of the Theban hills, so visible, and so mysteriously close that they could be seen from the deck of the boat and yet now, shrouded in the misty distance.
They stopped briefly for a breakfast of slices of watermelon and cheese and bread before the sun was too high, then they rode on. Ahead the hills at last drew closer. Louisa stared up, fanning herself beneath the shade of her broad-brimmed hat. A kite circled overhead, a dark speck against the brilliant blue of the sky.
‘Soon there. Very soon.’ Hassan reined back his little donkey. ‘You are going to draw pictures of the mountains?’
Louisa nodded. ‘I want to see the mountains and the tombs of the pharaohs.’
‘Of course. What else?’ Hassan smiled. ‘I have brought candles and flares for us to see them.’ He gestured towards the pack animal. ‘Not far. Then you can rest.’
She nodded again. Perspiration was trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her clothes felt heavy and stifling. ‘I expected to see a lot of visitors along this road,’ she called across to him. The loneliness was beginning to unnerve her.
‘There are lots of visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘The steamer has not been here for several days. When it comes they will arrive again.’
‘I see.’ She smiled uncertainly. The barely distinguishable road was empty of other riders. There were no tracks.
‘There are no footmarks, no signs of anyone else.’ She gestured nervously.
He shook his head. ‘Last night the wind blew. Poof!’ He blew out his cheeks, gesturing with his hands. ‘The sand comes and all things disappear.’
Louisa smiled. That was a phrase for her diary. She must remember it. The sand comes and all things disappear. The epitaph of a civilisation.
The road grew steeper as they made their way into the hills and eventually they turned into the hidden valley where she could clearly make out the square doorways cut in the brilliant limestone cliffs. Drawing to a standstill Hassan slid off his donkey and came to help her dismount. As she stood staring round, listening to the moan of the strange hot wind and the cries of the circling kites he unloaded her sketchbooks and paints and a Persian rug which he spread nearby on the sand. He also produced some poles over which he draped a length of green and blue striped cloth to make her a shelter, like a Bedouin tent, to give her some privacy in the barren valley. The donkeys and he remained in the sun, seemingly oblivious to the heat.
‘I expected to see people digging. Excavating. Why is it all so empty?’ She was staring round, still overwhelmed by the desolation of the valley.
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes there are a lot. Sometimes none. The money stops.’ He raised his shoulders again eloquently. ‘They have to go away to find more. Then they return. Then you will see the wadi full of people. The local men are always here. We will see them, I expect. They dig in the night. If they find a new tomb they dig in the early morning, even in the heat of the day. They are supposed to take what they find to the authorities at Boulak, but …’ Again the shrug of the shoulders she was beginning to know so well.
Digging into the donkey’s pannier he produced two candles and a small flare. Flourishing them he bowed. ‘You would like to see inside one of the tombs now?’
She nodded. The tombs would be blessedly cool after the endless sun. She reached for a bottle of water and Hassan hastened to pour some out for her. The water was warm and brackish but she drank gratefully, then she dipped her handkerchief in the cup and wiped her face with it.
When she turned to follow Hassan towards one of the square doorways in the cliff, there was a sketchbook under her arm.
‘We will start here,’ he waved at one of the entrances. ‘It is the tomb of Rameses VI. This has been open since the days of the ancients.’
‘You have brought other people here before. You know them all as well as a local guide?’ she asked as she made to follow him.
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I have heard the guides from the villages a thousand times. I no longer need them.’
As they entered the passageway Louisa stared into the darkness completely blinded after the brilliant light outside. Then slowly her eyes began to acclimatise. The flickering light of Hassan’s candle barely lit the walls of the long passage in which they found themselves, but from its pale glow she could see the breathtaking riot of figures and colours stretching into the distance. Then he lit the flare and in the streaming flame and smoke she could see hieroglyphs and gods and kings covering the walls and ceiling in rich colours. Standing still on the steep sandy floor of the passage she stared round in amazement and delight. ‘I had no idea,’ she gasped. ‘No idea at all that it could be so …’ she fumbled for words, ‘… so wonderful!’
‘Nice?’ Hassan was watching her.
‘Very, very nice.’ She took a few paces forward, her shoes slipping on the steeply sloping passage. ‘Hassan, it is more wonderful than I had ever dreamt.’
The intense silence of the place was overwhelming but far from being cooler in the darkness the tomb was hot and airless as an oven. She moved across to the wall and rested a hand for a moment on the paint-covered stone. ‘It would be very hard to copy this. Even to convey this wonder. This mystery. I could never do it. My sketches will have to be so impressionistic, so inadequate.’ She shrugged helplessly.
‘Your pictures are very good.’ He raised the flare higher so the light shone a little further into the darkness.
‘How do you know? You haven’t seen any,’ she retorted over her shoulder.
‘I saw. When I was loading the donkey the wind blew open the book.’ He followed her with a grin. ‘I could not help but see. Here. Be careful. There are steps now going down a long way.’
Behind them the small square of daylight at the entrance to the passage abruptly disappeared as they began to descend a long flight of roughly excavated steps. The candlelight condensed on the multi-coloured walls, then as they reached the pillared chamber at the bottom it spread and faded again, mixing and losing itself in the vast darkness. A further series of passages led deeper and deeper into the dark, then at last they reached the burial chamber at the bottom. Louisa stopped with a gasp. Soaring overhead in the flickering shadows two huge strangely elongated figures spanned the ceiling above her head.
‘Nut. Goddess of the sky.’ Hassan was standing beside her, holding the flare high and she found herself suddenly intensely aware of his closeness to her. She glanced sideways. He was gazing up at the figures, his face a silhouette in the soft light.
He turned and caught her staring at him. She blushed. ‘May I have the flare?’
‘Of course, Sitt Louisa.’ For half a second their hands touched as her fingers closed round the wooden shaft. Then abruptly she stepped away from him. ‘Tell me about the goddess of the sky.’
Anna woke with a start to find the light in her cabin still on, the diary lying open on her chest. Daylight poured through the slatted shutters, sending bright narrow wedges of light onto the floor and up the wall. Leaping out of bed she reached across to the window and slid the shutters back. Outside, the river was a brilliant blue. A Nile cruiser was making its way upstream, whilst across the broad stretch of water she could see the palm trees on the distant bank, a strip of brilliant green fields and beyond them in the distance a line of low hazy mountains, pink and ochre in the early morning sunlight.
Dressing quickly in a blue shift she made her way out between tables and chairs in the lounge onto the deserted deck and stared round in delight. It was already hot on the afterdeck, but under the awning it was shady. She walked to the rail and leant on it, staring at the palm trees on the far side of the river. The cruiser was out of sight now, and for a moment the river was empty. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to turn her back on the view and head for the dining room and breakfast. At the door she met Serena, Charley’s