Chapter 11
Onora did not pass the night well.
It felt as though she’d counted every hour. Her aunt, meanwhile, had managed a deep slumber, though a restless one, mumbling rather loudly and flailing her legs, twice catching Onora on the shin.
Onora’s thoughts were far too crowded, and pondering how the cobra came to be in Clodagh’s room was but one of her anxieties. That someone should have done so on purpose seemed unlikely, for what reason could there be?
We’re in the desert. Snakes live here and, every now and then, they find their way into places they shouldn’t be.
In her father’s time, there had been an incident with a snake entering one of the tents and giving everyone a fright. Fortunately, the creature had had the good sense to slither out again.
It was also fortunate that Mr. Balfour had been nearby, and he’d certainly been brave.
There was something about him—beyond his vitality and handsomeness—that she found attractive.
She could imagine him going out of his way to ensure her comfort, taking consideration of her happiness on an equal footing with his own, wanting her to feel secured and cared for.
With Seton, she couldn’t shake off the sense that he attended to her only as far as was convenient.
As to that dreadful parlor trick after dinner, Seton had been quite unpleasant, pressing her to speak. Her poor aunt must have experienced something similar upon looking into the mirror, though she seemed to have no recollection.
Clodagh stirred as Onora eased out of the bed, but was easily convinced to stay where she was and rest. Onora then returned to her own room. Having accomplished a sponge wash and secured her hair, she donned a simple costume and her stoutest boots.
Seton wanted to take her into the temple and Onora was determined to face down her fears.
Her gaze strayed to the trunk in which her paints and easel were stored.
Ought she to take it with her—the scarab—hidden in her pocket?
There might be a chance to replace it; some moment when Seton wasn’t looking.
She pushed that idea away.
Besides the unlikelihood of such an opportunity presenting itself, she couldn’t just replace the thing on the sarcophagus. It would be far too suspicious.
Eleven scarabs and then suddenly twelve, most conveniently after I visit the place! He’d be sure to work out that I’d had it in my possession all this time.
That I’m a thief!
No! The scarab would stay where it was.
The heat was already blistering.
Leaving behind the gardens, the scorch of the desert hit her, radiating from the sand beneath their feet and outward from the limestone cliffs. Seton, with her arm through his, was walking at a fair clip, obviously eager to reach the subterranean shade of the temple.
His manner was solicitous, though he barely asked after Clodagh, or made mention of the incident with the snake. Onora let it go. She could see how being woken in the middle of the night to such a commotion would have riled Seton. He was hot-headed, and she didn’t expect him to change.
Despite Seton giving the workers’ tents a wide berth, Onora found herself looking over, hoping for some glimpse of Mr. Balfour.
The night before, everything had happened so quickly. A note of some sort might be in order, to express their thanks, although she sensed Seton wouldn’t approve. She might ask Clodagh to write it on behalf of them both. Seton could hardly object to that…
As they reached the ramp leading down through the monumental gateway, Seton paused. “You must tell me if you feel faint or overcome, my dear. I’m not so bullheaded as to be unaware that you must have some reservation in returning to the scene of…”
My father’s death.
Onora swallowed down the taste of bile.
Seton took her gloved hand. “I hope you shall not find the memories too painful.” He stooped, intruding into the space beneath her parasol.
“I shall manage.” She made herself say it, though her every instinct shouted to wrench away her hand, to turn on her heel and run—away from the dig and from Seton, to run to her aunt and beg that they pack and leave, to board the boat and head back to Cairo, back to Alexandria and across the water, putting a whole sea between them and this place that both repelled and fascinated her.
No matter that Clodagh was still resting in her room, overcome with exhaustion; too tired, even, to protest that Onora should not be accompanying Seton unchaperoned.
Seton had brushed away any such concerns, saying there could be nothing improper in a man escorting his fiancée, and that his wish was to share this moment with her alone, unencumbered by the presence of any other woman from their party.
“Excellent!” A bead of sweat trembled on the indentation above his upper lip, before disappearing into his moustache. “Naturally, I would not have brought you had I the least doubt as to your stoutheartedness.” Seton had a knack of laying on the charm when she was most inclined to retreat from him.
