The Lost Army of Cambyses (33 page)

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know how you feel. I'm just as frustrated. But our

hands are tied.'

They stood in silence for a while watching an

old man lead a camel down the road beneath

them. Daniel turned towards the hills again, eyes

flicking back and forth across the undulating wall

of rock, lost in thought. Suddenly, as if coming to

a decision, he took her hand and pulled her back

towards the stairs.

'Come on. It might not solve all our problems

but at least it'll give us something to do.'

'Where are we going?'

'There.' He pointed to a flat ridge running like

a blade across the top of the hills. 'There's no

better place in Egypt to watch the sunset.'

They started down the stairs.

'And you'd better bring the box with you,' he

said.

'Why? Are you worried Omar might steal it?'

'No. I just don't want him killed because of it.

It's our problem, Tara. We should keep it with

us.'

It took them the best part of an hour to reach the

top of the ridge, following first a set of concrete

steps and then, when these petered out, a steep,

dusty path that zigzagged its way upwards before

eventually carrying them through a narrow gully

and out onto the summit of the hills. It had been a

hard climb and by the end of it they were both

drenched in sweat. They stood for a moment

catching their breath, then Daniel sat down on a

large rock and lit a cheroot, tapping his fingers on

his thigh as if waiting for someone. Tara removed

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her knapsack and clambered up above him, awed

by the extraordinary views: the setting sun, huge

and red, a vast jewel suspended against the

turquoise sky; the distant silver ribbon of the Nile,

shimmering in the afternoon haze; the endless

rippling hills, silent and empty and mysterious.

'They call this peak el-Qurn,' said Daniel, 'the

horn. From most directions it just looks like a

ridge running across the top of the hills. If you

view it from the north, however, from the Valley

of the Kings, it's shaped like a pyramid. The

ancient Egyptians called it Dehenet. The brow. It's

the reason they first chose the valley as a burial

ground.'

'It's so peaceful,' said Tara.

'They thought the same three and a half

thousand years ago. The peak was sacred to the

goddess Meret-Seger: "She who loves Silence".'

He came to his feet, glancing briefly back down

the way they had come before climbing up beside

her.

'Look there,' he said, pointing, 'that rectangular

enclosure, there, to the right: that's Medinet Habu,

the mortuary temple of Ramesses III. One of the

most beautiful monuments in Egypt. And then

over there, where those palm trees are, that's

Omar's house. Do you see it?'

She peered downwards, following the line of his

finger. 'I think so.'

'And then, if you move to the left, where that

road is, the one going down to the river, those are

the Colossi of Memnon. And if you keep going

to the left' – he leaned into her so that their cheeks

were practically touching – 'to where that

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complex of buildings is, that's the Ramesseum,

Ramesses II's mortuary temple.'

She could feel his breath against her ear and

leaned back a little, looking up at him. There was

something troubled in his eyes, a reflection of

some inner disturbance.

'What?' she asked.

'I . . .' He paused, unable to find the words. His

eyes dropped.

'What, Daniel?'

'I wanted to . . .'

There was a sudden scrabbling noise behind

them. They swung round and there, framed by the

sides of the gully up which they had climbed a few

minutes earlier, was a wild, unkempt-looking face

with sunken cheeks and haunted, bloodshot eyes.

'For Christ's sake,' muttered Daniel.

'Hello please, hello please!' gabbled the new-

comer, heaving himself a little further up the gully

to reveal a djellaba so torn and tattered it was a

miracle it held together at all. 'Wait, wait, wait, I

show you something very good. Here, here, see.'

Coming out onto the top of the ridge he hurried

over to them and extended a skeletal hand, in which

he was holding a large scarab carved in black stone.

'I see you come up,' he jabbered. 'Very long

way. Very long. Here, look, look, best workman-

ship. Very, very good how much you give me.'

'La,'
said Daniel, shaking his head.
'Mish del-

wa'tee.
Not now.'

'Quality, quality! Please, how much you give.'

'Ana mish aayiz.
I don't want it.'

'Price, price. Give price. Twenty Egyptian

pounds. So cheap.'

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'La,'
repeated Daniel, his voice harsh.
'Ana

mish aayiz.'

'Fifteen. Ten.'

Daniel shook his head.

'Antika,'
said the man, lowering his voice. 'I

have
antika.
You want look. Very good. Very real.'

'La,'
said Daniel firmly.
'Imshi.
Go away.'

The man was getting desperate. He pawed at

their feet.

'Good people. Good people. Try understand.

No money, no food, starve, starve, like dog.' He

threw his head back and let out a sudden, ear-

splitting howl. 'See,' he jabbered. 'I am dog. Not

man. Dog. Animal. Dog.' Another howl.

'Khalas!'
growled Daniel. 'Enough!'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out some

notes, which he handed to the man, who took

them, his sobs giving way to a wide, brown-

toothed smile. He broke into a clumsy jig, hopping

around the mountain top.

'Good man good man good man,' he sang. 'My

friend so very good to me.' He looked up at Tara

as he gambolled beneath her. 'Beautiful lady, you

want see tombs? You want see Hatshepsut? Kings

Valley. Queens Valley. Special tombs. Secret

tombs. I be guide. Very cheap.'

'That's enough,' said Daniel. 'You've got your

baksheesh. Go.
Imshi!'

'But I show you many special things. Many

secrets.'

'Imshi!'

The man stopped dancing and, with a shrug,

moved back towards the gully, fingering his

money and muttering to himself.

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'Money, go, money, go, money, go.'

