Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
THE GUARDIANS OF THE NILE . . .
The guests for the tour of the Tomb of Kom Ombo gathered in the lounge, and when Sue was sure that all the participants were assembled, she ticked them off her list and instructed the party to set off.
‘Your guide today will be Sam,’ she said, ‘and as he is one of the most knowledgeable Egyptologists in the country, I am sure you are all going to learn a great deal.’
Sam stepped onto the stage beside Sue and, with a cheery wave, held up a sign on a stick, labelled SS Nefertari. ‘Follow me today and please keep together,’ Sam said.
Making their way through the boat, Hattie saw that they were alongside the quay, and no other boats were moored, which meant that portside cabins had woken up to a view.
‘Hey, Hattie,’ Sylvie called out as the group disembarked and gathered on the walkway. ‘Thanks for the loan. I really needed something cool to wear today.’
Hattie studied Sylvie. ‘Sorry, the trousers are a bit short, but the top fits a treat,’ she said, and glanced down at the lightweight walking trousers that ended just below Sylvie’s knees.
What a good job she’d over-packed for the trip. At the rate her clothing was being loaned, Hattie might have been going home wearing nothing more than a smile and a pair of socks.
‘If my case doesn’t turn up when we get to Aswan, I’ll go shopping,’ Sylvie assured Hattie as they set off.
‘Good morning, ladies,’ Gerald said cheerfully as he stepped alongside. ‘It’s another beautiful day.’
Deciding not to mention Tomb Whispers, Hattie asked Gerald if he’d enjoyed waking up to a view of the Temple.
‘Absolutely,’ Gerald said. ‘Yesterday I unwisely flung back the curtains and was confronted by a couple in the cabin of the boat alongside, in a rather compromising situation.’ He chuckled. ‘It taught me a valuable lesson, to keep the curtains drawn and never open them without checking first.’
‘I have to admit that I’ve been lucky so far and the view from my suite has been wonderful.’ Hattie smiled.
‘Suite?’ Anouska appeared beside Gerald and pricked up her ears. ‘I didn’t know you were in the other suite,’ she said.
‘Yes, on the opposite side of the corridor to you.’ Hattie said, ‘I thought I’d treat myself on this holiday as I’ve been working very hard.’
‘Working?’ Anouska appeared surprised. ‘Surely, at your age, you’re drawing your pension?’
‘Although I could have the luxury of retirement, I actually love my job.’
Before Anouska could enquire further, Hattie turned away. She was damned if she was going to explain what she did. The less folk knew about her business, the better.
Ezra had joined Sylvie, and they fell into step beside Hattie.
‘You never told me that you still had a job,’ Sylvie said as the group began to climb the steps to the temple. ‘I imagined that you led a life of leisure. What do you do?’
As much as she’d become fond of Sylvie, Hattie wondered if it was a general assumption that a woman in late middle age should now spend their days pruning roses, making marmalade and drifting along to coffee mornings with other retirees.
Hattie doubted that she’d ever retire. As long as the public required her services in the job she loved, she’d keep going for as long as she could.
After all, who wouldn’t want to poke about in other people’s business, untangle their messes and get paid handsomely for the privilege?
It was Hattie’s prescription for fighting off any signs of dementia by keeping her body active and her brain sharp.
‘Oh, nothing of interest really, I’m in customer services,’ Hattie explained.
‘I guess that’s a bit like me, dealing with the public.’ Sylvie nodded in understanding.
Sylvie walked ahead and, hanging back, Hattie turned to Ezra.
‘How was your evening?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘I’ve heard that the food served alfresco on the top deck is extremely moreish.’ She paused. ‘In more ways than one?’
Ezra’s cheeks flushed. When his green eyes met hers, Hattie winked. ‘It’s good for you to have a little space,’ she added lightly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep your mum company when you want time out.’
‘Sure, I’d appreciate that,’ Ezra said.
With the sun already beating down, Sam guided them to a sheltered spot and began explaining the wonders of the Temple of Kom Ombo.
‘It was built in the early second century bc, more than two hundred years before Christ.’ Lifting his sign, he pointed towards the vast columns. ‘Construction continued under later Ptolemaic rulers, with additions during the Roman period.’
Hattie hadn’t a clue what a Ptolemaic ruler was but was far too engrossed with the ripple of muscle along Sam’s forearm as he raised the sign.
‘The temple is unusual,’ Sam continued, ‘because it was dedicated to two gods at the same time. Look at the reliefs and inscriptions.’
Heads turned as everyone learned of Sobek, the god worshipped in the form of a crocodile and associated with fertility and the Nile.
‘Wasn’t the other god here called Horus, and depicted as a man with a falcon head?’ Sylvie asked.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Sam smiled.
