Chapter 7 #2
‘Gee, I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of them.’ Sylvie stared wide-eyed at the pistols and assault riffles.
Maryam, assisting a guest from the bus, heard Sylvie’s comment.
‘Egypt has a high-profile security policy at archaeological sites where there are many tourists,’ she said, then added, ‘Don’t worry, you’re quite safe.’
Together with Sam, Maryam escorted their party to the entrance, and Maryam explained that for some of the tombs, tickets had to be purchased. Once everyone was ready, they were guided to a line of waiting vehicles to take them to the tombs.
A few minutes later, Hattie climbed down from an open-sided truck and strapped her bag across her back.
She settled her Tilley hat firmly and lengthened her walking pole.
Wearing a long-sleeved loose linen shirt and lightweight hiking trousers, she’d added a touch of bling in the form of glittery trainers.
Not quite what Agatha had in mind when dressing for a dig!
Hattie touched a favourite row of pearls at her neck as they set off.
A gust of wind caught Sylvie’s kaftan, lifting it briefly to reveal her stout thighs as she adjusted the scarf on her shoulders and wiped perspiration already forming on her brow.
Cool despite the heat, Ezra walked beside her, his cap low, headphones in place and hands resting casually in his pockets.
Walking ahead, alongside Maryam, Anouska’s long strides were confident, and with her wide-brimmed hat in place, she was untroubled by the early morning heat that was building. Gerald, on the other hand, appeared to be labouring, his shirt already darkening under the arms.
Hattie walked beside Gerald.
‘Take your time and pause for a moment and look at the view,’ she said and reached into her bag to offer Gerald a bottle of water.
‘Decent of you,’ Gerald said, taking a long drink. ‘I hope I can cope with this heat.’
‘You will.’ Hattie smiled. ‘Think of Agatha Christie visiting Egypt all those years ago. She stayed cool by choosing early mornings for sightseeing, and a hat – just like us.’
‘Are you a fan of the author?’
‘Very much so.’ Hattie nodded. ‘She led a fascinating life.’
Maryam found a shady spot and, gathering the guests, together with Sam, explained that guiding in the tombs was forbidden.
‘Why can’t you accompany us?’ Hattie asked.
Sam smiled patiently. ‘The tombs are covered in delicate wall painting and carvings that are thousands of years old,’ he began, ‘if a large group stops for explanations, talking, breathing and moving about increases humidity.’
Hattie nodded. ‘And that slowly damages pigments and plaster,’ she said.
‘Exactly,’ Sam replied. ‘The authorities want people to move through the tombs quickly, and large groups would bottleneck the narrow spaces.’
‘I guess there also needs to be an effort to preserve a respectful atmosphere?’ Sylvie added.
‘That too,’ Sam agreed.
They split the guests into groups based on the tickets they’d acquired and, when reassembled, began to explain the wonders of the chosen tombs and what to look out for.
Hattie, who wanted to see the tomb of Tutankhamun first, stood beside Sam.
Paying no attention to his advice to look out for the painted figures on the walls of Tutankhamun’s tomb, Hattie studied his handsome face.
She missed the company of a man, and other than a brief dalliance with Reggie at the village pub, Hattie’s love life had been at a standstill for longer than she’d like.
Hugo had left this world almost four years ago, and despite their marriage lasting only two brief years, Hattie still deeply missed the husband she’d found in later life, who’d stolen her heart when she least expected it.
Despite her age, she still had stirrings of lust, and why not? She couldn’t shy away from her feelings. In her sixties, Hattie felt as energised as she had in her forties, and her age had never been a deterrent to romance. But these days, encounters were thin on the ground.
She watched Sam remove his sunglasses to reveal his dark eyes and felt a shiver, desire growing as her imagination gathered momentum.
‘Hattie, are you alright?’ Sam called out. ‘Are you suffering from the heat? You seem to be miles away.’
‘Oh, er, just thinking about . . . King Tut and the er, painted figures . . .’ Hattie blurted, dragging herself back to the talk. ‘Sorry!’ she added quickly, forcing an embarrassed laugh while hoping her flushed cheeks would pass for embarrassment rather than desire.
Despite thinking that a little romantic diversion might be a good thing, she knew that a man like Sam wouldn’t mix work with pleasure and would be married with grandkids in double figures.
She returned to Sam’s talk.
