After trudging a goodly while in silence, Sir Henry moved fractionally nearer to Cosimo and whispered, “Where are they taking us?”
“Not a clue,” Cosimo replied, his voice barely audible. “I was here briefly a few years ago, but so far as I know there’s nothing for miles around in any direction.”
“We should formulate a plan of action.”
“Agreed,” whispered Cosimo. “But until we know what they intend-”
“Quiet, you two!” said the gang leader. “Save your breath-you’ll need it before we’re through.”
“Stay alert, and look for an opening,” Cosimo concluded.
“I said, that’s enough chatter!” Tav snarled, giving the rope binding their hands a painful jerk.
The sun climbed higher in the empty blue sky, and the heat increased. Every now and then the cave cat gave out a wounded-sounding growl, just to let them know it was still there. Aside from that-and the weary creak and crunch of the wagon wheels-no sound could be heard. The captives in their heavy dark clothes began to suffer from the heat. Through the burlap, they could feel the sun’s burn and began to wish that they had changed clothes when given the chance. Sweat ran from their heads and down their necks. Their shirts and cloaks were soon drenched.
Still they trudged on. Another hour passed, and then a third. As the fourth hour commenced, Sir Henry gave out a sigh and stopped.
“Get moving, you!” came the command from behind.
“No,” he replied, bending to rest his hands on his knees. Sweat poured from beneath the burlap bag to fall on the bone-dry ground. “I need water. I am near to fainting in this heat. I shall not take another step until I get a drink.”
“We’re all thirsty, mate,” said Tav, not unreasonably. “But there’s nothing to drink out here until we reach the site.”
“No water?” sneered Cosimo. “What manner of fools are you?”
“Shut your face,” snarled Dev. “Get moving.”
“No,” said Sir Henry, planting himself firmly in place. “I will not.”
“You can stay out here all day and die for all I care,” said the gang leader. “But we’re nearly there-a few more minutes is all. The sooner we get there, the sooner we all get a drink. Savvy?”
“Come along, Sir Henry,” urged Cosimo. “It’s too hot out here to argue.” To Tav, he said, “Lead on.”
The party resumed its march and a short while later reached the foot of a low bank of hills. Here they paused, and the burlap bags were removed, much to the relief of the captives, who gasped and gulped down the fresh air. A few more minutes’ walk carried them to the base of the nearest hill, where a seam opened in the much-eroded landscape: a wadi barely wide enough to admit the mule cart and team. Into this parched gulch the party turned and proceeded down the long, undulating corridor cut into the sandstone by water from the melt runoff during the last ice age.
The air inside the wadi, though dead, was at least a little cooler owing to the shadow cast by the steep walls; the sun did not penetrate to the valley floor save only a few minutes each day. The shade was welcome, and Cosimo felt himself slightly revived. As they proceeded deeper into the gorge, he began to notice small niches carved in the soft sandstone. Some were square nooks, others rectangular; a few of the more elaborate niches had inscribed hieroglyphs alongside them, and many of these had pedestals fashioned into the floor of the nook as if to hold an object for display. Whatever the niches had held, all were empty now.
They came to a place where the wadi divided; Tav guided them into the wider of the two branches and proceeded as before. The wall niches became more numerous, larger, and more elaborate. Cosimo noticed that some few of these had been defaced-the hieroglyphs scratched or chiselled away, the pedestals smashed and broken.
The canyon snaked this way and that as it cut through the rock hills; the travellers followed the long, looping bend and came all at once to a dead end: a smooth wall of ruddy sandstone towering two hundred feet in the air, at the bottom of which was carved a doorway-a black square guarded either side by enormous effigies. On the right side, holding a rod of authority, stood Horus, the sun god, who possessed the body of a long-limbed, muscular man combined with the regal head of a hawk. On the left, his hand raised in warning, stood Thoth, ibis-headed god of all civilized sciences and magic, and judge of the dead.
Here they stopped.
“Sit ’em down, lads,” ordered Tav. He walked to the door and disappeared inside. The wagon and mules continued on, passed around a bend in the wadi and out of sight.
Cosimo and Sir Henry settled themselves on a rock in the shade, wiped sweat from their faces, and sat panting from their exertion and dehydration. The cave lion, too, lay down, panting, its red tongue lolling from its mouth. “I know just how it feels,” muttered Cosimo, unlacing his boots to cool his hot feet. He had rubbed one foot and ankle and was rubbing the second when the gang chief reappeared carrying a skin of water; in his wake came another man, tall and dark, with a face not unlike that of the hawk-beaked Horus carved in the rock. Although clearly a European, he was dressed like an Egyptian in a long, loose-fitting black garment with a black turban on his head.
The newcomer gave a nod of acknowledgement to the others and said, “Put Baby away. See she’s fed and watered.” As the men gingerly prodded the overheated beast to its feet and led it away, the man in the turban filled a cup from the water skin and offered it to Sir Henry saying, “Welcome, Lord Fayth. I have long been an admirer of yours.”
The nobleman accepted the cup without a word and offered it in turn to Cosimo, who refused it. Sir Henry then drained the cup in several deep gulps before handing it back. The black-turbaned one refilled it and passed it to Cosimo. “Mr. Livingstone, I presume,” he said with a smile.
“Very droll,” muttered Cosimo, his voice cracking. “You come crawling out from under your rock at last, Burley.”
“Lord Burleigh, if you please.”
“Whatever you say.” He tipped up the cup and drank deeply, feeling the life-giving liquid soothe his sticky dry throat. “Now that we’re here, what do you intend to do with us?”
“That depends entirely on you and your friend,” he said, passing the cup to his chief, Tav, who filled it and drank before passing the water skin on to the others. “You see,” Burleigh continued, “I believe in choices. So, I will always give you a choice. We can do this either of two ways-easy or difficult,” he explained, his tone mild, good-humoured even. “The first is gentle and profitable for all concerned. The second is slow, messy, and painful. If you’re open to a little advice, I’d recommend taking the first option. Believe me, it really is simpler all round and, anyway, it is too bloody hot for making fires to heat up the instruments of persuasion.”
He retrieved the skin from Dex and poured out another cup. “More water, gentlemen?”
Sir Henry nodded. “If you please.” He gulped it down.
“Finished?” said Burleigh when Cosimo had drunk his second cup. “There will be more later. I wouldn’t have too much all at once-it’s bad for the stomach.” He tossed the cup to Tav. “Now then, if you’re refreshed, come along. I have something to show you.”
“On your feet, you two,” said Con. They needed no prodding. Cosimo pulled his boots back onto his swollen feet and the two men followed the earl’s lead around the bend in the gorge to a hole at the base of the rock wall, over which someone had long ago erected a wooden shelter. Here Burleigh paused and, withdrawing a key from a hidden fold of his kaftan, disappeared down a flight of wooden steps into the hole. There was a clink and the grating sound of rusty hinges, and his voice came floating up from the ground, “One at a time, gentleman, and do watch your step.”