The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 103

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the creatures of the land and the fish of the Nile waters. They

photographed each amulet in situ before working it free and placing it

into a numbered slot in the trays that had been set out upon the

workbench.

Pharaoh's feet were as small and delicate as his hands, and each toe was

laden with precious rings. Only his head was still covered, and both men

looked enquiringly at von Schiller. "It is very late, Herr von

Schiller," Reeper said, if you wish to rest-'

"Continue!" he ordered brusquely. So they moved up each side of the

mummy's head, while von Schiller on remained on his stand between them.

Gradually the king's face was exposed to the light, for the first time

in nearly four thousand years. His hair was thin and wispy, still red

with the henna dye he had used in his lifetime. His skin had been cured

with aromatic resins until it was hard as polished amber. His nose was

thin and beaked. His lips were drawn back in a soft, almost dreamy smile

which exposed the gap in his front teeth.

The resin coated his eyelashes, so that they seemed wet with tears and

the lids only half-shut. Life seemed to gleam there still, and only when

von Schiller leaned closer did he realize that the light in those

ancient sockets was the reflection from the white porcelain discs that

the undertakers had placed in the empty sockets during the embalming.

On his brow the Pharaoh wore the sacred uraeus crown. Every detail of

the cobra head was still perfect, There was no wearing or abrading of

the soft metal. The I serpent fangs were sharp and recurved, and the

long forked tongue curled between them. The eyes were of shining blue

glass. On the band of gold beneath the hooded asp was engraved the royal

cartouche of Mamose.

"I want that crown." Von Schiller's voice was choking with passion.

"Remove it, so that I can hold it in my own hands."

"We may not be able to lift it without damaging the head of the royal

mummy," Nahoot protested.

"Do not argue with me. Do as I tell you."

"Immediately, Herr von Schiller," Nahoot capitulated.

"But it will take time to free it. If Herr von Schiller wishes to rest

now, we will inform you when we have loosened the crown and have it

ready for you."

The circle of gold had adhered to the resin-soaked skin of the king's

forehead. In order to remove it Nahoot and Reeper first had to lift the

complete body out of the coffin and lay it on the stainless steel

mortuary stretcher which already waited to receive it. Then the resin

had to be softened and removed with specially prepared solvents.

The whole process took as long as Nahoot had predicted, but finally it

was completed.

They laid the golden uraeus upon a blue velvet cushion, as if for a

coronation ceremony. They dimmed all the other lights in the main

chamber of the vault, anded a single spot to fall upon the crown. Then

they arrang both went upstairs to inform von Schiller.

He would not let the two archaeologists accompany him when he returned

to the vaults to view the crown.

Only Utte Kemper was with him when he keyed the lock to the armoured

door of the vault, and the heavy door slid open.

The first thing that caught von Schiller's eye as he entered the vault

was the glittering crown in its velvet nest.

immediately he began to wheeze for air like an asthmatic, and he seized

her hand and squeezed until her knuckles crackled with the pressure and

she whimpered with pain. But the pain excited her. Von Schiller

undressed her, placed the golden crown upon her head and laid her naked

in the open coffin.

"I am the promise of life," she whispered from the ancient coffin. "Mine

is the shining face of immortality." He did not touch her. Naked, he

stood over the coffin with his inflamed and swollen rod thrusting from

the base of his belly like a creature with separate life.

She ran her hands slowly down her own body, and as they reached her mons

Veneris, she intoned gravely, "May you live for ever!'

The wondrous efficacy of the crown of Mamose was proven beyond any

doubt. Nothing before had produced this effect upon Gotthold von

Schiller. For at her words, the purple head of his penis erupted of its

own accord and glistening silver strings of his semen dribbled down and

splattered upon her soft white belly.

In the open coffin Utte Kemper arched her back, and writhed in her own

consuming orgasm.

It seemed to Royan that she had been away from Egypt for years instead

of weeks. She realized just -how much she had missed the crowded and

bustling streets of the city, the wondrous smells of spices and food and

perfume in the bazaars, and the wailing voice of the muezzin calling the

faithful to prayer from the turrets of the mosques.

That very first morning she left her flat in Giza while it was still

dark, and since her injured knee was still swollen and painful she used

her stick as she limped along the banks of the Nile. She watched the

dawn cobble the river waters with a pathway of gold and copper and set

the triangular sails of the feluccas ablaze.

This was a different Nile from the one she had encountered in Ethiopia.

This was not the Abbay, but the true Nile. It was broader and slower,

and the muddy stink of it was familiar and well beloved. This was her

river and her land. She found that her resolve to do what she had come

home to do was reinforced. Her doubts were set at rest, her conscience

soothed. As she turned away from it she felt strong and sure of herself

and the course that she must take.

She visited Duraid's family. She had to make amends to them for her

sudden departure and her long, unexplained absence. At first her

brother-in-law was cool and stiff towards her; but after his wife had

wept and embraced Royan and the children had clambered all over her -

she was always their favourite ammah - he warmed to her and relented

sufficiently to offer to drive her out to the oasis.

When she explained that she wanted to be alone when she visited the

cemetery, he unbent so far as to lend her his beloved Citron.

As she stood beside Duraid's grave the smell of the , desert filled her

nostrils and the hot breeze rid'eted with her hair. Duraid had loved the

desert. She was glad for him that from now onwards he would always be

close to it. The headstone was simple and traditional: just his name and

dates, under the outline of the cross. She knelt beside it and tidied

the grave, renewing the wilted and dried bouquets of flowers with those

that she had brought with her from Cairo.

Then she sat quietly beside him for a long while. She made no rehearsed

speeches, but " imply ran over in her mind so many of the good quiet

times they had passed together. She remembered his kindness and his

understanding, and the security and warmth of his love for her. She

regretted that she had never been able to return it in the same measure,

but she knew that he had accepted and understood that.

She hoped that he also understood why she had come back now. This was a

leave-taking. She had come to say goodbye. She had mourned him and,

although she would always remember him and he would always be a part of

her, it was time for -her to move on. It was time for him to let her go.

When at last she left the cemetery, she walked away without looking

back.

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