Valley of the Kings 1922
Ella sat on her pony and stiffened her spine, forcing her heels down into the stirrups as if that would root her—and her unpredictable little mount—at the top of the rocky hill where William had stationed her. He had promised her a special view of the world that few white people ever get to see and she was determined not to break her neck falling down the sheer cliffs on all sides before she did.
They had arrived at camp late the night before. Because Carter hadn’t known ahead of time that there would be an extra person to accommodate, she and Julia had to share a tent. Ella was so exhausted that she would’ve shared a tent with Abdullah if it meant she could close her eyes and lie down.
When the morning came, she woke to a world of promise and beauty, of light and excitement. While Julia refused to leave their tent before a cup of tea was brought to her, Ella was pulling on yesterday’s stained, worn dress to greet the day. William met her at the main cookfire in the center of the camp and handed her a china cup of freshly brewed tea with sugar.
“If Efendim will wait but a moment,” he said, nodding his head in the direction of Julia’s tent to convey his need to bring her ladyship her tea. “I want to show you a special perspective on the Valley of the Kings.”
So it was literally before she had had her first meal at Carter’s camp, that Ella saw the whole operation spread before her as she watched the sun rise behind the rock cliffs illuminate the western mountains in a glorious hallelujah of golden light and glory. She could see the tombs that had been dug into the rock wall of the surrounding hills. The center of the stony valley looked like a giant quarry excavation with just a few palm trees visible in the small sections of fields not dominated by rock and sand.
As early as it was, workers from the villages were already at work removing sand from the foundations of the temples, using hoes and picks to loosen the rock and shoveling debris into baskets which were then carried away by small boys. The children dumped the baskets of sand and rubble into coal carts parked on parallel tracks that, once full, were then hand-guided by men running on either side down the hills to a great pile of sand and debris, presumably set there so as not to compromise future excavations. As the carts spilled their contents onto the huge mountain of sand and rock, great clouds of dust rose in the air and wafted back to coat the valley in an obscuring grit.
Ella marveled at how quickly the workers—dressed in rags and long flowing robes—ran across the hard rocky surfaces in their bare feet, oblivious to the sharp stones and pebbles that must have punished them with every step.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected from Howard Carter’s site but the size and magnitude of this operation stunned her. There appeared to be a thousand men and boys working in the valley below. No wonder he depended on Lord Carnarvon’s support. An operation this size had to be expensive. On the way up the hill, William had told her that Carter had been digging in this spot for nearly eight years.
William moved to Ella and put his hand on her pony’s bridle. William wore a dark blue hijab around his face to protect against the relentless dust and wind. He motioned to Ella to don the scarf he had given her earlier that morning and to wrap it in the same way.
“Is extraordinary, no?” he said, clearly proud of what he was showing her.
“It’s incredible,” Ella said. “Is all this Carter’s operation?”
“No, no, efendim, there are many who dig in the Valley of the Kings.”
“Well, it’s impressive, I’ll say that. My…husband would love to see this.”
“Excuse me, Madaam, I did not realize you were married.”
“Well, it’s kind of a secret, William. If you don’t mind, don’t say anything.”
William gave a sort of snort. “It is not for me to speak,” he said.
Ella had a flash of sympathy for him. Obviously educated, a Christian in a Muslim world, he often received less respect than the bullheads crewing the luxury dahabiyas.
“Is your family near here, William?”
He looked at her as if shocked she would care to know. “Yes, Madaam,” he said. “My wife and two boys. In the village on the east side of Luxor.”
Ella found herself hoping Digby paid him decently. It was a hell of a life being separated from your family in order to provide for them.
Later that day, a separate tent was arranged for Ella. When she entered it to freshen up before lunch, she saw a pair of trousers and what looked like a man’s linen shirt had been laid out on her camp bed. Before she could examine them, Julia entered, fanning herself, and collapsed in the large canvas camp chair inside the tent.
“Where in the world did you get to before breakfast?” she asked peevishly.
“Why?” Ella asked, pulling aside the mosquito net jto sit down on her bed. “Did you want me to do your hair or something?”
