Curse of the Kings

VIII Tragedy on the Bridge

All next day everyone was talking about going home. It had been one of the most expensive expeditions ever made and it had led to nothing—a blind alley in an already depleted tomb!

Tybalt had made a great mistake. He had been deluded by his father's words before his death. It all came back to that. Because his father had died mysteriously—and it was mysteriously whatever anyone said about it—Tybalt had believed he was on the verge of a great discovery. So had others. And now they had learned through bitter disillusion, the destruction of hope, and the squandering of a great deal of money that they had been deluded.

Theodosia was unfeignedly delighted. The thought of going home was a tonic to her.

"Of course I'm sorry for Tybalt," she said. "It's a great disappointment to him. But after all it'll be wonderful to be home."

Hadrian said: "Well, so it's all off. We shall soon be home and our great adventure at an end. Has it cured you, Judith? You were so crazy to come out here, weren't you? And it wasn't quite what it seemed. Oh, I know our Judith. You saw yourself leading us all on to victory. Playing the Mother Superior to the party and finally breaking your way through and discovering the undisturbed tomb of a mighty Pharaoh. And this is the reality."

"I have found it fascinating."

"And you haven't minded being an archaeological widow? Do you think I haven't seen you gnashing your teeth! Who wants to take second place to a lot of dead bones?"

"I soon became reconciled to my position and although it has ended like this, a fact which we must all deplore, I can truthfully say it has been a wonderful experience."

"Thus spake the good and loyal wife."

"I knew this was what to expect," I said, "and I have always understood that Tybalt would have to be working most of the time."

He came closer to me and said: "I shouldn't have neglected you like that, Judith. And all for nothing!"

I turned on him angrily. "A loyal supporter of your leader, I see," I said.

He grinned at me. "You and I were always good friends, weren't we?"

"Until this moment," I snapped.

That turned the grin into a laugh. Then he was serious suddenly. "Don't you believe that. We always were and always will be. If ever you needed me . . ."

"Needed you!"

"Yes, my dear cousin. Even the most self-sufficient of us need others at times."

"Are you hinting something?"

He shrugged his shoulders and gave me that crooked smile which I had always found rather endearing. It was there in his serious moments when he was pretending to be lighthearted over something which affected him deeply.

I thought then: He knows something. He is warning me. What about? Tybalt!

I said sharply: "You had better explain yourself."

He seemed then to decide that he had gone too far.

"There's nothing to explain."

"But you implied . . ."

"I'm just being my nonsensical self once again."

But he had succeeded in planting seeds of uneasiness in my mind.

A few days later there was great excitement throughout the palace. Tybalt was jubilant. He had been following a false clue for months but he had picked up another trail.

He talked to me excitedly about it.

"I have this notion that we have been working in the wrong place. There's something behind the wall which we have yet to probe."

"What if it's another blind alley?"

"I don't think there could be two."

"Why not?"

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Judith, why should there be?"

"I don't know, but there was this one."

"I've got to try it," he said. "I won't give up until I've tried it."

"And that means that we shall stay here for how long?"

"Who can say? But we're going to try."

The effect on everyone was startling.

People like Terence Gelding and the senior members of the party were delighted. So was Tabitha. Poor Theodosia! She was so disappointed. So was Evan I believed, but solely on Theodosia's account. He was so kind and tender to her —a husband first, I thought, archaeologist second.

And I knew that in my secret thoughts I was making comparisons.

Theodosia was melancholy. Her hopes of going home were dashed.

Tabitha said: "She's upsetting Evan. Tybalt is quite concerned. He says Evan is not concentrating on his work because he is continually worrying about his wife."

I felt resentful. Why should Tybalt talk to Tabitha about Evan? I suspected he talked to her about a great deal. I had come upon them more than once in earnest conversation. I remembered that scene with Hadrian and wondered whether others had noticed these things as I did.

Tabitha was always energetic in smoothing the way for Tybalt. It was she who had the idea that since Theodosia was fretting about a prolonged stay she ought to take more interest in what was going on. She thought it would be a good idea to make up a little party and go for a tour of inspection. Theodosia should be a member of it. Leopold Harding, who called now and then at the palace and never lost an opportunity of talking to any of us when we met by chance, had asked if he might have an opportunity some time of being taken on a tour of the dig.

