No matter that Clodagh was still resting in her room, overcome with exhaustion; too tired, even, to protest that Onora should not be accompanying Seton unchaperoned.
Seton had brushed away any such concerns, saying there could be nothing improper in a man escorting his fiancée, and that his wish was to share this moment with her alone, unencumbered by the presence of any other woman from their party.
“Excellent!” A bead of sweat trembled on the indentation above his upper lip, before disappearing into his moustache. “Naturally, I would not have brought you had I the least doubt as to your stoutheartedness.” Seton had a knack of laying on the charm when she was most inclined to retreat from him.
“Nothing would keep me from returning here to see the progress you’ve made. You know howinterested I am in your work, and I’m looking forward to helping, in whatever way I can be useful.”
“You shall be invaluable, my dear. That I know with certainty.” He raised her hand briefly to his lips before stepping onto the ramp, leading her downward.
They crossed the open courtyard and were at the entrance to the inner cavern of thehypostyle, on the threshold of its comparative coolness, when Seton halted. “See the stonework above the threshold? Remarkably well-preserved. A depiction of Aten, the sun god, and a half circle, segmented into twelve portions.”
Squinting against the light, Onora studied the engraving. How had she not noticed before? “The gates through which the sun must pass by night, one for each dark hour.”
“Exactly.” Seton smiled benignly. “Ingenious, truly, how the priestess of Qadesh concealed the true intent behind her temple. Outwardly this is a symbol of Aten, and yet the symbolism is obvious. All that lieswithin belongs to the realm of night, rather than day.”
All at once lightheaded, Onora felt her legs buckle beneath her. The parasol fell from her grasp, and she clung to Seton.
Adroitly, his arm came about her waist. “Let’s get you inside.”
The relief was immediate, though the sun cast its beam across the floor and the air remained warm, flowing through the open doorway. Seton guided her to a stool beside a long table and set about lighting a lantern.
“Better?”
Though her legs still felt weak, she nodded, and he helped her up. They proceeded through the colonnaded hall, the place eerily quiet.
He’d attached one of the larger lamps to a long pole with a hook and directed the illumination at the domed ceiling. There were the painted stars her father had once told her of, and she felt the pang again—that it was not he by her side, showing her the marvels of this part of the temple.
They didnot linger long for Seton seemed impatient to press on, and hurried her to the gates of the sanctuary. These were secured by a chain and a cast-iron lock.
Seton removed a key from his jacket. “There are no extravagant riches here, but all artefacts fetch a price in the markets of Cairo or Luxor. One cannot be too careful.”
As he drew the doors open some draught, warm as a lover’s breath, passed over her face.
It’s nothing! Simply air, flowing from one space into another.
And yet, she felt a change come over her—an intense awareness of her body. Beneath her clothes, teasing prickles ran over her skin, as if something was awakening, reminding her she was a woman.
Returned at last, as I knew you would.
Onora looked about her, startled. She would swear someone had spoken behind her, but there was no-one else present. Was she imagining things? Or talking to herself? This day had been long coming, both sought after and dreaded, and it was affecting her in disturbing ways.
“Wait here a moment.” Seton entered and she heard a match strike. A soft radiance flickered to life somewhere beyond.
Onora remained as she was, not yet daring to cross the threshold, while Seton moved about the room, igniting sconces upon the walls.
It felt strange, seeing the chamber like this, lit as it would have been long ago. For the first time, she observed the friezes upon the perimeter walls. There were a great many figures, in a variety of poses, some on their knees, or bending lower in supplication, she supposed.
The six sarcophagi were as she remembered them, the statue of the goddess looming above, her stare piercing, a snake writhing in each hand and the crescent moon crowning her head.
Naked but for a delicate loincloth painted in blue, stark against the gold of her skin. Blue and gold—symbolizing eternal life.
“Thatfragrance…what is it?” The scent pervading the room was something she’d experienced before.
“We’ve replicated the oil used in rituals from this time. Expensive ingredients, rich and intoxicating, as is fitting for worship of the goddess said to be wife to both the fertility god Min and of Resheph—he who brought war and pestilence and was gatekeeper of the underworld. We have mere snatches of information, from papyrus discovered in Amarna, Luxor, and in Syria, where the cult of the goddess began, but her duality is clear.” Seton was gazing upward. “She understands the true nature of humanity, our rage and joy, our yearning to create and to destroy. She knows what we covet, and what we hide. There is no other like her.”
Onora averted her eyes. Qadesh sounded far too all-knowing, and the statue’s expression did not speak of benevolence. There was something dangerous in those eyes.
Dangerous and alluring.
