Page 29

An Incident at Dendera

A week later, near Dendera, West Bank of the Nile

“I could grow used to this sort of living,” Randy said, as he watched Mahmood dock The Dendera at the port near the ship’s namesake village. Another of the crew had already set out to arrange transportation to take them to the nearby temples.

“Oh, dear. Does this mean you won’t want to go back to living in Oxfordshire?” Diana asked, her arms crossed as she watched the crew tie the ropes up on the dock.

“I said I could grow used to it, not that I would wish to do it,” he replied. “I fear I’m growing fat. All this food and no exercise.”

Diana arched a brow.

“Well, only some exercise,” he amended, immediately understanding the meaning of her gesture. “The very best kind. It’s my favorite time of the day,” he whispered.

Her cheeks pinking with his words, she dipped her head. “Mine as well.”

Randy puffed out his chest. “I am glad to hear I’m favored over your study of ancient temples and artifacts.”

“I didn’t say that,” she teased.

He pounded his chest with a fist and feigned offense before he regarded her mode of dress, not surprised she had donned her breeches, white shirt, and boots. She and David had spent the night before strategizing over how they would explore the temples at Dendera.

Not having read the volume of La Description de l’Egypte which included the findings at Dendera as they had been doing, Randy didn’t feel the least bit left out. He had listened intently, though, determined to learn what he could.

He feared they would be disappointed. Due to shifting sands, it was possible the temples—or at least their entrances—would be mostly buried in the desert. Remembering Diana carried a small shovel in her satchel, he supposed he could offer to help dig their way in if that were the case.

When he lifted the bag to carry it up on the deck, he found it far heavier than usual. “What have you stuffed into this?” he asked. “It must weigh almost as much as you do.”

She blinked.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he quickly amended. “It’s just heavier than usual.” He pulled the strap on over his head and shoulder so it rested against the opposite hip.

“Flasks of water and a couple of torches,” she replied. “Unlike most temples I’ve been in, this one still has its roof. We’ll need light once we’re inside.”

Nodding his understanding, Randy waited until Diana had stepped onto the dock before he followed.

M ahmood led the way toward the village of Dendera, shouting orders in Arabic to his crew while he was still within earshot. Behind him, his passengers paired up, the men offering their arms to the ladies. Flasks of water were either stowed in reticules or hung about their necks.

When it was apparent Bradley would be staying behind with the captain’s daughter, Tom paused until Helen was abreast of him and held out his arm to her.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said.

Although she was tempted to rebuff his offer—she was still smarting over what had happened on the back deck the week before—Helen placed her hand on his arm and said, “Good morning, Mr. Forster,” rather glad when she caught him wincing at the use of his formal name.

She was about to say something about the fair weather, but their guide began speaking.

“Dendera, which has also been called Tentyra, is home to several temples,” Mahmood said as he adopted a leisurely pace, the bottom of his robe flapping in the breeze.

“The largest was dedicated to Hathor, the goddess of motherhood, birth, and rebirth. She was also known for celebration and joy and the renewal of the cosmos,” he explained, lifting his arms and spreading his hands to indicate the heavens.

“Music, dance, beauty, and love,” he added.

“It seems fitting a goddess would be in charge of so much,” Tom murmured, his comment meant for Helen.

She huffed softly. “Yes, we women usually are.”

He seemed about to agree with her, but his mouth clamped shut when Mahmood continued talking, the captain cum dragoman unaware of the conversation behind him.

“Hathor is easy to identify in the carvings and paintings you will see on the walls of the temple, for she has the head of a cow or the horns of a cow,” he explained, using his fingers on either side of his head to illustrate his point.

“Not much is left of the other temple, one dedicated to Isis. She is the goddess known for her power and magic. She was the mother of Horus and a wife and a sister to Osiris, as well as a healer.”

“A wife and a sister?” Tom repeated under his breath.

“The women really did have to do everything,” Helen whispered.

Ahead of them, a line of hantours approached. “Ah, our carriages are here,” he said, grinning broadly. “I will tell you more when we are at the temple.”

“How far is it?” David asked, a hand held to his brow as he surveyed the southeastern horizon.

“About two miles,” Mahmood replied. “It will not take long with these horses, though,” he added, indicating the dark brown Arabians. “However, there are only four hantours for our party of ten,” he warned.

