the Colossi of Memnon, two massive figures carved out of pink quartzite, standing alone on the bare rubbled ground, then they were back into the coach and heading once again towards the edge of the green fertile countryside. At last they were nearing the range of mountains she had seen from the boat in the early morning light. As they drew closer they changed colour. They were becoming less brown, less pink, more dazzling as the sun reflected off the dusty stone and the sand. They passed villages nestling into the cliffs with dark holes amongst the mud-brick houses which could have been modern or ancient, caves or dwellings or antiquities.
It was hard to tell, Anna realised, if something was two years old or two thousand. Here there was no green to be seen at all. The ground was everywhere a rubble of rocks and shale and scree.
The bus park in the valley dispelled all her visions of Louisa’s lonely visit to the tombs. As Andy had warned it was packed. Acres of coaches, hundreds of tourists and round them, like wasps round a jam pot, dozens and dozens of eager noisy men, dressed in colourful galabiyyas and headscarves, holding out postcards and statuettes of Bast, Tut and souvenirs galore.
‘Ignore them and follow me.’ Omar clapped his hands. ‘I will buy your tickets and photograph permits then you can explore alone or stay with me and I will take you into some of the tombs.’
Anna looked around in dismay. It was nothing like the place she had imagined. Nothing at all. For a moment she stood still, overwhelmed, then she was swept into a loosely gathered queue making its way alongside the barren cliffs, past a line of colourful booths and stalls where yet more souvenirs were being hawked. Andy and Charley, and Serena had disappeared. For a moment she wondered if she should try to find them, then she decided against it. With a smile she took her ticket from Omar and resolutely she set off to find her way around on her own.
The narrow valley absorbed the sunlight, turning it into a blinding oven. The mountains all around them were huge, ochre-coloured, awesome, rugged and uneven and deeply fissured. It was a landscape utterly untouched by time. The square entrances to the tombs were black enticing shadows scattered over the cliff faces. Some were barred with gates. Many were open.
‘You look bemused, Anna, love.’ Ben Forbes was beside her suddenly. ‘Want to venture in with me?’ His broad-brimmed hat flopped idiosyncratically to one side and the green canvas bag hanging from his left shoulder looked as though it had seen quite a few expeditions in the past. He had his guidebook already open. ‘Rameses IX. This is a particularly splendid tomb, I believe. It is as good a place as any to start.’ He led the way down a sloping ramp where they joined the queue of people wanting to go in.
‘Interesting man, Andy Watson. We were both a bit late applying for places on this holiday and as fate would have it there was only a double cabin left so we’re sharing. I don’t find him irresistible, but I can see the ladies might.’ He had taken off his glasses and was polishing them with his handkerchief.
‘Yes.’ She nodded.
‘Seems to have taken quite a shine to you.’
‘Oh, I don’t think so. He’s just being friendly.’
Ben nodded. ‘Probably.’ There was a moment’s silence as they shuffled forward in the queue. ‘I sat next to Charley on the bus.’
Anna glanced at him. ‘His girlfriend?’
‘According to her, yes. Forgive me poking my nose in, Anna, especially at this early stage, but I’ve been on cruises before and ours is an exceptionally small boat.’
Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I being warned off?’
‘I think the lady could turn a bit nasty, if provoked.’
Sighing, Anna shrugged. ‘Isn’t it a shame when one can’t just be friends with someone of the opposite sex? I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. He was friendly. I don’t know anyone. That’s all.’
‘You know me.’ Ben gave her a warm smile, his eyes crinkling into deep folds at the corners. ‘Not so attractive, I grant you. Not so young. But infinitely less dangerous. Come on.’ He touched her elbow lightly.
They were in front of a large square entrance, the heavily barred gate standing open but overseen by watchful guards, who solemnly took their tickets, tore off one corner and returned them to each tourist. Slowly, shoulder to shoulder with people of every nationality, they shuffled down the long slope into the darkness, staring at the walls on either side of them, and at the ceiling over their heads. Every available surface area was covered from top to bottom in hieroglyphics and in pictures of pharaohs and gods – the overwhelming colours ochre and lemon yellow, green, lapis and aquamarine and black and white, stunningly preserved and covered now in plexiglass. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. So many books, so many pictures – ever since she was a child she had seen them, as everyone has, but never had she realised the overwhelming beauty and power they would present, or the sheer scale of them. To her amazement she found she could ignore the people milling round her, ignore the shouts and excited talk, the high-pitched competitive commentaries of the guides, the laughter, the irritations of people who, having come so far, to this wonderful, awesome place, proceeded to gossip and talk amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the beauty and history around them. The incredible silence was overwhelming. It drowned out the noise. It was all encompassing.
The further they walked into the tomb, the hotter it got. Used to British and European caves, which grow colder as you penetrate further in, Anna found it a shock. The darkness did not give respite. The silence and heat grew more and more dense.
On they moved, through three successive corridors, towards a huge pillared hall and then, at last into the burial chamber itself, with nothing but a rectangular pit to show where the sarcophagus would have been.
Ben glanced down at Anna. ‘Well, what do you think?’
She shook her head, ‘I’m speechless.’
He laughed. ‘Not an affliction which seems to affect many people down here.’ Slowly they turned and started making their way back towards the daylight. ‘What about going to see Tutankhamen’s tomb next? He’s back in there, you know, minus his treasure, of course.’ As they came out once more into the sunlight, he gestured towards one of the smaller entrances. ‘We’re lucky. I think they close his tomb every so often to give it a rest from all the visitors who come here. According to my guidebook it’s small and relatively low key compared with some of the others, because he died young and no one was expecting his death. He might even have been murdered.’
Once more they queued, once more a corner was removed from their ticket and slowly they made their way into the darkness. This tomb was indeed very different from the last one they had seen. Besides being smaller, it was simpler; there was no decoration, but there was something else. Anna stopped, allowing the people around her to pass on, unnoticed. Staring round she let her eyes become accustomed to the low level of lighting. Ben had moved on and for a moment she was alone. Then she realised what it was that was so strange. This tomb was cold.
She shivered, conscious of the goosepimples on her bare arms. ‘Ben?’ She couldn’t see him. A crowd of visitors were making their way into the inner chamber. She turned round, half expecting to find someone standing behind her. There was no one there. ‘Ben?’ Her voice was muffled in the silence.
Confused, she put her hand to her head, conscious suddenly of a group of tourists speaking Italian loudly, happily, as they filled the entrance behind her; in a moment they were all around her and she found herself being swept on in their wake.
She frowned. The
