The Seventh Scroll (51 page)

They worked slowly, and von Schiller found the delay tantalizing. There was no sense of the passage of time down here in the vault, but at one stage von Schiller, now in his shirtsleeves, glanced at his gold wrist-watch and was surprised to see' that it was past nine 'clock at night. He unknotted his necktie, threw it on the bench where his jacket already lay, and reapplied himself to the task.

Gradually the shape of a human body emerged from under the compacted mass of ancient bindings, but it was after midnight when at last Nahoot teased away the last untidy clump of old cloth from the mummy's torso. They blinked at the glimpse of gold just visible through the neat layers of bandages laid upon the corpse by the meticulous and skilful hands of the embalmers.

"Originally, of course, there would have been several massive outer coffins. These are missing, as are the masks.

Those must still be in Pharaoh's original sarcophagus, covering the body of Tanus in the royal -tomb that still awaits discovery. What we have left here is only the inner dressing of the royal mummy."

With long forceps he peeled away the top layer of bandage asVon Schiller, perched on his block, grunted and shuffled his feet.

"The pectoral medallion of the royal house of Mamose," Nahoot whispered reverently. The great jewel blazed under the arc light. Resplendent in blue lapis lazuli and red carrielian and gold, it covered the entire chest of the mummy. The central motif was of a vulture in flight, soaring on wide pinions, and in its talons it clutched the golden cartouche of the king. The craftsmanship was marvelous, the design splendid.

"There is no doubt now," von Schiller whispered. "This proves the identity of the body." cartOUc xt they unwrapped the king's hands, clasped over the the great medallion. The fingers were long and sensitive, each of them loaded with circle after circle of magnificent rings. Clasped in his dead hands were the flail and sceptre of majesty, and Nahoot exulted when they saw them.

"The symbols of kingship. Proof on proof that this is Mamose the Eighth, ruler of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms of ancient Egypt." He moved up to the king's still veiled head, but von Schiller stopped him.

"Leave that until last!" he ordered. "I am not yet ready to look upon the face of Pharaoh."

So Nahoot and Reeper transferred their attention to the king's lower body. As they lifted away each layer of linen, so were revealed scores of amulets that the embalmers had placed beneath the bandages as charms to protect the dead man. They were of gold and carved jewels and ceramic in glowing colours and marvelous shapes - all the birds of the air and the creatures of the land and the fish of the Nile waters. They photographed each amulet in situ before working it free and placing it into a numbered slot in the trays that had been set out upon the workbench. Pharaoh's feet were as small and delicate as his hands, and each toe was laden with precious rings. Only his head was still covered, and both men looked enquiringly at von Schiller. "It is very late, Herr von Schiller," Reeper said, if you wish to rest-'

"Continue!" he ordered brusquely. So they moved up each side of the mummy's head, while von Schiller on remained on his stand between them.

Gradually the king's face was exposed to the light, for the first time in nearly four thousand years. His hair was thin and wispy, still red with the henna dye he had used in his lifetime. His skin had been cured with aromatic resins until it was hard as polished amber. His nose was thin and beaked. His lips were drawn back in a soft, almost dreamy smile which exposed the gap in his front teeth.

The resin coated his eyelashes, so that they seemed wet with tears and the lids only half-shut. Life seemed to gleam there still, and only when von Schiller leaned closer did he realize that the light in those ancient sockets was the reflection from the white porcelain discs that the undertakers had placed in the empty sockets during the embalming.

On his brow the Pharaoh wore the sacred uraeus crown. Every detail of the cobra head was still perfect, There was no wearing or abrading of the soft metal. The I serpent fangs were sharp and recurved, and the long forked tongue curled between them. The eyes were of shining blue glass. On the band of gold beneath the hooded asp was engraved the royal cartouche of Mamose.

"I want that crown." Von Schiller's voice was choking with passion.

"Remove it, so that I can hold it in my own hands."

"We may not be able to lift it without damaging the head of the royal mummy," Nahoot protested.