“I’ll ride with you two,” David said, his attention on Tom and Helen.

The other three couples stepped into the buggies while Mahmood sat next to one of the drivers on the front bench. A moment later, and they were racing off across the desert.

Tucked between David and Tom in a hantour, Helen was glad she had elected to wear a smaller bonnet and bring along a parasol. There would not have been room for her wide-brimmed hat given the tight quarters of the carriage.

“What are you most looking forward to seeing today?” she asked, her query directed to David.

“Everything,” David replied. “Especially if we can go inside. Carvings. Paintings. Columns. Diana packed her sketchpad and paints in her satchel and intends to document as much as she can while we’re in there.”

“From what I’ve read, it sounds as if this temple is one of the best preserved of all that have been discovered,” Tom offered.

“Why wouldn’t we be able to get inside?” Helen asked in alarm.

“The entrance might be blocked by sand,” he replied.

“Oh,” she said on a sigh of disappointment.

“I rather doubt Diana will allow that to deter her, though,” David remarked. “She probably has a shovel in that satchel of hers.”

“What about a lantern? Won’t it be dark inside?” Tom asked. He hadn’t noticed Mahmood carrying a lantern as they made their way toward the village.

Helen huffed. “If you dare say Diana has one of those in her satchel?—”

“Torches,” David stated. “She... has a couple of torches and a tinderbox to light them.”

“In her satchel ?” Helen asked in disbelief.

David nodded. “And a couple of flasks of water. I saw her packing it last night. She’s been anxious to study this temple for the past week.”

When Helen didn’t say anything in reply, Tom asked, “What’s wrong?”

She lifted her reticule from her lap, a difficult maneuver given how crowded they were in the hantour. “My father is always amazed at how much women can stuff into our reticules, but I do believe Diana’s satchel has mine beat,” she commented.

Tom chuckled, reaching over to heft her embroidered fabric bag in a gloved hand. The drawstring closure was made of a loop of ribbon that when pulled tight caused the top to close into a series of gathers. “It’s far heavier than I would have thought,” he remarked.

“That’s intentional,” Helen replied.

“Intentional?” Tom repeated.

“Should I ever be accosted by a footpad or an unwanted suitor, I will use it to beat him off,” she claimed with not the least bit of humor.

Although David barked a laugh at hearing her response, Tom sobered. “I do hope you have never considered using it on me,” he whispered.

Helen inhaled softly. “I have not, nor would...”

The hantour suddenly swerved and the Arabian let out a whinny of protest as he came to a stuttering halt and attempted to rear up. A shout from the driver sounded before the buggy tilted dangerously to one side and he disappeared from the driver’s seat.

“Hang on,” Tom shouted, his arms going around Helen as the hantour fell all the way over onto its right side, Tom ending up closest to the ground.

The harness on one side snapped, leaving the horse still attached and off-kilter.

His whinnied complaints accompanied those of the driver, who had been forced to step off the bench as the equipage tipped over.

His continued shouts sounded from somewhere out of their view.

Atop the other two in the buggy, David hung on to the back of the seat with one hand whilst bracing himself using the other on the top edge the driver’s seat, the momentum of the equipage’s fall forcing him to seek purchase with a boot near the bottom of the driver’s bench.

He was able to finally extricate himself from the carriage, stumbling as he did so, and he stepped on a booted leg in the process.

“Ouch,” Tom mouthed. Still in the squabs but lying on his side, his arms remained wrapped around Helen’s waist and shoulder. She ended up halfway atop and in front of him, her eyes wide with fright.

“Can you move your hand?” he asked in a strangled voice.

She quickly repositioned her gloved hand from where it had landed near the top of his thigh, her murmured apology sounding in a whisper.

“Are you injured? Are you able to move?”

Helen furrowed a brow, sure she hadn’t seen Tom’s mouth form the query. “I think so.” Then she realized it was David who had asked the questions. “Are you all right?” she asked, directing her query to Tom.

He nodded. “David stepped on my leg is all,” he said. “And you? Are you hurt?”

“I... I don’t think so, but you’ll have to let go of me,” she whispered.

Unaware of how tightly he held her, Tom released his hold. “Apologies,” he murmured.

A number of voices from outside made it apparent at least one other hantour had turned around and made its way back to join them. Now instead of a single horse’s whinnying, there was another sounding its complaint.