"Let Theodosia see for herself how interesting it is," said Tabitha. "I'm sure that would help her overcome her nervous fears."

Tabitha spoke to Tybalt who gave his permission and then she arranged the party. To my surprise Theodosia agreed to join it. She genuinely wished not to worry Evan and was determined to put on a bold face in spite of her fears.

Leopold Harding was very interested in what was happening at the site. Hadrian told me that he had met him once or twice and he always asked how things were going. He had been very sympathetic when we had believed the expedition had failed and had told Hadrian how pleased he was that hopes had been revived.

"He is longing to have a real look round," said Hadrian, "and has asked me if there is a hope of his joining this tour. He was delighted when Tybalt gave his permission. He invited me to go along to that storehouse of his. Would you like to come?"

I said I would so Hadrian and I went together.

It was a small shop on the edge of the souk, heavily padlocked, and I gathered that some of the pieces he had there were very valuable.

The small space inside was full of the most fascinating things. Leopold Harding glowed with enthusiasm as he pointed out various objects.

"Look at this folding stool. It's carved with interlaced foliage. You see the lions' heads on the upper terminals and the claws on the lower ends. I found it here but it might well be Scandinavian. But one never knows what one is going to pick up where. This could be twelfth century."

Hadrian had picked up a plaque. "Why look at this. I could swear this was genuine." I saw the profiled figures— a Pharaoh presenting gifts to Horus.

"A lovely piece," said Leopold Harding, "and it would fool most people. Wouldn't you think it had been plucked from the walls of a tomb? Not so. It is old—though not old enough. Three hundred years, I'd say. You can imagine how excited I was when that came into my hands."

Hadrian allowed Leopold Harding to take it from him very reluctantly, I thought.

"Look at this," went on Mr. Harding, picking up a box. "It's for jewels. See the ivory inlay and the small checkered panels on the lid. This is one of my most valuable pieces."

We admired the box and went from one object to another. He told us about the difficulties of getting the goods shipped to England and how glad he was when he was able to acquire jewelry or small pieces which he could carry himself.

He showed us some collar-necklets and earrings of lapis and turquoise cut and set in the Egyptian manner. I was fascinated by them. There was one statue which intrigued me. It was of the god Horus with his hawk-like face and at the feet of the god was a small and beautifully carved figure of a Pharaoh. Over this small figure the hawk-god towered protectively. It seemed to take on life; it was some five feet in height but as I looked, as though hypnotized, it appeared to grow to enormous proportions. I could not take my eyes from it. There was about it a quality which made me want to escape from it and yet held me there.

When I felt a touch on my shoulder I started. It was Leopold Harding and he was smiling at me.

"Fine, is it not?" he said. "A wonderful copy."

"What was the original?" I asked.

"That I never saw, but it was clearly meant to decorate some long dead Pharaoh's tomb. The sort of image which was put there to ward off tomb robbers." He turned to Hadrian. "But you would know more of that than I."

"I doubt it," said Hadrian. "I have never seen the inside of an undisturbed tomb."

"That image is certainly a little chilling, don't you agree? Now I want your opinion of this alabaster ornament. The Sphinx, no less. It's rather good. Quite valuable too. It's very cleverly carved."

We agreed and went on to examine the other interesting articles he had assembled, but I kept thinking of the stone Horus and whenever I turned to look at it, I imagined those hawk's eyes were on me menacingly.

It was certainly an interesting experience and when we left we told Leopold Harding so and thanked him warmly.

"One good turn deserves another," he said lightly. "Don't forget you are taking me on a tour of the site."

The party consisted of Terence Gelding, who was in charge, with Hadrian and Evan to assist him, Leopold Harding, the interested guest, Tabitha, Theodosia, and myself.

We went to the site in the evening when the workmen were not there.

I could never enter those subterranean passages without a thrill of excitement so I guessed how Theodosia would be feeling. She was now noticeably pregnant and leaned on Evan's arm; but I was surprised how reconciled she was and she seemed almost prepared to enjoy the adventure.

