It was nonsense, of course, but even so, Edward could not shake an uneasy feeling that Aahotep was indeed returning to the tomb of the murdered lovers and that both he and the innocent Margaret were helping her.

Shaking aside his strange thoughts, he said, “Darcy is not pleased with me.”

“Are you surprised?” she asked, and Edward found himself forced to shake his head in agreement.

“No. No, I am not. I should have told him about the map. But I did not because I knew how he would view it. He would have told me that the map led my father astray and it would do the same to me.”

Sophie sat down at the table again.

“And in a way I cannot fault him because he is right,” he said. “Even so, I hoped… but yesterday was a disaster.”

“Was it?”

“We spent all day in the desert, following the map and searching for the tomb in the missing portion of the map. I was so sure we would find it. But we found nothing,” he said in a dejected voice.

Sophie reached out to him impulsively, but before she could touch him they were both distracted by a noise coming from the tents behind them. There was a white blur and Sophie let out a cry, then she laughed a little shamefacedly.

“Oh dear, I thought it was a ghost! But it is only Margaret. I believe she is sleepwalking again. Quietly, Edward; we must not disturb her in this condition.”

They reached Margaret, whose eyes were wide open but clearly seeing nothing. She held the doll cuddled up to her face and seemed to be murmuring to it, and although her words seemed like nonsense, she moved with a purpose that belied her sleeping state. Edward and Sophie followed her a little way behind so they could catch her if she came in the way of any harm, but she walked round objects as though she were awake. It was only the blankness in her eyes that refuted this.

She moved away from the camp, out of the comforting circle of light cast by the lamps, and both Edward and Sophie began to grow concerned as they followed her deeper into the desert.

“Are you sure we should not wake her?” Edward asked. “She moves as though she means to walk all night.”

“I am not sure,” Sophie confessed.

“I do not think we should let her go much farther, Miss Lucas,” Edward said uncertainly as Margaret ascended a sand dune and proceeded to slip down the other side. “Even if it means picking her up. I shall be as gentle as I can, but—”

Suddenly he realised Margaret had stopped and was now sitting cross-legged on the sand, her doll pressed close against her cheek—her wooden doll, which she had somehow managed to reclaim. Then she began to draw a wide circle around herself, all the while muttering something under her breath. Edward was close enough now to touch her and so he heard her words, softly spoken and almost immediately lost on the night breeze: “Ammon, Husn, Ammon, Husn.”

She whispered them several times before sighing and closing her eyes. Then she dropped gently to the ground, fast asleep.

“Edward!” Sophie cried in alarm. “Is she all right?”

“There is nothing to be alarmed about; she is just sleeping,” Edward replied, picking the little girl up in his arms and carrying her back over the dune. “She is exhausted no doubt by her midnight ramble.”

He was nevertheless relieved when Sophie ran over to him and examined Margaret carefully.

“Well?” he asked.

“It is as you say,” said Sophie, for Margaret was soundly sleeping, her breathing even and regular, her cheeks barely flushed with her exertions.

“Let us get her back to bed,” Sophie said, taking the sleeping child and cradling her against her shoulder.

Edward nodded and then, on a sudden impulse, and with the memory of Margaret’s whispered words in his ears, he took out his pocket watch and dropped it unobtrusively to mark the spot. Then he followed Sophie back to the camp, where she tucked Margaret once more into her little bed.

Sophie sat down beside her, and Edward’s heart lurched at the tender sight.

“I do not think she has come to any harm,” he said reassuringly.

“I will stay with her anyway,” she said. “But thank you for helping me.”

“I will always help you, whenever you need it. Sophie…”

“Yes, Edward?”

He hesitated, and in the silence a great deal passed between them. But he could not say the words he wanted to say and so at last he said, “Good night.”

“Good night, Edward,” Sophie said, but he was gone before the words left her mouth.

