The Buried Pyramid (29 page)

Stephen bent over the sketch. “Hathor often does. This looks more like Isis to me, especially given the sun disk between the horns of her crown. Eddie, it looks like you tried to copy actual hieroglyphs here.”

“That’s right,” Eddie said. “It wasn’t a new tattoo, and lots of the fine lines had blurred, but wherever I could make something out clear, I copied it.”

“What I can read settles it then,” Stephen said, straightening. “Isis and Horus: the mistress of magic and her son, the warrior protector, avenger of his father, the god with whom the living king was often identified.”

Neville spoke when Stephen paused for breath.

“The question is, what are they doing tattooed on the chest of a modern Bedouin—a man who was presumably a good Mohammedan?”

Miriam spoke, “That is my story, as he was a member of my family.”

“You knew then?” Jenny asked in surprise.

“I have just learned,” Miriam corrected. “It is not quite the same thing.”

Jenny nodded. “I understand.”

Miriam looked uncomfortably at Eddie. “I think I must tell you, though I hardly believe it myself, and I must ask that you do not let the story go beyond we few. Should the telling of this tale be tracked back to me, I think that not only myself and Eddie, but all our children and perhaps all who dwell within our walls, would be slain.”

After the events of the previous night, no one was inclined to find this statement either melodramatic or unbelievable. Miriam accepted their promises, then took up her tale.

“When we were laying out the body of my cousin, my mother, who has recently come to live with us, entered the room. Now, before you can understand this story, you must understand my heritage. My father and mother are both Bedouin, but my father is more than half a man of the city, a trader in camels and such. My mother came from a wilder tribe, a fierce people who go from oasis to oasis, living on camels’ milk and dates—and the spoils they take from softer folk.

“Yet even those fierce people have learned to like certain things that are more easily gotten in trade: guns and ammunition, coffee, strong spices, tobacco. Then, too, sometimes their raids would bring them too many sheep or some other thing not worth the carrying, but worth keeping long enough to trade. It was during one of these trading parties that my father saw my mother and desired her. She was not the healthiest of my grandfather’s daughters, and my father had some very good firearms. A trade was made, and for years my father thought he had the best of the bargain, for once fed upon more than camels’ milk and dates, my mother grew healthy and bore him many strong sons and daughters.

“Then, when the first of those sons grew to the threshold of manhood, my grandfather came from the desert. He told my father that as each child reached maturity, that child must be tested, and if the test was passed, the child would be initiated into an ancient trust—a trust that would take them from my father’s family back into my grandfather’s.

“My father protested, as what man would not, but in the years that had gone by since he had married my mother, he had learned real fear of the old desert warrior. In the end, he obeyed. Two of my brothers and one of my sisters went from us in this way. Other brothers and other sisters, however, returned to tell of being given strange things to eat and drink, of being put through great physical hardship, and finally of Grandfather praying over them in strange words before telling them to return to our father.

“I asked my mother if she had been tested in this way when she was a girl, and she admitted that she had, and that she thought that her failure of this test was one reason she had been permitted to marry my father. She did not miss the desert, not one bit. Even the veiled life of a city woman seemed finer to her. I, however, was a romantic child and sought to make myself worthy of my grandfather.”

Miriam looked momentarily sad. “I was never given the chance. The old man was shot through the heart when leading a raid. We heard that there was much squabbling among his heirs. Still, when this was resolved someone might have come for me, but before that happened, I had met Eddie and chosen a different life. My mother’s kin settled their differences and continued to occasionally trade with my father. Gradually I thought nothing more of it, except to be glad that no fierce man from the desert would come and demand my children of me, as my grandfather had done.”

“Your cousin,” Neville asked, wanting to make certain he understood how this story related to the previous night’s murderous attacks, “he was of this fierce desert tribe?”

Miriam took a deep breath. “He was, and though I spoke the truth when I said he was my cousin, he was more. He was also my brother, the oldest of the sons who had been taken from my parents by my grandfather.”

Eddie looked shocked and grasped her hand.

“Miri, I didn’t . . . I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.”

Miriam touched the side of his face.

“How could you, when neither he nor I told you? The first time I saw him after he had been taken away, I greeted him warmly and called him ‘brother.’ He scorned me and my embrace, pushing me aside and telling me that someday I might be his sister, but for now I was simply a cousin, an annoying girl child who should better know her place.”

“What a . . . pig!” Jenny cried.

Neville swallowed a smile, certain his niece had been about to use a far stronger term.

“He was really little more than a boy then,” Miriam said, “newly taken from all he had known and put under a very hard master. I can understand now why he might have spoken so, but at the time I will not deny that I was deeply hurt.”

“He must not have liked your marrying Eddie,” Jenny said, still defensive.

“He did not. Indeed, he told me that he would prefer if I did not even name him ‘cousin’—though, of course, the relationship was known by then in too many circles and could not be denied. I will admit that I rather enjoyed pressing him to admit our relationship, though there were times he quite frightened me.

“Now, when my mother came in and saw the body of her firstborn son upon the floor, tattooed with heathen symbols, and outlandish clothing spread on the floor beside him, she did not weep. She looked at him levelly and said, ‘He turned from Allah, and his pagan gods did not defend him.’ I said to her, ‘Mother, you grew to womanhood in the tents of my grandfather. I think you know more of this strangeness than you have ever admitted. Tell me what you know.’