This was an excellent plan and it didn't seem too much to hope that this might induce Theodosia to cast aside her terrors and begin to be what Tabitha called "a good archaeologist's wife."

Terence had one lantern and Hadrian the other—Terence leading and Hadrian taking up the rear.

Theodosia clung to her husband's arm and gingerly picked her steps.

It was cold, of course, after the heat outside but we had been warned by Terence to bring light coats or wraps.

Terence lifted his lantern high and pointed out wall pictures of the gods and the Pharaohs. I recognized the Ram-headed Amen Ra, Horus the Hawk or was that Amen Ra too, for he was both Hawk and Ram? There was Anubis the Jackal, which reminded me of the mark on the arm of the men whose wound I had dressed and also I had seen it on the soothsayer's skin.

Terence was saying: "This was not the tomb of a very important man. These wall paintings have not been executed with the care that we have seen in some of the palaces—our own palace for one. It was evidently the last resting place of some minor potentate, a man of wealth, though, because even a secondary tomb must have cost a great deal. It could even be that several people were buried here."

"And made a sort of syndicate to pay for it?" asked Leopold Harding.

"Wouldn't they have been dead?" asked Theodosia and we were all delighted to hear her express interest.

"No," said Terence. "Long before their deaths, work was started on the tomb. In the case of a Pharaoh his went on for years and only stopped at the time of his death."

"When they were ready to use it," added Hadrian. "So the longer they lived the better the tomb, which seems hardly fair on the young. To be deprived of life and a fine tomb all at one stroke."

We proceeded carefully along the narrow passageway, Terence leading. Then the passage opened into a chamber. "This is not the burial chamber," said Terence. "That would be farther on. This pit you see here might have contained something which was removed when the tomb was robbed. It's hard to say. This wooden structure of a bridge was put up by us to be used when we needed to cross the pit to get into the passage just beyond. But first look at the engraving on this wall."

He held the lantern high and Theodosia, I believe in an endeavor to show Evan that she was unafraid, started to cross that wooden structure which did service as a bridge.

We were all horrified by what happened next. The bridge crumpled; Theodosia was thrown up into the air before she fell, taking part of the bridge with her down into the pit.

There was a terrifying silence which seemed to go on and on but which could only have lasted half a second.

Then I heard Hadrian cry: "Good God." I saw Evan. He was scrambling down into the pit; it was not easy to get down for it was a drop of some twelve feet.

Terence took charge. "Harding, go and get a stretcher somewhere. Get a doctor someone. Take this lantern." He thrust it into my hands. "I'll get down there." And then he was scrambling down and kneeling with Evan beside the prostrate form of Theodosia.

It was like a nightmare: the gloom of the tomb, the silence all about us, the limp unconscious Theodosia, the stricken Evan.

Everything seemed to take such a long time. Of course there were difficulties. We did improvise a stretcher but bringing Theodosia out of the pit on it was no easy matter; nor was conveying the stretcher along those passages. Terence proved himself a leader on that night and Tabitha was beside him, cool and authoritative. I did all I could to comfort Evan. He kept saying: "It's my fault. I should never have let her come here."

When we finally got Theodosia back to the palace we put her to bed. Her child was born that night—dead—a five months' girl. But it was Theodosia who gave us such cause for anxiety.

She remained unconscious and Tabitha, who had some experience of nursing, stayed with her while I sat with Evan in an adjoining room trying in vain to comfort him.

I kept saying: "It'll be all right. You've lost the child but you'll have another."

"If she comes through this," said Evan, "I shall never bring her away from home again. She was terrified. You know how frightened she was. She sensed disaster. It's my fault."

I said: "Nonsense. It's not your fault. Of course she came with you. You're her husband."

"She wanted to go back, and I kept her here. She was trying hard to adjust herself. Oh God, why didn't I go home."

"You couldn't," I assured him. "Your work was here."

"I did speak to Tybalt. But it was impossible to release me without a lot of trouble. He would have had to find a replacement."

Tabitha had come to the door. Evan was on his feet. She beckoned us to come in.

I looked at Theodosia's pallid face on the pillows; it was clammy with sweat and I would scarcely have recognized her.