Julia gasped and touched her hair, which was twisted up in a neat chignon. She patted it as if to confirm that it was still there. “What’s the matter with my hair?”
“Nothing, Julia,” Ella said. “Just teasing. You look gorgeous. You look like you just stepped out of a tea salon on Bond Street. Cool, demure and every hair in place.”
“Whereas you, Ella, look like you have been fighting wild monkeys for the possession of your hat. Already your nose is burnt and it’s not yet noon.”
“Do I have you to thank for the pants?”
Julia shrugged. “Some of the women at the other sites, I’m told, wear trousers to be more comfortable. I had them made for both of us in Cairo.” Julia wore her usual full length dress and billowing underskirt.
“Thank you, Julia. They’re perfect.”
“I knew you would like them since they’re not that different from the clothes I found you in.”
Changing the subject, Ella loosened the top buttons of her blouse.
“Is there a private place to bathe?” she asked. “I’d like to clean up before lunch.”
“Of course,” Julia said, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll have William bring you a basin to your tent.”
“Better than nothing,” Ella said, unbuttoning her sleeves. “And a washcloth?”
“Even soap if you insist,” Julia said, smiling.
“Where’s your husband located?” Ella said fanning herself in the heat of the tent. “I still can’t believe he lets you have your own tent.”
“Since it is my money that has made this trip possible, including the accommodations,” Julia said, “he has little to say about it.”
Ella frowned. “The Viscount doesn’t have his own money?”
“It is amazing to me the liberties you take with your questions!” Julia stood up and straightened the kirtle of her bodice with sharp jerks.
Ella sighed. In her brief experience with Lady Julia, she knew that the indignation would soon give way to a desire to share her woes with her new friend—as odd as Ella considered her to be. Ella reached over to pick up a hairbrush from the wooden crate next to her bed while she waited.
Sure enough, Julia sat back down. “He is making hints,” she said.
“I’m not surprised.”
“How can I put him off?” Julia wailed. “I recoil at the very thought of his touch.”
“Look, Julia, is this just wedding night jitters magnified a hundred fold or are you really wishing you weren’t married to the dude?”
“I told you,” Julia said in a whisper. “I made a terrible mistake.”
“Then get it annulled.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Really? Then, okay, let’s kill him. Knife or firearms? I’m squeamish. Can you do it and I’ll just say you were with me at the time of the murder?”
Julia’s eyes filled with tears. “I need your help, Ella,” she said, miserably.
Ella ran a hand through her hair which, by the distracted reaction from Julia, probably didn’t improve it.
“Can you talk to him, Julia?”
“And tell him what?”
“Well, clearly, he already knows there’s a problem. You’ve been married two months and he hasn’t even seen you in your knee socks yet. Talk to him.”
“I don’t want to work this out, Ella.” Julia said.
“Then get it annulled.”
“You don’t understand. I would be a laughingstock. I could never go home again. It’s unthinkable.”
“More unthinkable than getting between the sheets with the Viscount?”
Julia gave her a look of horror.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And short of killing him, that’s your best choice.”
“Women sleep with husbands they don’t love all the time,” Julia said unconvincingly.
“Well, presumably they at least started out loving them.”
“I have a friend whose husband only requests a night’s visit only once every full moon.”
“God save the British,” Ella said, shaking her head. “If you think you can handle doing it that much, maybe you can arrange something with him. But once that’s solved, can you live with him the rest of the time? You practically never even speak to each other.”
“We won’t have to. We can lead separate lives for the most part. I am sure that will not be a problem.” A look of determination came over Julia’s face. “I can do this. My mother told me it would take bravery.”
“Wow. Thanks, Mom,” Ella said. “No wonder you weren’t looking forward to your wedding night.”
Lunch was a formal affair at a long table topped with a starched white tablecloth. While she recognized that labor was cheap in 1922 Egypt, it still amazed Ella that such delicate civility could exist in the dusty, wind-whipped setting. China plates and silverware graced the table. Servants continually swept the dust from the table.