“She resisted, looking quite afraid, but I was without pity since this danger had come to my husband and might have touched my children. I even threatened to send her back to her father’s people, saying, ‘And do you think that the sons and daughter you gave away will welcome you, especially when their brother has died on your doorstep?’ That frightened my mother indeed, but it still took much effort to get her to talk.”

Miriam paused and smiled. “I realize I have talked immodestly long, but bear with me and you will have the story you truly want.”

Neville smiled in return. “And in my eagerness to hear, I have been a terrible host. Wait and I will bring refreshments, then you can go on.”

Miriam did not refuse, and feeling like six types of monster for making a pregnant woman talk so long with only the splash of the fountain to cool her, Neville ordered the promised refreshments, made certain everyone was comfortable, and then asked Miriam to continue her tale. She did, picking up as if there had been no interruption.

“Perhaps because my grandfather was so confident that none of his children would fail in the test put to them, he was less than perfectly cautious about this mysterious other alliance, at least when only his family was about. The uninitiated were sent away when secret matters were discussed, but not guarded. One day, curious about what might await her, my mother spied on the ceremonies of initiation.

“She saw men and women dressed in costumes not unlike the jackal-headed one we have all seen, but the jackal was only one of the strange creatures represented. There was a hawk-headed man and a woman dressed like this Isis.” Miriam indicated the sketch of the tattoo. “And others. The initiates were given hashish to smoke—my mother knew the smell—and what she suspected was wine. They were told to stand without crying out while their skins were marked with needles. While this was being done, for it was a long process, the man wearing the hawk’s head—Mother thought it was her own father—told a strange tale.

“ ‘In the days long, long ago, when our people built the mountains of rock called pyramids and carved tombs into the cliffs, and raised great cities that were the envy of all the world, there was a king who was praised by even the gods for his goodness, honor, and sense of justice. When this king grew old and knew he would die, he did not wish that wealth be spent on an elaborate burial, as was then the custom. He told his people to bury him as the most common men were buried, and that he would be content.

“ ‘The gods of those days, for this was before the time of Allah, did not fault men for obeying the good king’s request, but took it upon themselves to raise for him a pyramid grander than any ever seen. The people who had loved their king were glad at this sign of favor, but the priests grew envious. When they thought enough time had passed that the gods would have forgotten the good king, the most greedy among them came to rob and despoil.

“ ‘But the gods had not forgotten the good king, their brother, and raised a great wind to carry sand and hide forever both the tomb and the evil men who would desecrate it. The people in the nearest village were awakened by the windstorm and trembled in fear, weeping and praying that the wrath of the gods would spare them. At last every man, woman, and child fell into a deep sleep. The children dreamed of the good king as he had been in life, so that even those who had never seen him felt his seal on their hearts. The adults dreamed differently.

“ ‘Two gods came before them, a great hero with the head of a hawk, and a woman, human in all ways except for her beauty, which was divine. The hero and the lady said with one voice, “To you is given a great honor and a wondrous burden. The memory of the good king must not vanish with the unfolding of the ages, for there are too many corrupt kings and too few just ones. Tell stories of the good king to your children, and to your children’s children. Bring them to the valley in which he is buried, a valley you shall know by this sign—it is protected by images of four gods. By this sign, they will know the tales you tell are true.”

“ ‘ “Yet,” the hero and the lady continued, “even as this legend lives, so it will arouse greed in the hearts of the weak. Thus we give you a second charge—to guard the good king’s rest throughout the ages. When, lured by hopes of treasure and glory, those come who mean to loot what we have buried, it is your task to stop them before they can defile the good king’s rest. Know that we will watch you, and hold you to this trust. From this day forth, you are the Sons of the Hawk and the Daughters of Isis, together the protectors of this good king.” ’ ”

Miriam paused. “So ended the story my mother told me. She is not an imaginative woman, and she cannot read nor write. She is little interested in antiquities as are most of our people—seeing them as things to sell if found, but otherwise not worthy of consideration. I cannot help but believe that my grandfather was descended from these villagers, and that somewhere still there are those who guard this ancient trust.”

Neville felt both angry and afraid. “And would kill us to do it?”

“Yes, Sir Neville.”

Miriam raised her chin defiantly, and in that gesture Neville saw again the valiant Bedouin girl who had saved his life ten years before.

Stephen shook himself as if coming out of a dream.

“The thing I find most fascinating about that tale—other than the obvious, I mean—is that it has a ring of truth to it. Most Arab legends say nothing about the pyramids or the old gods. At best they equate them with genies and efreet or other mythical creatures of the desert. This story, though, takes a historical view.”

Neville had to agree, but being practical did not wish to discuss it at the moment. Instead he turned to Miriam.

“Do you think your father and brother who were my camel drivers all those years ago knew anything of this story?”

“Yes, and again, no,” Miriam said. “I do not think my father and brother knew all this, but I think they knew that men of my grandfather’s clan followed us, and that was why they abandoned their responsibility to you and left me. I was with them on that trading trip, contrary to usual practice. Now I suspect this was because someone may have sent for me to undergo my test. Indeed, there were times I thought the entire adventure was part of some such test. Now, though, I do not.”

Silence fell as everyone mulled over what they had learned. Neville wondered if this last would finally be enough to make the others pull out. He wondered if he could go on alone. Then he saw how Stephen was studying the sketches of the tattoos, not with fear but with fascination. Eddie, too, looked defiant, and he realized that the other man felt deeply both the assault on himself and the old insult to his wife. Neither of them would give up, not unless he did first.