While Hattie bit down hard on the rag in her mouth, the vendor gestured nervously with the pistol, indicating the older man was to retreat. Acquiescing, the Frenchman stepped back, holding his hands up in a gesture of cooperation. One of the black-clad native men stepped forward, crouching before her to check her bindings. He raised his face to hers and Hattie found that she was looking into the eyes of her husband.
Chapter 41
Astonished, Hattie quickly lowered her gaze as Dimitry stepped back. He was dressed in the native gallibaya and sported a neatly trimmed beard which, coupled with the tarboosh headdress, obscured his appearance. Nearly light-headed with relief, Hattie awaited events.
Hafez returned, and announced that it would be best to conclude their business as quickly as possible before the crowd was stirred into action. “They are unhappy with what they perceive to be a grave insult.”
“Very well,” replied the Frenchman with a wary glance toward the doorway. “Let us go, then.”
Once again, Hattie was loaded onto the cart while the native bystanders watched and muttered in an ugly undertone, rising in volume so that those who served Hafez and the baron were forced to wave their weapons in a threatening manner so that they stayed back. She noted that the crowd had increased, and wondered if she should struggle against her captors so as to incite a possible riot—the circumstances seemed ripe for it. Watching Dimitry from the corner of her eye, she decided she’d best not attempt any heroics for fear he had a plan that would be disrupted—but on the other hand, it may be to the greater good to disrupt Dimitry’s plan, depending on his allegiances. On the horns of this particular dilemma, she finally decided to hold her powder—a melee might jeopardize his plan and it did seem more and more likely that he was working against the enemy, hence the disguise.
Thus, as evening fell she began the slow journey to the tomb of the god-king’s daughter, keeping her chin raised and refusing to look at anyone although she could feel the scrutiny of many watching eyes as they passed through the narrow streets. The donkeys trod methodically and the wooden wheels churned on the rough gravel as they made their way into the sacred Valley of the Kings, the cliffs around them as indifferent to the schemings of men as they had been forty centuries ago. Hattie flexed her hands, which were beginning to go numb; I suppose this is what it felt like to be riding in a tumbrel, she thought, and then quickly banished the comparison from her mind.
Upon sighting their approach, the British guards at the tomb drew their muskets and waited at the ready while Hafez approached them. Hattie watched while the minister made gestures and discussed the situation—it was unclear what possible explanation would be proffered for her own state of capture, and it seemed to Hattie the guards remained uneasy as they lowered their weapons and allowed them to pass.
Once again, Hattie climbed the wooden steps at the entrance to the tomb—only on this occasion she was bound and gagged, with Hafez’s men firmly holding her arms on either side with their pistols trained upon her. Despite her perilous situation, she tried to puzzle out where the secret chamber should be and frowned, realizing it made little sense—the chamber should open off from the entry hall, but she remembered no door or other opening along the stark walls in the entry hall.
Several of the men lit lanterns and as the party ducked into the entryway, Hafez began to negotiate with the baron about how many men were to accompany them inside. This seemed understandable; Hattie easily surmised that if it weren’t for the fact that Hafez was holding her as hostage, his life wouldn’t be worth much once the secret chamber was revealed—the baron and his cohorts had proved to be ruthless killers in pursuit of this particular goal. In the end, Hafez brought two men into the tomb to guard Hattie while the baron brought only one—Dimitry—and he was allowed in only after he had relinquished his pistol. Her relief at this arrangement was short-lived, however; Hattie saw the baron give her husband a significant look in the dim light—one that indicated a covert plan. With a sinking heart, Hattie realized that Dimitry appeared to be aligned with the despicable baron—even though this was hard to imagine. She then reassured herself by remembering that whatever his motives or allegiances, Dimitry could not be pleased with the other man’s actions toward her—he who had raged when Robbie negligently touched her hand; she could only hope he was playing a deep game, and wait to see what developed.
At a location nearly halfway down the slanting floor of the entry hall, Hafez paused and spoke in Arabic to the vendor who escorted Hattie. The man stepped forward to thrust a staff into the dirt at the base of the stone wall, and grasping the staff with both hands, he began to apply leverage on the length of wood, working it back and forth into the hard-packed dirt until it could be heard to scrape against a plate of some kind, approximately a foot beneath the surface. The man leapt up to apply his full weight to the staff, and with a groaning noise, a portion of the wall began to move. As they watched, the contours of a door were revealed where some of the seams between the bricks became more pronounced. Pressing his hands against the left upper corner of the hidden door, the servant slid it back on oiled hinges, and a dark recess could be seen within.