"Do not argue with me. Do as I tell you."

"Immediately, Herr von Schiller," Nahoot capitulated.

"But it will take time to free it. If Herr von Schiller wishes to rest now, we will inform you when we have loosened the crown and have it ready for you."

The circle of gold had adhered to the resin-soaked skin of the king's forehead. In order to remove it Nahoot and Reeper first had to lift the complete body out of the coffin and lay it on the stainless steel mortuary stretcher which already waited to receive it. Then the resin had to be softened and removed with specially prepared solvents.

The whole process took as long as Nahoot had predicted, but finally it was completed.

They laid the golden uraeus upon a blue velvet cushion, as if for a coronation ceremony. They dimmed all the other lights in the main chamber of the vault, anded a single spot to fall upon the crown. Then they arrang both went upstairs to inform von Schiller.

He would not let the two archaeologists accompany him when he returned to the vaults to view the crown.

Only Utte Kemper was with him when he keyed the lock to the armoured door of the vault, and the heavy door slid open.

The first thing that caught von Schiller's eye as he entered the vault was the glittering crown in its velvet nest.

immediately he began to wheeze for air like an asthmatic, and he seized her hand and squeezed until her knuckles crackled with the pressure and she whimpered with pain. But the pain excited her. Von Schiller undressed her, placed the golden crown upon her head and laid her naked in the open coffin.

"I am the promise of life," she whispered from the ancient coffin. "Mine is the shining face of immortality." He did not touch her. Naked, he stood over the coffin with his inflamed and swollen rod thrusting from the base of his belly like a creature with separate life.

She ran her hands slowly down her own body, and as they reached her mons Veneris, she intoned gravely, "May you live for ever!'

The wondrous efficacy of the crown of Mamose was proven beyond any doubt. Nothing before had produced this effect upon Gotthold von Schiller. For at her words, the purple head of his penis erupted of its own accord and glistening silver strings of his semen dribbled down and splattered upon her soft white belly.

In the open coffin Utte Kemper arched her back, and writhed in her own consuming orgasm.

It seemed to Royan that she had been away from Egypt for years instead of weeks. She realized just -how much she had missed the crowded and bustling streets of the city, the wondrous smells of spices and food and perfume in the bazaars, and the wailing voice of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from the turrets of the mosques.

That very first morning she left her flat in Giza while it was still dark, and since her injured knee was still swollen and painful she used her stick as she limped along the banks of the Nile. She watched the dawn cobble the river waters with a pathway of gold and copper and set the triangular sails of the feluccas ablaze.

This was a different Nile from the one she had encountered in Ethiopia. This was not the Abbay, but the true Nile. It was broader and slower, and the muddy stink of it was familiar and well beloved. This was her river and her land. She found that her resolve to do what she had come home to do was reinforced. Her doubts were set at rest, her conscience soothed. As she turned away from it she felt strong and sure of herself and the course that she must take.

She visited Duraid's family. She had to make amends to them for her sudden departure and her long, unexplained absence. At first her brotherin-law was cool and stiff towards her; but after his wife had wept and embraced Royan and the children had clambered all over her - she was always their favourite ammah - he warmed to her and relented sufficiently to offer to drive her out to the oasis.

When she explained that she wanted to be alone when she visited the cemetery, he unbent so far as to lend her his beloved Citron. As she stood beside Duraid's grave the smell of the , desert filled her nostrils and the hot breeze rid'eted with her hair. Duraid had loved the desert. She was glad for him that from now onwards he would always be close to it. The headstone was simple and traditional: just his name and dates, under the outline of the cross. She knelt beside it and tidied the grave, renewing the wilted and dried bouquets of flowers with those that she had brought with her from Cairo.

Then she sat quietly beside him for a long while. She made no rehearsed speeches, but " imply ran over in her mind so many of the good quiet times they had passed together. She remembered his kindness and his understanding, and the security and warmth of his love for her. She regretted that she had never been able to return it in the same measure, but she knew that he had accepted and understood that.

