Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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was tossed about like a puppet, his arms flapping and his legs kicking

and. dancing comically.

There was only one way to free the blade of a bayonet that was trapped

like this., Nogo slipped the rate-of-fire selector on the AK-47 to

"Single Shot'. He fired once.

The detonation of the shot was muffled by Jali Hora's body, but was yet

so thunderous that for a moment it stilled the outcry of the monks. The

high-velocity bullet tore down the entry track of the blade. It was

moving at three times the speed of sound, creating a wave of hydrostatic

shock behind it that turned the old man's bowels to jelly and liquidized

his flesh. The suction that had held the bayonet was broken, and the

blast of shot hurled Jah Hora's carcass off the point of the blade,

flinging it into the arms of the monks who were crowding close behind

him."

For a moment longer the strained, unnatural silence persisted, and then

it was shattered by a higher, more angry chorus of horror from the

monks. It was as though they were compelled by a single mind, a single

instinct. Like a flock of white birds they flew at the band of armed men

in their midst and descended upon them, intent on retribution for

murder. They counted no cost to themselves, but with their bare hands

they tore at them, hooked fingers clawing for their eyes, seizing the

barrels of the levelled rifles. Some of them even grasped the blades of

the bayonets with their naked hands, and the razor steel sliced through

–flesh and tendons.

For a short while it seemed that the soldiers would be overwhelmed and

smothered by the sheer weight of numbers, but then those troopers

carrying the stele and the coffin dropped their loads and unslung their

weapons, The monks crowded them too closely for them to swing the

rifles, and they were forced to hack and stab with the bayonets to clear

a space around them in which to do their work. They did not need much

room, for the AK47 has a short barrel and compact action. Their first

burst of fully automatic fire, aimed into the monks at belly height and

point-blank range, scythed a windrow– through them.

Every bullet told, and the full metal jacket ball whipped through one

man's torso with almost no check, going on to kill the man behind him.

By now all the troopers were firing from the hip, traversing back and

forth, spraying the packed ranks of monks like gardeners hosing a bed of

white pansies. As one magazine of twenty-eight rounds emptied they

snapped it off and replaced it with another, fully loaded.

Nahoot cowered behind the fallen pillar, using it as a shield. The roar

of gunfire deafened and confused him. He stared around him and could not

credit the'carnage he was witnessing. At such close range the 7.62 round

is a terrible missile, which can blow off an arm or a leg as efficiently

as an axe-stroke, but more messily. Taken in the belly, it can gut a man

like a fish.

Nahoot saw one of the monks hit in the forehead. His skull'erupted in a

cloud of blood and brain tissue, and the gunman who had shot him laughed

as he fired. They were all caught up in the madness of the moment. Like

a pack of wild dogs that had run down their prey, they kept on firing

and reloading and firing again.

The monks in the front rows turned to flee and ran into those behind.

They struggled together, howling with agony and terror, until the storm

of bullets swept over them, killing and maiming, and they fell upon the

heaps of dead and dying. The floor of the chamber was carpeted with the

dead and the wounded. Trying to escape the hail of bullets the monks

blocked the doorway, plugging it tight with their struggling white-clad

bodies, and now the troopers standing clear in the centre of the qiddist

turned their guns upon this trapped mass of humanity. The bullets socked

into them and they heaved and tossed like the trees of the forest in a

gale of wind. Now there was very little screaming; the guns were the

only voices that still clamoured.

It was some minutes before the guns stuttered into silence, and then the

only sound was the groans and the weeping of the wounded. The chamber

was filled with a blue mist of gunsmoke and the stink of burned powder.

Even the laughter of the soldiers was silenced as they stared around

them, and realized the enormity of the slaughter.

The entire floor was carpeted with bodies, their shammas splashed

and-speckled with gouts of scarlet, and the stone paving beneath them

was awash with sheets of fresh blood in which the empty brass cartridge

cases sparkled like jewels.

"Cease firing!" Nogo gave the belated order. "Shoulder arms! Pick up the

load! Forward march!'

His voice roused them, and they slung their weapons and stooped to lift

their heavy, tapestry-wrapped burdens.

Then they staggered forward, their boots squelching in the blood,

tripping over the corpses,. stepping on bodies that either convulsed or

lay inert. Gagging in the stench of gunsmoke and blood, of bowels and

guts ripped wide open by the bullets, they crossed the chamber.

When they reached the doorway and staggered down the steps into the

deserted outer chamber of the church, Nahoot saw the relief on the faces

of even these battle hardened veterans as they escaped from the reeking

charnel-house. For Nahoot it was too much. Never in his worst nightmares

had he seen sights such as these.

He tottered to the side wall of the chamber and clung to one of the

woollen hangings for support; then, heaving and retching, he brought up

a mouthful of bitter bile.

When he looked around him again, he was alone except for a wounded monk

who was dragging himself across the flags towards him, his spine shot

through and his paralysed legs slithering behind him, leaving a slimy

snail's trail of blood across the stone floor.

Nahoot screamed and backed away from the wounded monk, then whirled and

fled from the church, along the cloisters above the gorge of the Nile,

following the group of soldiers as they ffarried their burdens up the

stone staircase. He was so wild with horror that he did not even hear

the approach of the helicopter until it was hovering directly overhead

on the glistening silver disc of its spinning rotor.

otthold von Schiller stood outside the front door of the Quonset hut,

with Utte Kemper waiting a pace behind him. The pilot had radioed ahead

while the jet Ranger was in flight, so all was in readiness to receive

the precious cargo it was carrying.