He walked about outside for some time, wondering how much it would cost to set up an establishment and if he could afford to offer a life to Sophie even if he never found any treasure. She did not need a great deal to live on, he was sure, but the thought of condemning her to a life of penury did not satisfy him, and that was what it would be, for his father would not approve the marriage and would not help him. So unless by some miracle he found the tomb…

He thought of his pocket watch, marking the spot at which Margaret had whispered, Ammon, Husn, and seized by an irresistible compulsion, he knew he had to go back straightaway and begin digging. With a determined air, he took a large shovel from the pile of tools in the tool store and walked out into the night.

It is nothing but a fantasy, he told himself as he walked. There is no tomb… it is not intact… Margaret’s words mean nothing…

But it was no use. Something had taken hold of him and all he could think about was the eerie tomb awaiting him beneath the desert.

The night was cold and he walked briskly, guided by the starlight. To begin with, the going was easy, as he trod the paths which had been made firm by prolonged use. But by and by he passed into the desert proper and his feet began to sink into the soft sand. Walking became more difficult but it did not deter him. Quite the opposite. He walked with more determination, his eyes seeking the ground for the glint of metal that would tell him he was in the right place.

He walked for some time without seeing anything and he began to be afraid that the sands had already covered his watch, but then he caught sight of something metallic at a distance and hastened toward it. There, lying on the sand, was his watch.

He picked it up and put it in his pocket, then began to dig. He worked feverishly, feeling the sweat break out on his back as he threw the piles of fine golden sand to one side, digging a hole which grew ever deeper. When it was knee-deep he jumped into it and began to dig from the inside, piling the sand on all sides around him until it was shoulder high. And still he dug.

A breeze sprang up, and the fine sand began to drift, catching him in his nose and throat. He became aware of the dangers of his enterprise and wondered if he should have left word of his intentions, but it was too late for such thoughts.

He stopped to rest, the sweat drying on his back, and he felt cold. But he could not let go of his fantasy, and soon he began to dig again. And then his spade struck something hard. He stopped and probed gently. Yes, it was definitely something hard and solid.

Dropping to his knees, he began scrabbling at the sand with his hands, feeling his way around the obstruction as his excitement mounted. His fingers closed around a step and he sat back on his heels, laughing with joy. He had found it! The lost tomb! The tomb of Ammon and Husn! And on the breeze he caught an echo of laughter.

He began to dig again, but as the night wore on his excitement waned and he began to realise how exhausted he was. The huge mounds of sand all around him bore testament to his work and a glance at his watch showed him that he had been digging for hours. Already the sky was beginning to lighten. The work was not progressing fast enough. It was time to get help.

Taking out his compass, he took his bearings, and leaving the spade standing upright in the sand, he returned to camp as fast as his tired legs would take him.

There were already signs of life. The fellahs were untethering the donkeys and Sir Matthew, shrugging himself into his coat, was emerging from his tent, ready for a new day.

“I’ve found it,” said Edward, stumbling forward with the last of his strength. “Bring every man in the camp. I’ve found the tomb.”

Chapter 12




When Elizabeth and Darcy rode into camp after their romantic night at the oasis, they found it a mass of shouting and confusion.

“What is it?” asked Elizabeth as she slid from the camel. “What has happened?”

“Oh, Lizzy, is it not exciting?” asked Mrs Bennet, rushing out to meet them. “Edward has found the tomb. What riches we shall have! Bracelets and necklaces and crowns, too, I should not wonder. What a wonderful young man he is! How unfortunate that all my daughters are married, and my granddaughters not yet old enough to be betrothed, for I am sure he would make an excellent addition to the family. Mrs Long will be green with envy when we return home.”

“Is it true?” Elizabeth asked Sir Matthew, who was standing in the centre of the chaos and giving a string of clear, calm commands in Egyptian.

He broke off from directing affairs and said, “It is certainly true that he has found something. Exactly what remains to be seen. He was digging in the desert and his spade hit stone. Further excavation revealed that he had hit a flight of steps leading underground, which convinced him that he had found the entrance to a tomb. However, until we know more I would advise restraint. All too often, these early excitements give way to disappointment. The steps that seem to promise access to a burial chamber turn out to be an embellishment on the plinth of a statue or some such thing, and even if they do indeed prove to be something more, then all too often the tomb has been broken into by generations of grave robbers and there is nothing left inside but rubble and broken pottery.”