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."