“Come on George,” she turned and opened the boot of the car. “Let’s get our things inside and get ready.  There’s a ferry across in half an hour, we can go and see the site before it gets dark, can’t we?”

“Is there anywhere we can eat on the other side?” George asked cautiously. “It’s been hours since our last stop, and I’m famished!”

In a service area earlier that afternoon they had enjoyed their first Egyptian fast food, couscous with spicy sausages, but they had not stopped since, and the smell of cooking emanating from the hotel beside them was obviously giving him ideas.

She already had her bags in her hands and was heading towards the main door of the hotel as she shouted over her shoulder. “We’ll be quick, I promise!”

Once Gail had presented her letter of acceptance to the excavations at Amarna, sent to her by the Professor from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo the previous week, the owner of the hotel had happily sold Gail and George tickets for the ferry. Normally, he had explained, the local tourism police would have had to escort them both on the other side of the Nile, but the letter was proof enough not to warrant alerting them. If they intercepted them boarding the ferry, they may insist on accompanying them anyway, but it was worth avoiding such a thing if possible, if only to save the cost of the baksheesh. A baksheesh was a tip, but was often synonymous with bribe.

He advised them that the evening meal was normally served just before eight o’clock, giving them enough time to drive to the archaeological dig on the other side of the river and introduce themselves quickly, before catching the seven o’clock ferry back.

The police nowhere to be seen, they shared the ferry with an old man at the wheel of an ageing Land Rover Defender. The 4x4 and its driver both came from the previous century, but nevertheless towered over the small, modern rental car and its occupants. It was far better suited to the rugged terrain ahead, and while George had enjoyed the luxury of the air conditioning that afternoon, he couldn’t help feeling that they would be better off in the Land Rover from this point forwards.

Leaving the ferry, they drove onto the eastern bank of the Nile for the first time. They passed a small, seemingly deserted village on their way and George laughed nervously.  “I’m not surprised they abandoned this place, it’s desolate!”

“The photos I saw on the Internet showed that until recent years this whole area was green and fertile, maybe not on this side of the river, but certainly where we’ve just been.”

George gestured to the remains of an even older village, mostly buried in the sand and stone.  “It looks like this place has been like this for quite some time.”

“I think this side of the river was probably always less cultivated.  It’s very rocky,” she pointed at the cliffs ahead of them to illustrate her point.  Their car moved slowly along the road; by now, the tarmac was mostly hidden beneath the shifting sand.  They had followed the directions given to them by the Professor, who must clearly have owned a more appropriate vehicle like the old man on the ferry. “We’re not that far, only a few hundred yards or so.” She could sense that George was nervous about the car getting stuck. It was already starting to drift unpredictably at each turn.

There were a couple of ongoing archaeological excavations at Amarna, but only the Professor’s was uninterrupted over the holiday period. He had been very happy to enlist Gail’s help for the four weeks, which made her think that he had been having difficulty getting people to sign up.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. Up ahead they could see half a dozen white square tents, neatly lined up next to a row of six cars, mostly 4x4s.  To the left of the tents, a group of a dozen or so people were sitting or standing around the edge of a trench, covered by a gazebo that during the day would keep out the harsh sunlight.  They were talking animatedly while pointing inside the excavation.  A tall, thin man with a neatly trimmed grey beard stood over them smiling, his wide-brimmed straw hat casting a shadow over his face.

The car stopped and Gail jumped out, followed by George on the other side.  To his amusement, he noticed the spring in her step as they approached the gazebo.

“Which one’s the Professor?” George whispered.

Before Gail could answer, the tall thin man turned, removed his hat, and ran his fingers through his short grey hair. Seeing them he grinned, displaying his impeccable white teeth that stood out in contrast to his dark skin. He placed his straw hat back on his head gingerly and started towards them.

“Assalaam aleikum! The beautiful one has come!” His English was perfect, tinged with an American accent that betrayed his time at Harvard over thirty years earlier. “The beautiful one has come!” he repeated.

George looked at Gail quizzically and she laughed. “Nefertiti,” she said looking back at him. He raised an eyebrow and looked back at the Professor who laughed at his reaction.

“Welcome to Amarna,” he exclaimed throwing his left arm out behind him to show the site while thrusting his right hand out to shake their hands.  “I am Professor Mamdouh al-Misri, but please, call me Mamdouh!” he grinned at Gail. “You have arrived at just the right time: come and see what we have found!”

They shook his hand and he turned to lead them to the trench, where the group of people were now laughing and patting each other on the back. A young man in his early twenties climbed out of the hole in the ground, grinning widely.

“Nefertiti?” George asked under his breath.

Gail squeezed his hand tightly. “Yes,” she said. “That’s what her name means.”

“I must have missed something. What’s what her name means?”

Gail detected a hint of jealousy in her husband’s voice and looked up at him. “George, don’t be upset, it’s just a joke.” She smiled and looked back at the Professor, who was now getting down into the trench.  Some of the group had turned towards them and were getting ready to introduce themselves.  “That’s what Nefertiti’s name means,” she looked at him again and grinned, feeling happy that the Professor had paid her the compliment. “Nefertiti means The Beautiful One Has Come.”

Chapter 6

Since the late nineteenth century, the ancient city of Akhetaten at Tell el-Amarna had captured the imagination of historians and archaeologists across the world. But by the twenty-first century the site had still failed to gain the popularity and renown that other discoveries, such as the tomb of Tutankhamen, had enjoyed.  The remains of Akhetaten were by no means spectacular in comparison to those of Thebes and the Valley of the Kings; characterised by short walls and foundations, most buildings were mere outlines in the sand.  In effect it was difficult to see, in the dusty plain sandwiched between the Nile to the west and the cliffs to the east, that Akhetaten had at least briefly been one of the most impressive cities of the Egyptian world.

Imagination alone could take the rare visitors on fantastic journeys to the time of Akhenaten and his most famous wife, Nefertiti, walking through bustling streets past grandiose temples and towering public buildings. For that, and because site access to tourists had traditionally been made difficult by the Egyptian authorities, the finds at Amarna went mostly unnoticed to the world at large.  Now, one hundred and fifty years after its discovery, Akhetaten was at risk of being consumed once more by the shifting sands.

Despite this the mystery lived on. Every now and then, the sands would reveal a surprise to the delight of the persistent archaeologists. A collection of clay tablets documenting sales of livestock and grain had in recent years sparked interest far away in Cairo, mainly because it had been found in a previously unexcavated part of the city, close to where Professor Mamdouh al-Misri was now basing his expedition.