She supposed that was the way of things—to be attracted by what was forbidden.Qadesh sounded like a goddess who invited transgression, the throwing off of ‘shall nots’; the antithesis of the stolid religion practiced at the church her aunts attended! What would their vicar say, if he could see this statue in all her bare-breasted glory, and Seton—a marquess no less—so full of admiration for this heathen goddess?
I wonder what the Reverend Griffiths makes of it.
“Come!” Seton beckoned her to him, so that they stood together beside one of the sarcophagi. “You wish to hear about these? I take it your father taught you something of hieroglyphic text?”
Onora was not one to boast of her learning, but she’d no wish for Seton to think her entirely ignorant. “First recorded around five thousand years ago, and remaining in use until the fourth century. There are more than seven hundred variations recorded, with some as yet lacking full translation. I have learnt ninety-three and am adding to that number steadily.”
“Very good.”Seton nodded approvingly. “Those inscribed on these casings tell us that the bodies of the priestesses are contained within.” He laid his hand upon the stone. “We’ve avoided disturbing the sarcophagi as much as possible. Each contains a wooden casing, painted in the likeliness of the woman within, and a modest selection of female possessions—bracelets and neck adornments, combs, bottled ointments and so on, a fewshabtis, as well as the usual canopic jars.”
Onora knew enough to understand. Shabti figurines were designed to serve the occupant in the afterlife, taking on any labor required of them. Meanwhile the deceased’s lungs, liver, stomach and intestines were housed in the jars, having been removed during the mummification process. The heart remained, being the home of the person’s soul.
Seton went on. “We unwrapped each mummy with the greatest care, to check within the linens. As you know, we found only a few minor gemstones—mostly amethyst and lapis.”
And they’ll go to the museum in Cairo in due course?
Onora didn’t dare ask the question aloud. Instead, she said, “It’s unusual isn’t it, for such as they to be entombed here, and with possessions that must have been covetable. Whoever did so served them loyally. They must have guarded the resting place, at least for a time.”
Onora felt a surge of compassion, remembering what Seton had explained of the priestesses, and the pharaoh discovering their secret worship of the Eastern goddess.
“Indeed. If it hadn’t been for the city being buried, and this temple with it, no doubt the site would have been looted.” He paused, looking at her intently, before leading her to the foremost sarcophagus.
Try to act calmly! Seton must have no inkling you’ve been here before.
She could not suppress her shock, however.
The scarabs!
Where there should have been eleven,there were now none at all.
What has become of the rest?
“This is the most intriguing element, to my mind. The text upon the side of this sarcophagus refers to twelve scarabs, each of which were placed here…” Seton touched the indentations. “Your father was the first to enter this room, for the sand was still being removed at the time I was called to Cairo, away from the dig.”
“Yes. I…I remember.” With difficulty, Onora swallowed; her mouth was so dry.
“A meticulous man, your father. He wrote to me, detailing the room most precisely. He assured me nothing would be touched until I was able to oversee things myself. Strangely, there were only eleven scarabs by the time of my return.”
“But…you don’t think my father had anything to do with…” Did he hear the tremble in her voice?
Seton went on, his manner surprisingly passive. “No, I think not. As for the rest, I removed those myself—for safekeeping. Upon each body there is another, larger scarab, concealed in the bindings. Youknow, I’m sure, that the scarab represents the eternal cycle of life—of birth and death and resurrection.” Seton indicated the text on the side of the sarcophagus. “What do you see here?”
“That’s the number twelve, and the scarab, as you say. That looks like a worshipper, and is this a symbol of strength? I can’t interpret the others, I’m afraid.”
Seton spoke in a low murmur. “Do not trouble yourself. It has taken me years to be certain, for some of the symbols are uncommon, and I have cross-referenced with other materials I’ve been gathering these decades past. It is a promise, you might say. Twelve devotees are called, one for each scarab. The power of Qadesh shall be granted to them, and a new high priestess shall take the mantle. Unimaginable vigor will be theirs—six women, and six men as their consorts.”
“Goodness!” Onora was rather taken aback. “And all these devotees need do is worship her? Offerings, and so on?”
Seton made some small, impatient sound. “Those whoclaim the scarabs will be in service to the goddess. They receive the gift of her lifeforce entering their mortal being—a conduit of her power, if you will. It is beyond our imagining what that would feel like.”
Onora shuddered.
Entering their mortal being?
What does that mean, exactly? That the goddess takes possession of their consciousness, or can command their actions?
“It sounds more like a curse to me! To give up one’s independence to a deity. The Curse of the Twelve Scarabs!” Onora laughed nervously. “Like one of Conan Doyle’s stories, with that arrogant detective, Sherlock Holmes.”
She gasped as Seton took hold of her. “It is not some frivolous thing to laugh over. Nor would I call it a curse! It would be the greatest honor to serve Qadesh.”