A terrible desolation came to me. She was my sister and I knew she was going to die.

Evan knelt by the bed, the tears running down his face.

Theodosia opened her eyes.

"Evan," she said.

"My love," he answered, "my dear, dear love." "It's all right, Evan. I ... I'm not afraid . . ." She was aware of me. "Judith."

"I'm here, Theodosia." "My . . . sister." "Yes," I said.

"It's right over me now, Judith . . . the big black bat . . ." "Oh Theodosia . . ."

"I'm not afraid though. Evan, I'm not . . ." I heard Evan whisper: "Oh God." And Tabitha's hand was on my shoulder. "It's all over, Judith," she whispered. I stood up.

I could not believe it. Yesterday she had been well. Only two days ago we had been in the souk together. And now Theodosia was dead.

The effect of Theodosia's death was dynamic.

Had not Sir Edward died? And now another death. This was the Curse of the Pharaohs!

Mustapha and Absalam watched me with great pleading eyes. "Go home, Lady," said those eyes. "Go home before the Curse strikes again."

Tybalt was distressed. "This has upset Tabitha," he said. "She can't forget that she suggested the expedition. I tell her that she did it to help Theodosia, but that doesn't comfort her."

I had rarely seen him so affected. For Tabitha!

What was happening to me? I was growing resentful and suspicious. Now, I was telling myself, he is more concerned with the effect this is going to have on Tabitha than on Evan, whose wife Theodosia was, and on myself who was her sister.

"I have set up an enquiry immediately," he told me. "We have to find out how such an accident could have happened. The bridge was used frequently and had been strong enough to hold men and a certain amount of heavy equipment. Why should it have broken when a young woman attempted to cross it? There has to be a logical explanation. If we don't find one, those ridiculous rumors will start up again."

There was, however, nothing he could do to prevent that—particularly when it was proved impossible to discover how the bridge had broken.

The Curse had made the bridge fall apart, was the verdict of many. It was the work of the angry gods.

But why should the victim be Theodosia, who had done nothing to offend? It was her first visit to the tomb; she had wanted to go home. If the gods were angry why should they have chosen to wreak their vengeance on her?

Some of the workmen would not go into the tomb, a fact which held up operations considerably.

I was chiefly concerned with Evan who was beside himself with grief.

He could not concentrate when one spoke to him. His eyes would fill with tears; sometimes he would talk of Theodosia and his happiness with her and the hopes they had shared for the future of their child. It was painful; it was more than that. It was unendurable, and I spoke to Tybalt about it.

I said: "Evan will have to go home. He can't stay here."

"We need him here," said Tybalt.

"Not in his present state surely."

"He's pretty useless of course."

I said sharply: "He has just lost a wife and child."

"I know that. I thought perhaps it would be good for him to immerse himself in work."

I laughed shortly. "I'm going to make a suggestion," I said, "which will horrify you. Everything here reminds him of what he has lost. He must go home at once."

"What will he do there? He will only mourn for his wife. Work will help him to overcome his grief."

"Do you realize, Tybalt, how much Evan loved his wife?"

"He was devoted to her, I know."

"I daresay you would find it difficult to understand Evan's feelings for Theodosia."

He looked at me oddly.

"Yes," I continued sharply, "I know you would. But I understand them. At the moment he is dazed by his grief. We have to help him, Tybalt. He has lost what is most dear to him, more dear than anything you can understand. Work cannot save him. Nothing can save him. I think he must go away from here. Here there are too many memories."

"Are there not at home?"

"Different memories. Here he keeps thinking of her as she was here ... all her fears. She always wanted to go home. He is reproaching himself. He's on the verge of a breakdown. If you could have seen his face when they brought her out of the pit ... and then at her bedside when she was dying . . ."

My voice broke; and he patted my shoulder. I looked at him and thought angrily: He is calculating who can be put in Evan's place if Evan is too distraught to continue.

I went on: "This is not a matter of archaeology. This is a matter of human decency, human kindness. I have to look after Evan ... if others won't."

"Well, naturally we want to do what is best . . ."

