the tomb has been raided.’
‘But you think we’ll find something of significance, don’t you? I can tell by your voice.’
‘You’re right, I do. Ever since I first came to this mine I have felt—I have had a feeling...’ His voice broke. He took a shuddering breath. ‘You are not the only one who is nervous.’
Which admission made her own feelings seem quite trivial. Whatever lay beyond this wall of darkness might determine Christopher’s future. Until I am rid of it, I have no life worth living. He was utterly convinced of this, and though Tahira still couldn’t understand why, nor was any closer to understanding the real story behind his amulet, she could not bear to contemplate what failure would do to him.
Though her heart still pounded, as she picked up her own lantern and checked it carefully, a steely calm stopped her hands from shaking, gave confidence to her voice. ‘Well, we won’t find out what’s in there standing around out here. I’m ready when you are.’
‘There is a danger of rock falls. I think it might be best if I go first.’
‘We’re in this together,’ Tahira said, taking his hand, twining her fingers with his. ‘And if you expect me to wait out here while you go ahead—you would not be so cruel, and I would not be so obedient.’
To her relief he laughed at that, pressing a swift kiss to her mouth. ‘Onwards and upwards then,’ he said, turning towards the opening and holding up his lantern. ‘Actually, that should be onwards and downwards. Be careful, I can see a set of steps just inside the entrance.’
He led the way, carefully counting each tread. Six steps, not hewn from the rock but constructed of large stones. ‘I think this is some sort of natural cave, though it’s been extended considerably,’ Christopher said, stopping to examine one of the rock surfaces. ‘You can see the chisel marks clearly.’
The air was hot, dry, becoming dustier. ‘How long since someone stood where we are?’ Tahira asked, her voice a whisper now.
Christopher whispered too. ‘If we’re right, and this tomb dates from the time my amulet was fashioned, then that is...’
‘Fifteen hundred years.’ Over-awed, she stared up at him. ‘I’ve been so—so caught up in what this means to us, to you—Christopher are we desecrating a sacred place?’
He shrugged. ‘I have very mixed feelings about it, to be honest. This tomb has lain undisturbed for countless centuries. But aside from my personal interest in this site, I’m an antiquarian at heart. Places like these teach us so much about our history, and how small and insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things. If we treat such finds with due reverence and respect—and trust me, many people don’t—then, no, I don’t think we’re trespassing here, but if you’d rather turn back...’
‘Absolutely not,’ Tahira said, lifting her lantern high again. ‘Let’s press on and see what’s at the end of this passageway.’
The darkness was all-enveloping, the flickering light from the lanterns penetrating the gloom only a few feet ahead of them. The floor of the passage was thick with sand. More sand had blown into heaps against the walls. The sealed entrance had clearly not managed to keep the desert or the elements wholly at bay. Christopher continued to lead, counting their steps aloud, having to stoop as the ceiling became lower, to the point where Tahira could feel it brushing her hair.
‘Twenty-eight. And it ends here,’ he said. ‘Two more steps, and...’ His Arabic gave way to something low and filled with awe.
‘What is it, Chris...?’
Her own voice stilled as she held up the lantern to find herself in a perfectly square room. It must have been formed from an inner chamber of the cave, but the walls and ceiling were richly decorated, covered in paintings and symbols. Two sand-cat statues, much larger versions of the one they had uncovered at the entrance, stood sentinel in the doorway. Another was positioned at the far end, at the head of the large stone sarcophagus which was the only other item in the crypt. Sand had collected in heaps in every corner. The decorative plasterwork had crumbled to expose the rock behind it in places. An empty shelf on one wall stood testament to the success of the tomb robbers, but the lid of the stone sarcophagus looked undisturbed. Whoever lay within had been allowed to rest in peace.
A very young woman, judging by the painted effigy on the coffin lid. The air was thin here, it was hard to breathe, the temperature stifling, but Tahira barely noticed any of this as she laid her hand on the image and closed her eyes. A terrible, bone-deep sadness enveloped her. Tears leaked from behind her lids and tracked down her cheeks. Despite the intense heat, she shivered.
‘Tahira?’
Strong arms enveloped her. She turned gratefully, clinging to him, listening to the reassuring, steady beat of his heart, her cheek against the damp cotton of his tunic. ‘Did you feel it?’ she whispered. ‘Such sorrow and grief. Did you feel it? And she is so young too. She reminds me of my sister, which would make her fifteen or sixteen.’
‘Only sixteen.’ Christopher was looking grim.
‘I wonder what befell her. Sickness of some sort, most likely. It is tragic, a life cut so short.’
He muttered something quietly in English. ‘A tragic complication,’ he translated, when she looked at him blankly, then shook his head. ‘It’s very strange, there is nothing written on the coffin, not even her name.’ Raising his lantern, he surveyed each of the walls in turn. ‘There’s nothing to identify the person who was laid to rest here, which leads me to conclude that whoever buried her wished to erase her memory, possibly because she had been in disgrace. And so she was made an outcast in death.’
‘Oh, no, how dreadful. Though I suppose that would explain such pain, as I sensed. I wonder what happened, though I don’t see how we will ever find out.’
‘One thing is certain, she’s of exalted birth. The sarcophagus, the exquisitely painted and lavish decoration. The creation of the tomb itself would have been an expensive and time-consuming undertaking. Then there’s the magnificent quality of the items we’ve found. Could she even be a member of the royal family?’
Tahira’s heart leapt. Could this be why she’d felt such a strong connection? ‘But the Nessarah royal family have always been buried in the same place, the Mountain of the Kings, since time immemorial.’
‘The only way to confirm her lineage would be to gain access to the records in the royal palace...’
‘The royal palace!’
Her voice was a squeak. Christopher eyed her quizzically. ‘Where else would the history of its inhabitants be held? These murals here,’ he said, peering closely at the wall where the colours were brightest, ‘don’t depict the current palace of course, but they do show a very sumptuous building. And this symbol of a mythical bird—I’ve seen it on the insignia of the royal guards. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the tomb of a princess of the royal blood. I wonder—by all the stars in the heavens!’
‘What is it?’ Thoughts whirling, Tahira crossed the small room to join him.
But Christopher seemed quite dumbfounded, his gaze locked on one of the murals, and could only point mutely. The scene depicted the young princess—for Tahira knew in her bones it was a princess—painted in life this time, seated cross-legged in a courtyard surrounded by trees bearing impossibly
