any toes. Not yours. Not those of Peter."
"Peter and I are merely business associates,” Gil said, “and not even very close ones at that."
"While I doubt you're fool enough really to believe that—or think me fool enough to believe it, too—I do derive hope from you having said it,” Abdul replied, reaching out and putting a hand to each of Gil's shoulders. If Gil had expected the same lightning-bolt sensations to accompany Abdul's touch as had always accompanied Peter's, he found none. He was simultaneously disappointed and pleased by their absence. “But I'll tell you why I shall succeed, now that I know there's an opening,” Abdul said, coming even closer. “Because victory goes to the fleetest of foot, and Peter has been hanging back and dragging his handsome ass, for whatever his reasons. While I ... well ... while I'm quite prepared to tell you that I'm strongly attracted to you, Gil Goldsands. Sexually and otherwise,” he said, and his voice was a low and caressing whisper. “I have been from the very first moment I set eyes on you in that hotel lobby, and I want you more than I can remember ever wanting anyone else. Does that frighten you as much as it does me?"
What it did was leave Gil confused. Quite frankly, he still wasn't accustomed to being actively pursued, especially sexually, having, until just recently, been saved from it by his lingering baby-fat problem that had seen mainly chubby-chasers waiting in the wings for him (and not all that many of those because, after all, Gill hadn't ever been that fat).
Certainly, if nothing else, he remained flattered. What guy wouldn't see his ego boosted at the prospect of living the fantasy of being whisked off his feet by a handsome desert sheikh?
"You mustn't be frightened,” Abdul said, having mistaken Gil's silence for an affirmative reply to his question. “We sheikhs aren't really the impulsive and uncontrollably passionate men so often stereotyped in films and literature. Not quite, anyway,” he amended with a smile. “I have a little more finesse than to carry you screaming to my camel in order to spirit you away to some isolated oasis in the desert where you'd learn to love me or grow old loving no one."
Gil wondered if he wouldn't have preferred the kidnapping, the swift desert ride, the seduction beneath stately palms at some romantic spot amidst miles and miles of desert sand. It would have simplified things tremendously by entirely removing the chore of putting his feelings for Abdul and Peter into perspective. “I really don't think I'm ready for any kind of relationship with anyone right now, Abdul,” he said, wondering if that was really true. Lately, he had felt a lack in his life, which he'd attributed to the aftermath of his interval of non-stop promiscuity after his stellar success at the gym. Likewise, there was an admitted void that his profession no longer seemed able to fill. Perhaps, that was because Gil had finally managed, after years of struggle, to reach a significant position in the field of archaeology and now missed the vigorous expenditure of time and energy that had been necessary to achieve that success. That this mysterious lack of something had something to do with his personal life seemed evident by the way he'd so recently resurrected (had it ever really died?) his childhood obsession with his grandmother's tragic tale. He had used it to grab the chance of joining the Hierakonpolis dig. Deluding himself into believing that Peter Donas being there, too, would be destiny? Suddenly, he was dangerously on the brink of letting his undefined needs and overindulged fantasies run away with his common sense. He'd felt the magic of Peter's embrace atop the pyramid just a few short hours ago, and he couldn't deny that he had responded, just as Geraldine Fowler would have responded to the heated embrace of her lover. But Gil was not Geraldine Fowler; Peter was not Frederic Donas; if Gil didn't get hold of himself soon, he was liable to find himself a prime candidate for a psychiatrist's couch—if he wasn't already. “It has nothing whatsoever to do with you personally and certainly not with my taking lightly anything you've said,” he told Abdu
l. “It's merely that I have a firm commitment to my job, and I decided a long time ago that certain private aspects of my life would have to take a back seat."
Abdul briefly touched his fingertips to Gil's lips to plead for silence. Gil's immediate reaction was to think Abdul had heard someone coming. Since Peter had said he might join them, Gil glanced furtively over Abdul's shoulder, expecting to see Peter there with a frown on his handsome face as he looked down on the scene he had obviously interrupted. When Gil realized Peter wasn't there, his heart continued beating hard and fast at the prospect of what might have been. Obviously, Peter was back with Hatshepsût, hardly caring if Gil fell under the charm of Abdul—or of anyone else, for that matter. “Don't say anything now,” Abdul said. “Just promise you'll take the time to think about what I've said."
"Sure,” Gil easily granted, “I'll certainly do that.” Abdul seemed patiently undemanding; in contrast to Peter who had seemingly expected Gil to fall quickly into bed. Despite Abdul's not-so-veiled insinuation that Peter was considered a competitor for Gil's affection, Gil knew better.
"I want to kiss you, Gil,” Abdul said, his fingertips touched beneath Gil's chin where the sheikh's hand could angle Gil's face slightly upward to meet Arab lips more easily. Gil accepted the kiss, missing any resulting fireworks. But, then, fireworks weren't everything in a relationship, were they? Abdul was exotic, handsome, kind, considerate; and gentle; he was powerful and very wealthy. He was everything a man could want in a lover. Gil, though, still wasn't sure he was looking for a lover—Peter, Abdul, or otherwise. “Peter's disadvantage is that it's not in his blood to be truly romantic,” Abdul said, speaking once again as if Peter were truly a rival. “While some men have lost the art of romance, seduction and gallantry, not all have!” Gil had every reason to disagree. Oh, not about Abdul being a romantic. There was certainly no denying the romantic aspects of riding horses through the desert, lounging in the comfort of a Bedouin tent, Gil being told he was madly desired by a man whose exotic good looks and charm would have bowled over almost anyone. But Peter was romantic, too. He had walked with Gil on a balmy night in Cairo, while palm trees shifted in silent breezes and the moon shone on the rippling surface of the Nile. He had invited Gil to climb the Pyramid of Cheops to view a sunrise, reciting New Kingdom love poetry and telling Gil he wanted them to make love.
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