The British, Ella found herself thinking as she seated herself at lunch. A canopy stretched over the table but it was still hot in the shade. She imagined the only work getting done in the middle of the day was happening inside the cool, dark tombs. But no, William had said that the constant digging and removal of debris would go on nonstop until dark.
Lunch was filleted fish with a light and spicy sauce and fresh vegetables. There was a bottle of excellent wine. Carter was still busy at the site where he had been since early morning. Unfortunately, that meant only Ella, Julia and Digby were at lunch. It was an uncomfortable, silent meal.
Ella had changed into the riding clothes—for that’s how Julia referred to them—and enjoyed the looks of disapproval Digby directed at her with virtually every forkful. Carter had said she could have the use of the pony she’d ridden that morning and she was anxious to explore the perimeter of the dig site after lunch. She had ridden competitively as a teenager and she was still a confident rider—especially now that she was appropriately dressed.
After lunch, with regrets from William whose chores demanded he stay in the camp, she added a calfskin of water to her saddle and, with general directions from William and a shake of the head from Julia, she left for an afternoon ride. Ella had not ridden twenty minutes before she realized that she was in love with this country. Even the rocky expanse of the dig site—as unattractive and forbidding as a moonscape—gave her a feeling of peace and contentment. She rode the base of the valley first, staying well away from the workers and their growing mountain of debris. Because there were so many places that could be inadvertently harmed by her pony’s hooves, she eventually urged him up the steep hills opposite her morning vantage point.
Closer to the sun and so much later in the day, the heat was nearly crippling in its ferocity. She had kept the mustard-colored hijab from the morning’s ride and it draped her in smooth graceful folds down her back, protecting her nose and mouth from the incessant blowing sand. Instead of riding boots—which she didn’t have—she wore silk slippers. Fearful of her foot slipping through the stirrup with the unpredictable pony, she pulled up the leathers and crossed them across her lap so that her legs could hang free or tighten on the animal’s sides. Next time, she decided she’d do away with the saddle altogether.
In no hurry, Ella walked her pony carefully along the cliff tops. As she rode she could see the workmen—like crazed ants digging, carrying, and dumping—and looking back to the east she could see the Nile. Beautiful and meandering, undulating like a dazed serpent amid the tall reeds along the banks.
She realized this place spoke to her. This land seemed to fill her with a sense of peace that she had never felt before. She shook her head. Of course you’ve never felt it. When did you have time to just wander around on horseback taking in the sights? The only item she had on her agenda was getting back in time to bathe and dress for dinner. If you had told me a week ago that I would actually like the idea of that, I would have said you were mad.
And Rowan, never far from her thoughts, seemed to fill them now as she rode. The clarity of her love and knowledge of him that had often escaped her in 2013 Dothan was immediate and unassailable here. When she thought of the things that Carol had said about the kind of person Ella was with Rowan—selfish and recalcitrant—she was horrified to admit Carol had been at least a little right. A protective, loving mother, Carol had instantly seen what Ella lacked in relation to her son. Something had failed when she and Rowan returned from Heidelberg. But what was the answer? Go back to 1620 Heidelberg? She shivered at the thought. They had barely escaped with their lives as it was.
It’s only two weeks, she thought. What are two measly weeks in the scheme of things? Just as soon as they returned to Cairo, she would race to the old market wall and find the damn crack and be on an Egyptair flight back to the States before she totally ruined her chance of a happy-ever-after with her big, handsome cowboy.
She looked out over the Valley of the Kings and willed herself to imagine him sitting next to her, alert, engaged, alive, on his own horse but just out of sight. Rowan loved archaeology. He loved history. He would love this world. She wished so dearly that he were here now. She reminded herself that ninety-one years in the future, the man she loved was worried sick. He was frantic and wondering what could possibly have happened to her. And probably thinking the worst.
And what was she doing? She was sitting on a horse at the rim of the Valley of the Kings, looking down on the stage where King Tut was about to be uncovered, and knowing she didn’t deserve Rowan’s forgiveness for putting him through hell. Knowing his mother was right about her.
And even so, she found herself saying, Not yet. I’ll come home but, please…
Not quite yet.