He dropped into the narrow defile and lowered

himself downwards. When all that was left was his

head, however, he turned suddenly, looking Tara

straight in the eyes.

'It's not what you think it is,' he said simply, his

voice suddenly calm and lucid. 'The ghosts tell me

to tell you. It's not what you think it is. There are

many lies.'

And then he dropped out of sight and all that

could be heard was the hiss of stones as he

scrambled back down the mountainside.

'What did he mean?' she asked, inexplicably

chilled by the man's words. 'It's not what we think

it is?'

'God knows,' said Daniel. He jumped from the

rock and walked to the front of the ridge, gazing

down at the Valley of the Kings below. 'He's

obviously mad, poor bastard. He looked like he

hadn't eaten for a month.'

They stood in silence, Daniel looking down at

the valley, Tara looking down at Daniel.

'You had something to tell me,' she said

eventually.

'Hmm?' He looked back at her. 'Oh, it doesn't

matter. Come and look. It's the best time of day to

see the valley, when it's empty. Like it must have

been in ancient times.'

She jumped down and came to his side, their

fingers brushing lightly. Below them the wadi was

silent and deserted, its tributary valleys branching

off it like the fingers of a splayed hand.

'Where's Tutankhamun's tomb?' she asked.

He pointed. 'You see where the valley

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bottlenecks, in the middle. And then just to the left

there's the outline of a doorway in the hillside.

That's KV9, the tomb of Ramesses VI.

Tutankhamun's just beyond that.'

'And your site?'

There was a slight beat before he answered.

'You can't see it from here. It's further up the

valley, towards Tuthmosis III.'

'I remember coming here with Mum and Dad

once,' said Tara, 'when I was a kid. Dad was

lecturing on a Nile cruise and we got to go along

as well. He was so excited taking us into all the

tombs, but I just wanted to get back to the boat

and go in the pool. I think that's when he realized

I wasn't going to be the daughter he wanted.'

Daniel looked across at her. He moved his

shoulder slightly, as though he was going to take

her hand. He didn't, however, and after a moment

he looked away again, finishing his cheroot and

flicking it aside.

'Your father loved you very much, Tara,' he said

quietly.

She shrugged. 'Whatever.'

'Believe me, Tara, he loved you. Some people

just find it hard to say these things. To say what

they feel.'

And then, suddenly, he
was
holding her hand.

Neither of them said anything, neither of them

moved, as though the contact between them was

so fragile it would shatter at the least twitch. The

sun was below the horizon now and the light was

starting to drain away. A couple of stars were out

and on the plain beneath house lights were start-

ing to come on. Opposite, on a distant saddle of

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rock, they could just make out a couple of soldiers

moving around outside a hut, one of the string of

guard posts set up across the hills after the Deir el-

Bahri massacre. The wind was gusting harder.

'Is there anyone else?' she asked quietly.

'Lovers?' He smiled. 'Not really, no. There have

been. But no-one . . .' He searched for the right

adjective. '. . . meaningful. You?'

'The same.'

She paused and then asked, 'Who's Mary?' She

hadn't wanted to, but couldn't stop herself.

'Mary?'

'Last night, when you were asleep, you kept say-

ing her name.'

'I don't know a Mary.'

He seemed genuinely baffled.

'You said it over and over again. Mary some-

thing. Mary. Mary.'

He thought for a moment, repeating the name

to himself, and then suddenly rocked back on his

heels and burst out laughing.

'Mary! Oh that's wonderful! Were you jealous,

Tara? Tell me you were jealous!'

'No,' she said defensively. 'Just interested.'

'For God's sake!
Mery.
That's what I was say-

ing. Not Mary.
Mery. Mery-amun.
Beloved of

Amun. Nothing for you to worry about, I

promise. She's a man, after all, and one who's been

dead for two and a half thousand years.'

He was still laughing, and now Tara joined in as

well, embarrassed by her mistake but pleased too.

His hand tightened on hers, hers on his, and then,

before either of them really knew what was

happening, he had swung her round and kissed her.

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For a second she resisted, a voice in her head

warning that he was dangerous, would hurt her

again. It was no more than a second, however, and

then she opened her mouth, threw her arms

around him and pulled him close, needing him,

despite what he had done to her, or perhaps

because of it. His hands caressed her neck and

back, her breasts pushed urgently against his

chest. She had forgotten how good he felt.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that,

but when, finally, they pulled apart it was to dis-

cover that the world around them had suddenly

darkened. They sat down on a rock and he

wrapped her in his arms against the wind. Away to

their right a chain of lights snaked up the

mountainside, marking the concrete path up

which they had climbed earlier. More lights were

twinkling on the plain beneath, white for the most

part, but with the occasional green glint marking

the minaret of a mosque.

'So who is this Mary?' she asked, nestling her

face into his shoulder.

He smiled. 'A son of the Pharaoh Amasis. Prince

Mery-amun Sehetep-ib-re. Lived about 550 BC. I

have this pet theory that he was buried in the

Valley of the Kings. It's what I've been doing here

for the last five years. Trying to find him. I'm con-

vinced his tomb's still intact.'

He pulled another cheroot from his shirt

pocket, leaning back behind her to shelter his

lighter from the wind.

'So when do you start digging again?' she asked.

He hunched forward and dragged on the

cheroot, exhaling slowly, allowing the wind to

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catch the smoke and pull it away from him like a

tattered ribbon. There was a long pause. When he

spoke again his voice had changed. Suddenly there

was an edge of bitterness to it, of resentment.

'I don't start digging again.'