Daughter of the God-King(69)

“I am no trifler,” she protested in a mild tone, and left it at that. Robbie would discover soon enough how matters stood and it would be his turn to suffer a shock. Thank heaven for his faux betrothal; in retrospect, the late Madame Auguste had done her an enormous favor—Hattie would have never climbed out the window, else.





Chapter 28





A short time later, the party assembled on the gangway to disembark for the tomb. Hattie noted that Robbie was not present, and asked Berry in a low aside, “Confess; what have you done with the poor man?”

“I imagine he has been delayed.” He met her eye. “He is a thirsty horse.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “Poor Eugenie is doing yeoman’s work—I hope you are paying her well.”

But Berry was unsympathetic. “It is no hardship for such as she.” Taking her arm, he led her down the wooden planks to the embankment. “He will want to join up with us, so we had best go quickly.”

Accompanied by Bing and Hafez, they hired transport across the river in a felucca, one of the small sailing vessels that ferried residents and visitors alike across the Nile. Hattie had remembered her hat, and the veil attached to it fluttered in the breeze as the waterman navigated the boat to the west shore of the river, using the current to make the crossing as he skillfully plied the rudder. As they approached the opposite shore, Hattie contemplated the barren cliffs and thought, we are finally to meet—the princess and me—and at last I will see one of the famed Blackhouse excavations; I wish that I could muster some enthusiasm for either. She glanced at Berry to find his gaze upon her, and she had the brief impression he was worried, even though he gave no outward sign. With a pang, she remembered that her own petty concerns were as nothing compared to his concerns, which were to avert the next war. She smiled in encouragement and saw his face soften as he moved to sit beside her.

“When we pass through the town, it would be best to keep your veil over your face—I would like to avoid attention.”

“Shouldn’t I speak to the native workers—appeal to them?” It seemed unlikely that she could obscure her identity if this was the plan.

“Not today,” he explained. “I must make some inquiries, first.”

She nodded. “What are we to do once we find the secret chamber?” It had occurred to her that if he didn’t quite trust the British or the Egyptians, he was running out of candidates with whom to secure the cache—certainly they were not going to carry it away themselves.

“We shall see,” was all he said, and she shot him a look so that he was aware she knew he was withholding information from her.

“It is a delicate business,” he explained by way of apology. “We must await events.”

I trust him—I do, she thought, as she looked away toward the approaching west bank. But I cannot help but wish that I had more answers and fewer questions.

Once landed, they procured a transportation cart that was little more than a wagon with benches lining the interior. The carts served as the principal means of transportation for tourists and were commanded by local boys who were constantly flicking their sticks over the backs of the placid donkeys with little perceivable effect. A slow but steady progress was made past the Colossi that guarded the Necropolis and then they entered the Valley of the Kings, the winding dusty road all that was left of the watercourse that had existed unnumbered years ago. The legendary valley was a fantastic sight—devoid of any life form, the landscape consisting entirely of rubble and rock as far as the eye could see. The entrances to several tombs could be observed in the distance, marked by crude scaffolding and equipment at each site. The area had attracted European interest when Napoleon, fresh from his conquest of Egypt, had sent French explorers to conduct a survey of the area and as a result of this heightened interest, at least twenty more tombs had been recently discovered. As there were over three hundred known pharaohs, it seemed likely that many more would be unearthed; there was an intense worldwide interest in the excavations and Egyptian-themed furniture was all the rage—everywhere except the Blackhouse manor in Cornwall, which Bing had learned to her disappointment.

They soon pulled to a stop; as Hafez had indicated, the tomb of the god-king’s daughter had been discovered by accident and relatively close to the narrow entrance to the Valley of the Kings, cleft in the bedrock. The unlooked-for presence of the princess lent credence to the theory that there were more tombs in the immediate area—including that of the great Seti himself—and the find had inspired other Egyptologists to carefully survey the area for clues. They could be seen scattered along the high cliffs, wearing broad hats and tapping the rocks and crevices with long slender poles, their native guides alongside them. Hattie contemplated the topography, and decided it was an excellent place to store weapons and treasure that may be needed at a moment’s notice—the area was desolate and yet was relatively close to the river.