"Yes, I know, the work must go on. No matter what happens, that is important. I know that. But Evan is of no use to you in his present state. I am going to write to my aunts and tell them what has happened. I shall ask them if Evan can go to Rainbow Cottage and there they will nurse him and make him want to live again."

Tybalt did not answer and I turned from him and said: "I shall now go and write to my aunts. No matter what you say I shall ask them to take in Evan."

Tybalt looked at me in astonishment but he said nothing.

I sat down and wrote:

Dear Aunts, I want you to take Evan and look after him. You will have heard about this fearful accident. Poor Evan is distracted. You know how much he loved Theodosia. I can't believe it. We grew close, particularly out here. She was my sister and we were as sisters. And Evan loved her . . .

I had not been able to cry until that moment. Now the tears started to fall down my cheeks onto the paper, smudging the ink. My aunts would weep when they saw it. It was something to weep about.

Poor sad little Theodosia who was frightened of life! All the time she had feared death; and yet when she faced it her last words had been: "I am not afraid."

If only she had never set foot on that bridge. But then it would have been someone else. Tybalt! My heart missed a beat. What if it had been Tybalt. Since we had come to Egypt my idyllic dreams had become tinged with doubt, fears, even suspicions. I was remembering too frequently how people had reacted to the announcement of our intended marriage. Some—including Dorcas and Alison—had suspected Tybalt's motives. It was true that I had become an heiress.

I had always felt that Tybalt withheld some part of himself. I had revealed myself entirely to him, I was sure. He knew of my sudden impulses, my enthusiasms, my faults, my virtues. I had never been able to conceal my feelings for him; but although we were now husband and wife in some respects he was a stranger to me. Did he lack human warmth, and that need for others which makes us all so vulnerable and perhaps lovable? How much did he depend on me? How much did he need me?

Why was I tormented by these doubts—I, who had always believed wholeheartedly in my ability to mold the pattern of my life? Why was I failing now when I had everything I had always longed for? The answer was: Because I did not altogether know this man to whom I had given myself completely. I suspected his feelings towards me and the motives which had led him to marry me. I believed that his work came before anything in his estimation, before me. Before Tabitha?

I had said it. I was jealous. I was unsure of his relationship with Tabitha and his reasons for marrying me. I had built up a nightmare and it was shaping into reality.

I picked up my pen and went on writing resolutely:

I think he needs special care and you could give him that. Will you take him in and care for him and teach him to live again? Sabina and Oliver will help you. Somehow I think that the calm peacefulness of Rainbow Cottage and you two with your philosophy of life can help him. Dearest Alison and dearest Dorcas, will you try?

I knew them too well not to expect an immediate response.

It came.

Evan did not protest; he expressed no surprise. He seemed like a man in a dream ... or a nightmare.

And so he left us and went to Rainbow Cottage.

Ever since the death of Theodosia, Leopold Harding seemed to have attached himself to our party. He was often seen at the site; he would talk to workers and Hadrian invited him to dine with us. He would ask all sorts of questions and expressed his enormous fascination in the work.

He asked Tybalt if he might look round now and then, and Tybalt gave permission. He asked intelligent questions. He had evidently read up on the subject or cross-examined Hadrian. He and Hadrian were constantly together and we all saw him quite often.

Tybalt's depression had vanished. He felt now that he was on a new trail, success was imminent. He was sure that beyond the wall of the old tomb was the way into another. It had been cunningly concealed but he would find it.

The aunts wrote to me often.

We did hope you would be home before this. It seems that you have been away a very long time. Evan talks a little about it now. He is certainly better than he was on his arrival.

Sabina is very happy. Her baby will be born in a very short time. We are all very excited about it. We never mention it to Evan though. It might make him brood and be sad.

Lady Bodrean is having a memorial set up to Theodosia in the church. There was a service for her. People are talking as they did when Sir Edward died. Oh dear, I do wish you would come home.

Lady Bodrean asked us up to Keverall Court for tea. She mentioned you. She said it was odd how you, her companion, had now become a woman of considerable wealth. She was referring to the fact that you have all now that Theodosia is dead.