‘Howard Carter discovered this tomb in 1922,’ he explained, ‘and thousands of objects were discovered inside. The tomb was low-lying, and centuries of flood debris had accumulated above, sealing it off. This extraordinary, unexpected find made Tutankhamun the most famous ruler of ancient Egypt, even though he was a minor pharaoh in life, who died young, and his reign was short.’
Hattie knew the history of Tutankhamun and how Lord Carnarvon had financed archaeologist Howard Carter’s excavations, so she wasn’t surprised when Ezra mentioned the curse of the tomb.
‘Isn’t it said that anyone who disturbed the tomb suffered from a curse?’ Ezra asked.
‘Yes, we heard about that,’ Sylvie said, excitedly. ‘Can you explain it, Sam?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Well, it was the press at the time, who claimed that when Lord Carnarvon died, illness or death would come to those who’d entered the tomb.’
‘But what do you think?’ Ezra was insistent.
‘Lord Carnarvon died from an infected mosquito bite,’ Sam replied, playing the rumour down. ‘And Howard Carter lived for many years after the discovery.’
Still, Ezra wasn’t to be deterred. ‘But Cairo suffered a power cut at the time of his death, and back home in England, the lord’s dog howled and dropped dead at the same time, so it is true that there was a curse.’
‘Coincidental.’ Gerald laughed. He was perched on a wall, fanning his perspiring face with the brim of his Panama hat.
‘It was sensationalist 1920s journalism,’ Sam continued, ‘and if the curse were real, I wouldn’t be doing this job.’
The guests chuckled as common sense prevailed, while Ezra shrugged and walked away.
‘Now, go and take a look at the tomb for yourselves,’ Sam suggested. ‘Take care as you go in. It’s very small in comparison to others.’
Hattie followed the group and began the short, narrow descent.
The air felt cooler and somewhat stale as the noise from above ground faded away.
Stopping to admire a series of painted cartouches, and to catch her breath, Hattie noticed a nearby Egyptian in flowing robes shape his hands into the outline of a phone.
It took her a moment to realise that he was offering to take her photo.
‘Oh, lovely,’ Hattie said. She handed him her phone, posed, and grinned while he clicked away. ‘Thank you, so kind,’ she added.
But his hand darted out, tugging at her sleeve, and he rubbed two fingers together.
Rats! Hattie thought, fishing in her pocket for a tip. I fell for that one.
She’d imagined a grand ceremonial corridor leading to the famous king but soon found herself in a modest burial chamber.
The ochre and yellow walls glowed, and discreet lighting cast shadows around the room.
Hattie stopped, waiting for the group ahead to move on, then caught her first sight of a sarcophagus to one side and, nearby in a glass case, a blackened figure.
Hattie caught her breath and was shocked to see the mummified head and feet on clear display from the covered body. Looking up, she saw Sylvie, who reached out and linked her arm through Hattie’s.
‘This feels intrusive,’ Sylvie whispered.
‘Like something that shouldn’t be shared,’ Ezra added, standing alongside.
Hattie had to agree. Seeing the small and fragile body unsettled her. Surely, they were intruding on something never meant to be viewed centuries later. Hadn’t Tutankhamun been buried in the hope of eternal rest, not placed here like a circus sideshow?
Suddenly, cameras began to flash as another group entered the chamber. Excited Japanese tourists gathered around the tomb, pointing with glee at the mummified king. Hattie turned, and Sylvie, as though sensing Hattie’s feelings, gripped her arm and led her away.
As they climbed, a ray of sun led the way to the path ahead. They were only a few steps from the tomb entrance when all of a sudden, a cry shattered the heat-laden air.
‘Ah! Help me!’
Turning as one, the orderly line below them scattered, and voices were raised.
‘That sounds like Gerald,’ Hattie said, her stomach churning.
Before she could do anything, an arm brushed past her, and Sam surged forward. ‘Please move on. I’ll deal with it.’ Then he was gone, descending at speed towards the disturbance.
Obeying Sam’s command, they stepped into the sunshine. Hattie crossed her fingers, her heart tight, hoping that Gerald wasn’t hurt.
As the group regathered to wait for news, Hattie watched Ezra slip off his headphones and take in the circle of anxious faces. The grin that spread across his face was entirely misplaced, and she knew, instantly, what he was going to say.
‘Don’t . . .’ She reached for his arm.
But it was too late.
Ezra lifted his hands to the sky and proclaimed, ‘It’s the curse of Tutankhamun!’