The train for Luxor departed only five minutes late. Erica settled into her seat with the Tutankhamen books, but her attention was drawn to the scenery outside. The Nile valley began to narrow so that in places it was easy to see from one side of the area of cultivated fields to the other. As the sun neared the western horizon, Erica began to notice the people returning to their homes. Children riding on water buffalo. Men leading donkeys straining beneath their burdens. Erica could see into courtyards and wondered if the people in their mud-brick houses felt security and love like in the pastoral myths-or were they continuously aware of their precarious hold on life? In a sense, their lives were timeless, a borrowed moment of time.
At Nag Hammadi the train crossed the Nile from the West Bank to the East Bank and entered a long stretch of sugarcane that blocked any view of the countryside. Erica returned to her books, picking up The Discovery of the Tomb of Tutankhamen, by Howard Carter and A. C. Mace. She began reading, and despite her familiarity with the book, was immediately entranced. It was a recurrent surprise that the dry and meticulous Carter wrote with a genuine flair. The excitement of the discovery was communicated from every page, and Erica found herself reading faster and faster, as if it were a thriller.
As they occurred in the book, Erica studied the superb collection of photos taken by Harry Burton. She found the plate showing two life-size bituminized statues of Tutankhamen that guarded the sealed entrance to the burial chamber particularly interesting. Comparing them to the Seti statue, she comprehended for the first time that she was one of the few people who knew the Seti statues were a matched pair. That was very significant, because the probability of finding two such statues was very small, while the chance of other artifacts now being unearthed in the same location was very great. Suddenly Erica recognized that the site where the Seti statues had been found could be as important archaeologically as the statues themselves. Perhaps locating the site was a more reasonable goal than finding the statue. Erica looked out the window at the blur of the sugarcane, thinking.
Probably the best way of learning where the statues had been discovered was for her to pose as a serious antiquities buyer for the Museum of Fine Arts. If she could convince people she was willing to pay top dollar, she might be shown some valuable pieces. If more Seti material appeared, perhaps she could learn the source. There were a lot of ifs. But it was a plan, particularly if Abdul Hamdi’s son could not provide further information.
The conductor came through the train announcing Luxor. Erica felt a thrill of anticipation. She knew that Luxor is to Egypt what Florence is to Italy: the jewel. Outside the station, there was another surprise. The only taxis left were horsedrawn carriages. Smiling with pleasure, Erica already loved Luxor.
When she arrived at the Winter Palace Hotel she discovered why it had been so easy to get a reservation despite the number of tourists. The hotel was being renovated, and to get to her room she had to walk down a carpetless hall on the second floor covered with piles of building blocks, sand, and plaster. Only a few of the rooms were being used. But the renovation did not dampen her spirits. She loved the hotel. It had an elegant Victorian charm. Across the formal garden was the New Winter Palace Hotel. In contrast to the building she was in, it was a modern high-rise structure with little character. She was pleased to be where she was. Instead of air conditioning, Erica’s room had an extraordinarily high ceiling complete with a slow-moving large-bladed fan. A pair of French doors opened onto a graceful wrought-iron balcony that looked over the Nile.
There was no shower; the tiled bathroom was dominated by a huge porcelain bathtub that Erica immediately filled to the top. She had just managed to step into the refreshing water when the antique phone jangled in the other room. For a moment she debated not answering it. Then curiosity overcame inconvenience, and grabbing a towel from the rack, she walked into the bedroom and picked up the receiver.
“Welcome to Luxor, Miss Baron.” It was Ahmed Khazzan.
For a moment his voice brought back all her fears. Even though she had decided to pursue the statue of Seti, she felt she had left the violence and dangers behind in Cairo. Now the authorities seemed to have already tracked her down. Still, his tone was friendly.
“I hope you enjoy your stay,” he said.
“I’m sure I will,” answered Erica. “I did notify your office.”
“Yes, I got the message. That’s why I’m calling. I asked the hotel to tell me when you arrived so that I could welcome you. You see, Miss Baron, I have a home in Luxor. I come here as frequently as possible.”
“I see,” said Erica, wondering where the conversation was leading.
Ahmed cleared his throat. “Well, Miss Baron, I was wondering if you would care to have dinner with me tonight.”
“Is this an official or social invitation, Mr. Khazzan?”
“Purely social. I can have a carriage pick you up at seven thirty.”
Erica debated rapidly. It seemed quite innocuous. “All right. I’d be delighted.”
“Wonderful,” said Ahmed, obviously pleased. “Tell me, Miss Baron, do you like to ride?”
Erica shrugged. In truth she hadn’t ridden a horse for a number of years. But as a child she had loved it, and the idea of seeing the ancient city on horseback appealed to her. “Yes,” she said tentatively.
“Even better,” said Ahmed. “Wear something you can ride in and I’ll show you a little of Luxor.”
Holding on for her life, Erica let the black stallion have his head as they reached the edge of the desert. The animal responded with a surge of speed and thundered up the small sand hill, galloping along the crest of the ridge for almost a mile. Finally Erica reined him in to wait for Ahmed. The sun had just set, but it was light and Erica could look down onto the ruins of the Temple of Karnak. Across the river the mountains of Thebes rose sharply beyond the irrigated fields. She could even make out some of the entranceways to the tombs of the nobles.
Erica was hypnotized by the scene, and the heaving animal between her legs made her feel as if she had been transported into the past. Ahmed rode up beside her but did not speak. He sensed her thoughts and did not want to interrupt. Erica stole a quick glance at his sharp profile in the soft light. He was dressed in loose-fitting white cotton, with the shirt open to mid-chest and the sleeves rolled to the elbows. His black, shining hair was tousled by the wind, and tiny drops of perspiration lined his forehead.
Erica was still surprised by his invitation and unable to forget his official capacity. He had been cordial since her arrival, but not communicative. She wondered if his intent still lay with Yvon de Margeau.
“Beautiful here, isn’t it?” he said at last.
“Gorgeous,” said Erica. She struggled with the stallion, now eager to move on.
“I love Luxor.” He turned to Erica, his face serious yet puzzled.
Erica was certain he was going to say something more, but he just looked at her for several minutes and then turned back to the vista over the Nile. As they watched in silence, the shadows within the ruins deepened, heralding the coming night.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “You must be starved. Let’s have our dinner.”
They rode back toward Ahmed’s rustic house, skirting the Temple of Karnak and riding along the Nile. They passed a felucca landing, where the men were singing softly while furling their sails for the night. When they arrived at Ahmed’s house, Erica helped with the horses. Then they both washed their hands in a wooden tub in the courtyard before going inside.