Daughter of the God-King(71)

At the mention of the curse, Hattie was suddenly reminded that this visit could not be an easy one for Bing. Taking her companion’s hand, she offered, “If you’d rather wait outside, Bing, I will wait with you.”

But the other woman only shook her head. “No, Hathor—Edward lived for this and he died for it, also. I hold no resentment, and would very much like to see what is inside.”

Berry lit a lantern, and the party stepped inside the tomb of the god-king’s daughter.





Chapter 29





Hattie could immediately sense the antiquity of the place, the indescribably musty smell that resulted from centuries of isolation and airlessness. The dancing lantern light revealed a narrow entry hall carved from the rock that slanted downward for perhaps two dozen yards or so, and then made an abrupt turn to the left, presumably into the burial chamber. The men were forced to bend over to navigate the low-ceilinged entry hall and no one spoke at first, the weight of history having put paid to any trivial thoughts. Hattie grazed her hand along the wall as she walked and then withdrew it, thinking of the countless hands that had done the same.

They confronted the burial chamber at the end of the entry passage, and Hattie saw that the excavators had mounted the stone door to the chamber onto a wooden frame with leather handles so that it could be slid aside more easily. Hafez did the honors, and the group entered the chamber, where the ceiling was higher and the men could now stand erect.

Once within, Hattie paused and the others were also silent as they gazed around the sanctuary, the men holding the lanterns aloft. The soft light revealed a chamber perhaps fifteen feet by thirty, the room dominated by a free-standing sarcophagus that stood at the far end. Hafez swung the lantern to illuminate the walls and Hattie could hear Bing’s delighted intake of breath. The chamber was bordered at the bottom by a pattern of brightly colored lotus blossoms and palm leaves, and the upper walls revealed illustrations and hieroglyphics, the vibrant hues presumably chronicling the life of the decedent. Bing walked toward one, leaning to scrutinize it with her hands clasped behind her back. “Horus,” she pronounced, “—borne on the horns of the bull, Apis. And here is Priapus, being carried in triumph to the underworld.”

“Preserved in the same condition as the day they were drawn,” agreed Hafez with reverence. “It is of all things remarkable.”

“Are there illustrations of the princess?” asked Hattie, trying to make sense of the fantastic renderings that covered the walls.

“None that are labeled as such,” Hafez explained. “Although oftentimes in these tombs the deceased is drawn in, consorting with the gods.”

“Edward believed there was no likeness portrayed,” Bing noted. “He was greatly disappointed.”

Looking about her, Hattie realized the sarcophagus was the only remaining artifact in the sanctuary. The heavy reliquary was not gold-gilt as so many others were; instead it was plainly decorated, of carved rose-colored stone.

“Unusual,” mused Bing as she walked to stand beside it. “The sarcophagus is alabaster, which was used at a later time, not at the time of Seti. And it seems a bit plain for a beloved princess; perhaps there was a reason for haste, or there was fear of contagion.”

“Perhaps,” the minister agreed. “Or tomb raiders have stripped whatever precious metals and gems adorned it—I’m afraid we will never know its original condition.”

“She has lain here for so long,” said Bing in a quiet tone, standing in contemplation of the stone sarcophagus. “It does give one pause.”

“It was built to withstand eternity.” Hafez indicated the drawings on the ceiling with his hand, tilting the lantern’s shield so as to provide illumination. “The Book of Heavens often decorates the ceiling—it depicts the journey of the sun god through the darkness. The emphasis is upon the eternal, not the worldly. It is ironic that the Book of Heavens looks down on the tomb raiders, who will gladly risk eternal damnation for worldly goods.”

To cut short such tedious philosophizing, Hattie produced her sketchpad and pretended to begin a sketch of the ceiling, hoping Bing would take her cue and create a diversion.

Alive to her role, Bing turned to the minister. “Edward mentioned in one of his letters a trap door near the entry, but I did not notice one. Do you know of it, Mr. Hafez?”

Hafez turned to stare at her, much struck. “Did he? Why—I have never heard of such a thing.”

“I have my parasol,” Bing indicated, brandishing it. “Shall we do some prodding?”

While the minister indicated an eager consent, Hattie demurred, “I shall stay and sketch, I believe.” Hafez was too distracted to think of chaperoning duties and in short order she was left alone with Berry in the burial chamber. Wasting no time, they both leapt to the sarcophagus, Berry testing the weight of the lid. “It is heavy,” he warned. “Step back and mind your fingers.”