My heart began to beat fast. It was amazing but I had not thought of that clause in Sir Ralph's will until now. I had twice as much money as I had before and Keverall Court would be mine on the death of Lady Bodrean.

Money had no concern for me except that now and then I wished I had not inherited a fortune. Then I could have been assured that I had been married for myself.

The aunts were right. Now I was a very rich woman.

She seemed more concerned about your having that money than her daughter's death. I marvel that you were able to stay with her so long. She is not a very agreeable woman. It was very brave of you, dear. Oh, how I wish you would write and say you were coming home.

How their letters brought back the peace of the countryside, the cottage in the quiet cul-de-sac a stone's throw from the old rectory.

Tybalt had said that we must behave as though the tragedy had not taken place. It was the best way to quell the rumors. When we went out though, people looked at us furtively. They thought we were mad to brave the Curse of the Pharaohs. How much warning did we want? How many more deaths must there be?

Tabitha said to me: "You don't go into the souk much now."

"I don't want to. Theodosia and I went so often together."

"They will probably notice that you don't go."

"Does it matter?"

"I think you should behave as normally as possible."

"I don't care to go alone."

"I'll come with you sometime."

The next day she suggested we go.

As we walked we spoke, as we always seemed to, of Theodosia.

"Don't brood, Judith," said Tabitha. "I have to stop myself doing that. Remember, I was the one who suggested the tour. If I hadn't . . . she would be here today."

"Someone else would have died. The bridge was ready to collapse. And how were you to know?"

She shook her head dismally. "All the same I can't forget it was my idea."

"Why should the bridge have broken!" I cried. "You don't think someone . . ."

"Oh no, Judith!"

"Who could possibly have done such a thing?"

"It was an accident. How could it have been anything else?"

A silence fell between us. I thought: Suppose it were not an accident. Suppose someone wanted to kill Theodosia. Who would gain from her death? I was the one who had become twice as rich.

I said: "She was my half sister. I loved her. I bullied her, I know, but I loved her just the same. And now . . ."

Tabitha pressed my arm. "Don't, Judith. There's nothing to be done. It's over. We must do our best to put it behind us."

We were in the open market square. There was noise and color everywhere. The flame swallower was about to perform and a crowd of excited children hopped round him; the snake charmer was sitting half asleep, his snakes in their baskets. A juggler was trying to attract a crowd. We went across the square and into that now familiar maze of streets, past the leather shop where Yasmin sat no more, past the meat on sticks and the cauldron of hot sauce . . . and there was the soothsayer.

He eyed us slyly.

"Allah be with you."

I wanted to move on but Tabitha hesitated. He knew, of course, of Theodosia's death.

"The little lady," he said, "she heed not my warning."

Tears pricked my lids. I could imagine Theodosia so clearly sitting on the mat beside him, her eyes wide with terror.

"I see it," he said. "It hovered. It hovers still." His eyes were fixed on me.

"I do not wish to hear," I said almost petulantly.

He turned from me to Tabitha.

"A burden has dropped from you," he said. "There is happiness now. The obstacle will go and there is the reward if you are wise enough to take it."

I was about to put money into his bowl but he shook his head.

"No. Not this day. I do not want baksheesh. I take only payment for service. I say, Lady, take care."

We walked away. I was shivering.

"He was right . . . about Theodosia."

"He is bound to be right sometimes."

"He is warning me now."

"But he always warned you."

"You are the lucky one. You, it seems, are going to get your reward when you have removed the obstacle. Or is it already removed?"

"They talk," said Tabitha. "It's a kind of patter. But we must not let them see that we are disturbed. That would be the very way to increase the rumors."

But I was disturbed . . . deeply disturbed.

How I missed Theodosia! I suffered a certain remorse because when she had been alive I had never let her know how much it meant to me to have been her sister. I would sit and brood on the terrace where we had often sat together and remember our conversations. Tabitha was no substitute for her; I was unsure of Tabitha.

I was constantly aware of that friendship between her and Tybalt. Once when Tybalt had come back from the site, I was on the terrace and he joined me there. He began to talk earnestly about the work and I listened avidly. But Tabitha joined us. She remembered so much from the previous expedition and she and Tybalt discussed this at length, so that I was shut out. I became apprehensive and resentful.