She hoped that he also understood why she had come back now. This was a leave-taking. She had come to say goodbye. She had mourned him and, although she would always remember him and he would always be a part of her, it was time for -her to move on. It was time for him to let her go. When at last she left the cemetery, she walked away without looking back. She took the long road around the south side of the lake to avoid having to pass the burnt-out villa; she did not wish to be reminded of that night of horror on which Duraid had died there. It was therefore after dark when she, returned to the city, and the family were relieved to see her. Her brother-in-law walked three times around the Citron, checking for damage to the paintwork, before ushering her into the house where his wife had set a feast for them.

'an Abou Sin, the minister whom Royan had Come specifically to see, was out of Cairo on an official visit to Paris. She had three days to wait for his return, and because she knew that Nahoot Guddabi was no longer in Cairo, she felt safe and able to spend much of that time at the museum. She had many friends there, and they were delighted to see her and to bring her up to date with all that had happened during the time that she had been away.

The rest of the time she spent in the museum reading room, going over the microfilm of the Taita scrolls, searching for any clues that she might have missed in her previous readings. There was a section of the second scroll which she read carefully and from which she made extensive notes. Now that the prospect of finding the tomb of Pharaoh Mamose intact had become real and credible, her interest in what that tomb might contain had been stimulated.

The section of the scroll upon which she concentrated was a description that the scribe, Taita, had given of a' royal visit by the Pharaoh to the workshops of the necropolis, where his funerary treasure was being manufactured and assembled within the walls of the great temple that he had built for his own embalming. According to Taita they had visited the separate workshops, first the armoury with its collection of accoutrements of the battlefield and the chase, and then the furniture workshop, home of exquisite workmanship. In the studio of the sculptors, Taita. described the work on the statues of the gods and the lifesized images of the king in every different activity of his life that would line the long causeway from the necropolis to the tomb in the Valley of the Kings. In this.workshop the masons were also-hard at work on the massive granite sarcophagus which would house the king's mummy over the ages. However, according to Taita's later account history had cheated Pharaoh Mamose of this part of his treasure, and all these heavy and unwieldy items of stone had been abandoned and left behind in the Valley of the Kings when the Egyptians fled south along the Nile to the land they called Cush, to escape the Hyksos invasion that overwhelmed their homeland. As Royan turned with more attention to the scribe's description of the studio of the goldsmiths, the phrase which he used to describe the golden deathmask of the Pharaoh struck her forcibly. "This was the peak and the zenith. All the Unborn ages might one day marvel at its splen&ur." Royan looked up dreamily from the micro film and wondered if those words of the ancient scribe were not prophetic. Was she destined to be one of those who would marvel at the splendour of the golden deathmask? Might she be, the first to do so in almost four thousand years? Might she touch this wonder, take itup in her hands and at last do with it as her conscience dictated?

Reading Taita's account left Royan with a sense of ancient suffering, and a feeling of compassion for the people of those times. They were, after all

- no matter how far removed in time - her own people. As a Coptic Egyptian, she was one of their direct descendants. Perhaps this empathy was the main reason why, even as a child, she had originally determined to make her life's work a study of these people and the old ways. However, she had much else to think of during those days of waiting for the return of Atalan Abou Sin. Not least of these were her feelings for Nicholas Quenton Harper. Since she had visited the little cemetery at the oasis and made her peace with Duraid's memory, her thoughts of Nicholas had'taken on a new poignancy. There was so much she was still uncertain of, and there were so many difficult choices to make. It was not possible to fulfill all her plans and desires without sacrificing others almost equally demanding.

When at last the hour of her appointment to see Atalan came around, she had difficulty bringing herself to go to him. Like somebody in a trance she limped through the bazaars, using her stick to protect her injured knee, hardly hearing the merchants calling their wares to her.

>From her skin tone and European clothing they presumed she must be a tourist.

She hesitated so long over taking this irrevocable step that she was almost an hour late for the appointment.