‘Gee, that’s so cool,’ Sylvie breathed.
The party moved on, stopping occasionally to study points of interest before standing in the full heat of the sun to gaze down at the river below.
‘Kom Ombo’s position on the Nile made it strategically important for trade,’ Sam said. ‘Egypt is mostly desert. Without the Nile, there would be no civilisation.’
‘Did the river flood in ancient times?’ Sylvie asked as everyone stood on the steps to watch the Nile flow by.
Sam nodded.
‘Every year. The floodwater left behind rich black silt, transforming dry land into fertile soil for crops and where animals grazed. The ancient Egyptians believed the Nile was a god that provided for them all. Today, the river is controlled by the Aswan High Dam, constructed in the 1960s.’
‘We’re going to see the dam on another tour,’ Sylvie said.
‘You will find it most interesting.’ Sam turned back towards the temple, raising his sign again. ‘Sobek’s prominence here also reflected the presence of crocodiles in this stretch of the river.’
‘Why did they worship the crocs?’ Sylvie asked.
‘It’s a good question.’ Sam smiled a dazzling, confident smile. ‘In simple terms, because crocodiles were among the river’s deadliest predators, Egyptians thought that anything capable of ending a life must have power over fate and therefore be divine.’
‘That doesn’t really make sense.’ Sylvie frowned.
‘Well, think of it this way,’ Sam said. ‘Rather than trying to defeat the danger, they believed that if you appeased the crocodile through worship, the fear it represented could be kept in check.’
Hattie glanced at Sylvie and could see that she hadn’t a clue what Sam was talking about. She wasn’t much clearer herself.
But Sam wasn’t finished.
‘At Kom Ombo, temple crocodiles were kept in pools and adorned with jewels. After their death, they were mummified and buried with gold and items of wealth. Their linen wrappings were of the highest quality, and they were embalmed with ceremonial oils.’
‘Like the pharaohs in the tombs?’ Sylvie asked.
‘Exactly,’ Sam said.
The heat was getting to Hattie, despite her Agatha outfit of a button-through, loosely fitting cotton day dress, in the bright yellow Hattie favoured. She tilted her hat and touched her pearls.
Closing her eyes, Hattie chuckled as she visualised the much-worshipped ancient crocodiles, sipping cocktails and sunning themselves on loungers beside their pools.
Perhaps wearing shades and exotic beachwear and reclining like royalty, while admiring jewel-bedecked claws and dazzling crowns. One or two even flashing a gold tooth.
‘Hattie, are you alright?’
Startled, she opened her eyes to see Sam standing in front of her.
‘Yes, sorry. I’m just a bit hot.’ She rummaged in her bag and dug out a battery-operated fan. When she switched it on, it almost blew her hat off. ‘Oops!’ Hattie laughed as she reduced the power.
‘It is very hot today, but don’t worry, we’re going to make our way to the crocodile museum, but will take a comfort break first,’ Sam said. ‘There is a café near the entrance.’ He held up his sign and called out to everyone to follow.
And, like a shadow, Hattie happily fell into step behind him.
The café, a scattering of metal tables and chairs in the dark depths of a large brick-built shed, was situated beside the crocodile museum.
Outside, faded umbrellas shaded wooden benches, and a warm breeze drifted from the river.
The moment the party descended from the temple, vendors materialised, swarming from the market stalls that lined the walkway.
‘Hi, Hattie, over here!’ Sylvie called out and plonked herself down at a table inside the café. ‘I’ll save a seat if you order me and Ezra a Coke.’
Grateful not to be hassled by vendors inside the café, Hattie opened the misted glass door of an old cranking fridge and removed three bottles. Placing her money on the counter, she turned to join Sylvie, who was digging in her pocket for notes, but Hattie waved her away.
‘On me,’ she said.
A short while later, Ezra joined them. ‘Look what I got, Mom,’ he said and opened his palm to reveal a stone object, shaped like a scarab beetle. ‘The guy told me it would bring me good luck.’
‘I hope you got a good deal.’ Sylvie handed him a Coke.
‘Do you think it will save me from the curse?’ Ezra asked.
‘What curse?’
‘The crocodile curse, of course,’ he said with a teasing grin.
Sylvie laughed and waved her hand dismissively. ‘Honey, there’s no curse. Now sit down and drink your Coke.’
Hattie studied Ezra, puzzled by his obsession with curses. It seemed strange for a young man to be so fixated. After all, in Egypt, a curse only threatened when something sacred was disturbed.
Turning away to look around the café, she noticed Peter at a nearby table. He held a tall glass and sipped a dark red liquid.
Iced hibiscus tea, Hattie thought.