I was being unfair. Previously I would have believed nothing but good of Tybalt. He meant everything to me, but I was unsure of him. I had begun to see Tybalt as a man who could be utterly ruthless in the interests of his work. And would that ruthlessness be only for his work?

Tybalt was becoming a stranger to me.

As I sat on the terrace one day Leopold Harding joined me. He had almost become a member of the party. His enormous interest appealed to Tybalt who was always ready to help amateurs. He now even dined occasionally at the palace and he would come to the site and watch the men at work.

He sat down beside me and heaved a sigh.

"What a sight," he said. "There's always so much to see on the river. Imagine what it must have been like three thousand years ago!"

"The royal barges," I said. "All those wonderful decorations of people doing strange things . . . like carrying stones to build the Pyramids or offering libations to the gods."

"Why are the figures always in profile?"

"Because they had such handsome ones, I suppose."

"Is your husband happy with his progress?"

"Each morning he is full of hope. 'This will be the day' he feels sure. But so far it has not been, of course."

"It was so sad about Mrs. Callum."

I nodded.

"So young, just beginning life you might say and then that terrible accident. The people at the hotel talk of it constantly."

"I know they do. They talk of it everywhere."

"They believe it is the Curse of the Kings."

"That's absurd." I was talking as Tybalt would have talked. He was so anxious that these rumors should not be encouraged. "If it were a curse—which is absurd anyway— why let it descend on Theodosia, who was the most inoffensive member of the party."

"She was a member of the party though."

"Hardly that. She was the wife of one of them, that's all."

"But there is a lot of talk. The general opinion seems to be that this expedition, like the previous one, is unlucky . . . and it's unlucky because the gods or the old Pharaohs are angry."

"Well, of course, there will be this talk."

"I had a letter from England. Theodosia's death was given some prominence in the newspapers. 'Another death,' it said, and the Curse was mentioned."

"Another! I see they are referring to Sir Edward's death. People love this sort of mystery. They believe it because they want to."

"I daresay you are right," he said. "I have to go soon. I have sent most of my purchases to England now and very little remains to be done. But it has all been so fascinating. Do you think your husband objects to my prowling round the site?"

"He would say so if he did. He is pleased when people show interest. As long as they don't get in the way."

"I shall be very careful to avoid doing that. I realize how very knowledgeable you are."

"When one is with professionals one realizes how little one really does know. Before I married I read a great deal and Evan Callum was at one time our tutor . . . that was for Hadrian, Theodosia, and me. You know the relationship, of course."

"Well, I did hear. You and Mrs. Callum were half sisters, I believe."

"Yes, and Hadrian a cousin."

"All childhood friends. You must feel Mrs. Callum's loss sorely."

"I do. And I know Hadrian does."

"I gather he is very fond of you both ... in particular you."

"Oh Hadrian and I were always good friends."

"So you studied archaeology in your youth."

"It was all very amateurish, but I was always particularly interested in the tombs."

"A fascinating subject."

"The idea of embalming the bodies is so macabre and clever. No people do it as they did. They perfected the art. I remember reading about it in my rectory bedroom—I was brought up in the rectory—and sitting up in bed shivering."

"Imagining yourself incarcerated in a tomb?"

"Of course. They didn't do much after the year 500 a.d. I wonder why? A gruesome process, removing the organs and filling the shell of the body with cassia, myrrh, and other sweet-smelling herbs. Then they used to soak it in some sort of soda for about three months before wrapping it in fine linen and smearing it with a sticky substance."

"It was certainly thrilling to see the inside of a tomb on that fatal night . . . until the accident. What do you think happened about the bridge?"

"It must have been faulty."

"Do you think someone tampered with it?"

"Who should . . . and for what purpose?"

"To kill someone?"

"Theodosia! Why? What had she done?"

"Perhaps to kill a member of the party?"

"It certainly might have been any one of us."

"Exactly. So it seems as though it didn't matter which one ... as long as it was someone."

"You mean that someone just wanted one of us to die as a sort of warning?"

