"I can't live that down, can I?"
"I cried out in my dream: 'Stop it, Judith.' And then I looked and it wasn't you coming out of the thing."
"Who was it?"
"Myself. I thought it was a sort of warning."
"You're getting fanciful, Theodosia. I was the one who was supposed to be that."
"But anyone could get fancies here. There's a sort of shadow of the past everywhere. This palace is centuries old. All the temples and tombs are hundreds and thousands of years old. Oh, I'm glad you've come, Judith. It'll be better now you're here. These people are so dedicated, aren't they? I suppose you are a bit. But I feel I can talk to you."
I said: "Are you worried about Evan?"
She nodded. "I often think what if what happened to Sir Edward should happen to him."
I had no glib comfort to offer for that. Hadn't I wondered whether it could happen to Tybalt?
I said, "Of course we get anxious. It's because we love our husbands and one gets foolish when one loves. If we could only take a calm rational view . . . look in from outside as it were . . . we should see how foolish all this talk would be."
"Yes, Judith, I suppose so."
"Why don't you go to bed," I said. "You're not going to sit up and wait for Evan, are you?"
"I suppose not. Goodness knows what time they'll come in. Oh, it feels so much better since you arrived, Judith."
"So it should. Don't forget we're sisters—though only half ones."
"I'm glad of that," said Theodosia.
I smiled at her, said good night and left her.
I went along the gallery. How silent it was! The heavy velvet gold-fringed curtains shut me in and my feet sank deep into the thickly piled carpet. I stood still, suddenly tense because I had an instinctive feeling that I was not alone in the gallery. I looked round. There was no one there and yet I was conscious of eyes watching me.
I felt a tingling in my spine. I understood why Theodosia was afraid. She was more timid than I—though perhaps less imaginative.
There was the softest footfall behind me. Someone was undoubtedly there. I turned sharply.
"Absalam!" I cried. "Mustapha!"
They bowed. "My lady," they said simultaneously.
Their dark eyes were fixed on my face and I asked quickly, "Is there anything wrong?"
"Wrong?" They looked at each other. "Yes, my lady. But it is still not too late."
"Too late?" I said falteringly.
"You go home. You ask it. You are new bride. He cannot refuse his beloved."
I shook my head.
"You don't understand. This is Sir Tybalt's work ... his life . . ."
"His life . . ." They looked at each other and shook their heads. "It was Sir Edward's life, and then his death."
"You must not be concerned," I said. "All will be well. When they have found what they seek they will go home."
"Then . . . too late, my lady," said Absalam, or was it Mustapha.
The other looked at me with deeply sorrowing eyes. "Not yet too late," he suggested hopefully.
"Good night," I said. "I shall retire to my room now."
They did not speak but continued to regard me in their mournful way.
I lay awake. The flickering light of candles showed the ceiling on which had been painted pictures in softly muted colors. I could make out the now familiar outline of Amen Ra, the great Sun God, and he was receiving gifts from an elaborately gowned figure, presumably a Pharaoh. There was a border of hieroglyphs—strange signs full of meaning. I wondered whether while I was here I might try and learn something of the language. I had a notion that there would be many nights when I lay alone in this bed, many days when I did not see Tybalt.
I must be prepared for this. It was what I had expected in any case; but I did want Tybalt to understand that my greatest wish was to share his life.
It was two o'clock in the morning when he came in. I cried out in pleasure at the sight of him and sat up in bed.
He came to me and took my hands in his.
"Why, Judith, still awake?"
"Yes, I was too excited to sleep. I was wondering what you were doing out there on the site."
He laughed. "Nothing that would make you wildly excited at the moment. They've just been marking out the proposed areas and making general preparations."
"You are going on where Sir Edward left off?"
"I'll tell you about it sometime. Now you should be asleep." He kissed me lightly and went into our dressing room.
But I was not ready for sleep. Nor was Tybalt. We lay awake talking for an hour.
"Yes," he said during the course of the conversation, "we are exploring the same ground which my father did. You know what happened. He was convinced that there was an undisturbed tomb in the area. You know, of course, that the majority were rifled centuries ago."
"I should have thought they would have tried to keep the burial places secret."
"Up to a point they did, but there were so many workmen involved. Imagine hewing out the rock, making secret underground passages, then the chambers themselves. And think of all the transport that would be needed to bring the treasures into the tombs."
"The secret would leak out," I said, "and then the robbers came. It's odd that they were not deterred by the Curse."
"No doubt they were, but the fabulous riches found in the tombs might have seemed a worthwhile reward for damnation after death; and since they had been clever enough to find the hidden treasure no doubt they thought they could be equally shrewd in escaping the ill luck."
"Yet Sir Edward, who was merely working for posterity and to place his finds in some museum, is struck down whereas robbers who seek personal gain escape."
"In the first place my father's death had nothing to do with a curse. It was due to natural causes."
"Which no one seems certain about."
"Oh come, Judith, surely you're not becoming superstitious."
"I don't think I am unduly. But everyone must be a little, I suppose, when their loved ones are in danger."
"Danger. What nonsense is this? It's just a tale."
"Yet ... he died."
He kissed my forehead. "Foolish Judith!" he said. "I'm surprised at you."
"It will teach you not to have too high an opinion of my sagacity where you are concerned. Wise men are fools in love—and you can be sure that applies to women."
We were silent for a while and then I said: "I have seen Mustapha and Absalam. They have said I should persuade you to go back home."
That made him laugh.
"It's such nonsense," he said. "It was a tale put about to frighten off robbers. But it didn't, you see. Almost every tomb that has been discovered has been tampered with. That's why it's the dream of every archaeologist to find a tomb which is just as it was when closed two thousand years ago or thereabouts. I want to be the first one to set foot in such a burial place. Imagine the joy of seeing a footprint in the dust which was made by the last person to leave the tomb, or a flower offering lying there, thrown down by a sorrowing mourner, before the door was closed, the mountainside filled in and the dead person left in peace for the centuries to come. Oh, Judith, you've no idea of the excitement this could give."
"We must try to see that your dream is realized."
"My darling, you speak as though I am a small boy who must have his treat."
"Well, there are many sides to people and even the greatest archaeologist in the world at times seems as a little boy to his doting wife."
"I'm so happy to have you here with me, Judith. You're going to be with me all the way. You're going to be the perfect wife."
"It's strange that you should say that. Did you know that Disraeli dedicated one of his books to Mary Anne, his wife. The dedication said 'To the Perfect Wife.'"