Whispers in the Sand. Barbara Erskine
Toby Hayward.’ Now that he was standing up she realised that he was much taller than she expected, his frame lanky, slightly stooped.
‘I’m Anna Fox.’ His handshake was firm but brief.
They both stared out into the darkness for several moments. ‘You know, I am finding it hard to believe I am actually here,’ Anna went on softly. ‘On the River Nile. Somewhere out there in the darkness is Tutankhamen’s tomb, and ancient Thebes and the desert and beyond that the heart of Africa.’
There was a quiet chuckle. ‘A romantic. I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.’
‘No. No, I’m not.’ Suddenly she was on the defensive. ‘It is going to be wonderful.’ Turning away from him, she made her way back between the deserted tables and ducked into the lounge.
Andy spotted her at once. ‘Anna! Come on, let me buy you a drink.’
She shook her head with a smile. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll turn in. We’ve an early start tomorrow, and I got a bit chilled out there. I never thought it would be cold in Egypt.’
‘It’s the night wind off the desert.’ Andy caught her hand between his own. ‘My goodness, yes. It’s frozen. Are you sure a stiff drink wouldn’t thaw you out?’
‘No. Thank you.’ She was conscious that the door behind her had opened and Toby had come in, leaving the deck outside deserted. Ignoring the other passengers he walked straight through the lounge and made his way out towards the cabins.
She followed him slowly, not wanting to catch him up as he headed for the staircase, but there was no sign of him as she made her way to her door and let herself in.
She paused, looking round. The cabin no longer looked bleak and impersonal. Nor was it cold. It was warm and inviting, the bedside light on, the bed turned down, the towel she had used before supper already replaced by a dry one. Her own belongings made the place look welcoming and friendly, the little perfume bottle, in place of honour on the dressing table, reflecting in the mirror, a small almost glowing patch of colour on the brown wood. Suddenly she was very happy.
The diary was waiting for her by her bed. Perhaps, before she fell asleep, she would stay awake long enough to read a little more and find out how Louisa had first experienced the Valley of the Kings, then tomorrow she would know what to expect.
The things which are abominated by the gods they are wickedness and falsehood. If found wanting, what future is there for those who escape the blood grimed jaws of Ammit? He who fastens the fetters on the foes of the gods; those who slaughter in the shambles; there is no escape from their grasp. May they never stab me with their knives; may I never fall helpless into their chambers of torture. Better to return to the body in the silent heat of the death chamber and wait. I am Yesterday and Today; I have the power to be born a second time.
Thoth the god of judgement sees the human hearts and frowns as the first is laid in the balance and the beam begins to tremble.
Ammit, the eater of the dead, licks her fearsome lips as she sits beside the scale. Should this heart weigh more than the feather of Maat, hers will be the reward. These men served the gods. The one was a priest of Isis and Amun. The other the priest of Isis and her sister, Sekhmet, the bloody-jawed lioness, goddess of war and anger – and, oh strange and wonderful contradiction, of healing. They should pass the test; they should go on to eternal life with the gods they served. But there is blood on their hands and there is revenge in their hearts and there is greed in their spirit for the elixir of life. If they fail the test now, they will flee the terrors of Ammit and the tortures of the damned and they will return to the chamber of death to wait. All grows dark.
Louisa was ready at dawn. Hassan was waiting on the bank with three donkeys. Food, water and her painting equipment was loaded quickly and silently into the panniers on one and Hassan helped her onto one of the others, then, keeping a firm grip on the leading rein of both, climbed onto his own. Behind him the crew of the Ibis were busy going about their chores. Of the Forresters or Jane Treece there was no sign. Louisa hid a smile of relief. They were going to manage to escape.
The Forresters had not so far proved to be the hosts she had hoped for. In fact their regime was even more restrictive than that of Isabella and Arabella. They too could see no reason to visit the antiquities, and particularly not those which involved half a day’s ride through the blazing sun. More importantly, they seemed to feel that they were responsible for Louisa’s moral welfare. Though a dragoman had been hired for her, she was not to be with him alone. Though she had come to Egypt not only for the sake of her health, but in her own mind at least, to paint the antiquities, they did not consider that it was important or even advisable for her to do so. They were in fact due to leave for a gentle sail up the Nile as soon as the steamer had arrived at Luxor with the post from England. In near despair of ever visiting the Valley of the Tombs, Louisa had had to resort to secrecy. She had found Hassan sitting in the shade of the deck awning, writing in his own small notebook. He rose to his feet the moment she had appeared, and he listened gravely to her whispered instructions. Well aware that Lady Forrester might at the last minute insist on Jane Treece accompanying her as a chaperone, Louisa had told them that she would not leave until mid-morning. To Hassan she explained privately that they must leave at dawn.
She had awoken while it was still dark, climbing into her clothes as silently as she could. Her first brief meetings with the man who was to be her dragoman – guide, escort, servant, interpreter – had gone well. He was a quiet, refined man, grave and very conscious of his responsibility. His loyalties, he made clear immediately, were to Louisa alone. Wherever she wanted to go he would take her.
‘Does he have a name?’ Louisa patted her animal’s neck as they set off.
Hassan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hired them for the journey.’
‘He must have a name. Perhaps I should give him one. Caesar. How does that sound?’
Hassan smiled across at her as they rode swiftly away from the river bank and turned between some square mud-brick houses out of sight of the Ibis.
‘That is a good name. I shall call mine, Antony. And this our beast of burden shall be Cleopatra.’
Louisa laughed in delight. ‘Then we shall be such an intelligent party.’ He was a good-looking man, of middle height, slim, dressed in loose blue trousers and a striped robe. He had large dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. Looking across at him surreptitiously she wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell. His hair was hidden completely by his red turban. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laughter creases from nose to mouth, but apart from that his skin was smooth.
‘How far must we ride to the valley, Hassan?’ In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder.
He shrugged. ‘We will know when we get there. We have all day.’ His smile was warm and without guile.
Louisa laughed. In Egypt, she had discovered, things happened when they happened. That was the will of God. With a contented sigh she settled onto the felt saddle and concentrated instead on trying to accommodate herself to her donkey’s pace.
The track through the fields of berseem and wheat and barley was cool in the dawn light beneath the eucalyptus trees and the tall graceful date palms and she relaxed, enjoying the scented air, the greetings of the fellaheen they passed making their way out to the fields. It was all too soon that they reached the edge of the cultivated land which bordered the River Nile and struck out into the desert. In front of them rose the long red shoulder of the Theban hills, so visible, and so mysteriously close that they could be seen from the deck of the boat and yet now, shrouded in the misty distance.
They