"It could, of course, have been an accident merely—if it had been anyone else. Mrs. Callum's condition helped to make it a fatal one perhaps. You would be far more aware of these things than I. I consider it a great privilege to be allowed these little peeps at what is going on. I shall never forget this visit to Egypt."

"I don't think anyone who is here will ever forget this expedition. It was the same with the previous one when Sir Edward died. That finished it because he was the leader and they could scarcely have gone on without him."

"What did he discover?"

"Precisely nothing. But Tybalt believes that he would have, had he gone on. Tybalt was going on where he left off."

"Well, it's been a great privilege. I have to get back to the hotel so I must leave you. I've enjoyed our talk."

I watched him walk away and then I went into the palace, for the sun was beginning to get hot. I remembered then that I had left Dorcas's pot of ointment in the little room which led off from the courtyard. As I came into it, I heard voices and paused.

Tabitha was speaking. "Oh yes, it's a great relief to be free. If only it happened before. And now, Tybalt, it's too late ... too late . . ."

I stood absolutely still. There was a singing in my ears; the courtyard seemed to recede and I felt faint.

Too late! I knew too well what that meant.

I had suspected for some time. Perhaps I had always suspected; but now I knew.

I turned and ran to my room.

I lay on the bed. Tybalt had gone back to the site. I was glad. I did not want to see him—not yet—not until I had decided what I must do.

I remembered so many incidents. The manner in which he had looked at her when she sat at the piano; the warning words of Nanny Tester; the time when she had gone up to see her husband and Tybalt had discovered that he must be away at the same time. And she was beautiful and poised and experienced. Compared with her I was plain and clumsy; and I was not patient as she was. I was angry and passionate because he cared more for his work than for me.

She understood perfectly. She was the one he loved, the one whom he would have married had he been free.

But even so, why should he marry me? Why should he not wait for her?

His proposal had been sudden. I had been completely taken by surprise. He had asked me because he knew that I had inherited money from Sir Ralph. It was all becoming very clear, too clear for comfort.

And here she was close to him. I wondered how often when I believed him to be working on the site he was with Tabitha. I pictured them together; I seemed to delight in torturing myself. I couldn't bear these imaginings and yet I could not stop myself from creating them.

I felt young and inexperienced. I did not know what I could do.

Of whom could I ask advice? I could not confide in Theodosia now. As if I ever could have! What would she have known of my problem—she with her innocence and her inexperience of life and her doting Evan who had loved her faithfully and would have done so to the end of her days. Dorcas and Alison knew nothing of relationships like this; and they would nod their heads and say "I told you so. We never liked him. We felt something was wrong." That would not do. Sabina? I could hear her voice coming to me over space. "Of course Tybalt is wonderful. There is no one like him. You ought to be glad he married you. But of course you don't know enough and Tabitha does and she is beautiful. And she was always in the house, really like his wife, only she had that husband and he couldn't marry her because of him. At least you are Tybalt's wife and Lady Travers, aren't you? So I suppose that ought to be enough. After all he's not like other people, is he ... ?"

How foolish to let my mind run on with these imaginary conversations. But I could not stop myself. In whom could I confide?

I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to say: What can I do?

I thought of Hadrian. We were fond of each other in a cousinly way, although he had hinted at stronger feelings. We had protected each other when we were children—I protecting him more than he did me, because I seemed to be able to do it better than he could, and he, being the boy, was more often blamed. Dear, uncomplicated Hadrian!

Yet I could not tell even him of my fears, because I could not bear to discuss Tybalt. It was bad enough that I, in my private thoughts, could build up such a monstrous fabrication. He had asked me to marry him suddenly; I was an heiress and now Theodosia's death had made me a very rich woman. Theodosia's death! Oh no, I would not accept such absurdly wicked thoughts. Anyone might have stepped onto the bridge. Yet it had been Theodosia and her death had made Tybalt's wife a very rich woman. Tybalt needed money for his work. Was this why he had married a rich wife? If Tabitha had been free . . . But her release had come too late. "Too late ..." I could hear her voice with that note of sadness in it, that deep and bitter regret.

I stood between them. If I were not here Tybalt and Tabitha could marry, and who would inherit a rich wife's fortune but her widower!

My imaginings were becoming fantastic.