“Nothing would keep me from returning here to see the progress you’ve made. You know how interested I am in your work, and I’m looking forward to helping, in whatever way I can be useful.”
“You shall be invaluable, my dear. That I know with certainty.” He raised her hand briefly to his lips before stepping onto the ramp, leading her downward.
They crossed the open courtyard and were at the entrance to the inner cavern of the hypostyle, on the threshold of its comparative coolness, when Seton halted.
“See the stonework above the threshold? Remarkably well-preserved. A depiction of Aten, the sun god, and a half circle, segmented into twelve portions.”
Squinting against the light, Onora studied the engraving. How had she not noticed before? “The gates through which the sun must pass by night, one for each dark hour.”
“Exactly.” Seton smiled benignly. “Ingenious, truly, how the priestess of Qadesh concealed the true intent behind her temple. Outwardly this is a symbol of Aten, and yet the symbolism is obvious. All that lies within belongs to the realm of night, rather than day.”
All at once lightheaded, Onora felt her legs buckle beneath her. The parasol fell from her grasp, and she clung to Seton.
Adroitly, his arm came about her waist. “Let’s get you inside.”
The relief was immediate, though the sun cast its beam across the floor and the air remained warm, flowing through the open doorway. Seton guided her to a stool beside a long table and set about lighting a lantern.
“Better?”
Though her legs still felt weak, she nodded, and he helped her up. They proceeded through the colonnaded hall, the place eerily quiet.
He’d attached one of the larger lamps to a long pole with a hook and directed the illumination at the domed ceiling. There were the painted stars her father had once told her of, and she felt the pang again—that it was not he by her side, showing her the marvels of this part of the temple.
They did not linger long for Seton seemed impatient to press on, and hurried her to the gates of the sanctuary. These were secured by a chain and a cast-iron lock.
Seton removed a key from his jacket. “There are no extravagant riches here, but all artefacts fetch a price in the markets of Cairo or Luxor. One cannot be too careful.”
As he drew the doors open some draught, warm as a lover’s breath, passed over her face.
It’s nothing! Simply air, flowing from one space into another.
And yet, she felt a change come over her—an intense awareness of her body. Beneath her clothes, teasing prickles ran over her skin, as if something was awakening, reminding her she was a woman.
Returned at last, as I knew you would.
Onora looked about her, startled. She would swear someone had spoken behind her, but there was no-one else present. Was she imagining things? Or talking to herself? This day had been long coming, both sought after and dreaded, and it was affecting her in disturbing ways.
“Wait here a moment.” Seton entered and she heard a match strike. A soft radiance flickered to life somewhere beyond.
Onora remained as she was, not yet daring to cross the threshold, while Seton moved about the room, igniting sconces upon the walls.
It felt strange, seeing the chamber like this, lit as it would have been long ago. For the first time, she observed the friezes upon the perimeter walls. There were a great many figures, in a variety of poses, some on their knees, or bending lower in supplication, she supposed.
The six sarcophagi were as she remembered them, the statue of the goddess looming above, her stare piercing, a snake writhing in each hand and the crescent moon crowning her head.
Naked but for a delicate loincloth painted in blue, stark against the gold of her skin. Blue and gold—symbolizing eternal life.
“That fragrance…what is it?” The scent pervading the room was something she’d experienced before.
“We’ve replicated the oil used in rituals from this time.
Expensive ingredients, rich and intoxicating, as is fitting for worship of the goddess said to be wife to both the fertility god Min and of Resheph—he who brought war and pestilence and was gatekeeper of the underworld.
We have mere snatches of information, from papyrus discovered in Amarna, Luxor, and in Syria, where the cult of the goddess began, but her duality is clear.
” Seton was gazing upward. “She understands the true nature of humanity, our rage and joy, our yearning to create and to destroy. She knows what we covet, and what we hide. There is no other like her.”
Onora averted her eyes. Qadesh sounded far too all-knowing, and the statue’s expression did not speak of benevolence. There was something dangerous in those eyes.
Dangerous and alluring.