The helicopter raised a cloud of pale dust from the landing circle as it

sank down to the earth. The long tapestry covered load it carried had

not been able to fit into the cabin, and was strapped across the landing

skids of the aircraft. The instant that the skids kissed the ground and

the pilot cut back the throttle, Jake Helm led out a team of a dozen men

to loosen the nylon retaining straps and lift the heavy bundle down.

Between them the gang of overallclad workers carried the stele to the

hut and eased it through the door. Helm hovered close at hand, issuing

terse orders.

A space had been cleared in the centre of the conference room, the long

table pushed back against the wall.

With extreme care the stele was laid there, and minutes later the coffin

of Tanus, the Great Lion of Egypt, was laid beside it.

Brusquely Helm dismissed the gang and closed and bolted the door behind

them as they left. Only the four of them remained in the room. Nahoot'

and Helm crouched beside the stele, ready to unwrap the woollen

tapestry. Von Schiller stood at the head of it, with Utte at his side.

"Shall we begin?" Helm asked softly, watching von Schiller's face the

way a faithful dog watches its master.

"Carefully," von Schiller warned him in strangled tones.

"Do not damage anything." He was sweating in a sheen across his

forehead, and his face was very pale. Utte edged rotectively closer to

him,, but he did not glance in her direction. He was staring fixedly at

the treasure that lay at his feet.

Helm opened his clasp-knife and cut away the tasselled cords that

secured the covering. As he watched, von Schiller's breathing became

louder. It rasped in his throat like a man in the terminal stages of

emphysema.

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely, tthat's the way to do it." Utte Kemper

watched his face. He was always like this when he made another

significant addition to his collection of antiquities. He seemed on the

verge of a seizure, of a massive heart attack, but she knew he had the

heart of an OX.

Helm came to the top end of the pillar and carefully opened a small slit

in the cloth. He eased the point of the blade into this opening, and

then ran it slowly down towards the base, like a zip fastener. The blade

was razor sharp and the cloth fell away to reveal the inscribed stone

beneath it.

The sweat burst out like a heavy dew on von Schiller's skin. It dripped

from his chin on to the front of his khaki bush jacket. He made a small

moaning sound as he saw the carved hieroglyphics. Utte watched him, her

own excitement mounting. She knew what to expect of him, when he was

caught up in this paroxysm of emotion.

"See here, Herr von Schiller." Nahoot knelt beside the obelisk and

traced the outline of a broken'winged hawk with his finger. "This is the

signature of the slave, Taita."

"Is it genuine?" Von Schiller's voice was that of a very sick man,

wheezing and gusty.

"It is genuine. I will guarantee it with my life."

"It may come to that," von Schiller warned him. His eyes were glittering

with the hard brilliance of pate sapphires.

This column was carved nearly four thousand years ago," Nahoot repeated

stoutly. "This is the veritable seal of the scribe." He translated

glibly and easily from the blocks of figures, his face shining with an

almost religious rapture: "'Anubis, the jackal-headed, the god of the

cemeteries, holds in his paws the blood and the viscera, the bones and

the lungs and the heart that are my separate parts. He moves them like

the stones of the bao board, my limbs serve him as counters, my head is

the great bull of the long board'!–'

"Enough!" von Schiller commanded. There will be time for more later. Go

now. Leave me alone. Do not return until I send for you."

Nahoot looked startled and scrambled to his feet uncertainly. He had not

expected to be dismissed so abruptly in the moment of his triumph. Helm

beckoned him, and the two of them went quickly to the door of the hut.

"Helm," von Schiller called thickly after him, "make certain that nobody

disturbs me."

"Of course, Herr von Schiller." He glanced enquiringly at Utte Kemper.

"No," said von Schiller. "She stay The two men left the room, and Helm

shut the door carefully behind them, Utte crossed the room and turned

the key. Then she faced von Schiller with her hands behind her and her

back pressed to the door.

Her breasts were thrust forward firm and pointed The nipples showed

clearly through the thin cotton blouse, hard as marbles.

"The costume?" she asked. "Do you want the costume Her own voice was

tight and strained. She enjoyed this game almost as much as he did.

"Yes, the costume," he whispered.

She crossed the room and disappeared through the door into his private

quarters. As soon as she was gone von Schiller began to undress. When he

stood mother-naked in the centre of the room, he threw his clothing in a

heap into one corner and turned to face the door through which she would

return.

Suddenly she stood in the doorway, and he gasped at the transformation.

She wore the wig of tight Egyptian braids and over it the uraeus, the

golden circlet with the hooded cobra standing erect above her forehead.

The crown was genuine, as old as the ages – von Schiller had paid five

million Deutschmarks for it.

"I am the reincarnation of the ancient Egyptian Queen Lostris," she

puffed. "My soul is immortal. My flesh is incorruptible." She wore

golden sandals from the tomb of a princess, and bracelets and finger

rings and earrings from the same tomb. All were authentic royal relics.

"Yes." His voice was choking, his face as pale as death.

"Nothing can destroy me. I will live for ever," she said.

Her skirt was diaphanous yellow silk, belted with gold and precious

stones.

"For ever," he repeated She was naked above the waist. Her breasts were

big and white as milk. She cupped them in her own hands.

"These have been young and smooth for four thousand years," she purred.

"I offer them to you."

She stepped out of the open golden sandals and her feet were slim and

neat. She parted the frontal split in the yellow skirts and held it so

that her lower body was exposed.

All her movements were slow and calculated. She was a clever actress.

"This– is the promise of eternal life." She placed her right hand on her

dense honey-coloured pubic bush. "I offer it to you.

He groaned softly and blinked the streaming sweat out of his eyes,

watching her avidly.

She undulated her hips, slowly and lewdly as an uncoiling cobra. She

moved her feet apart and opened her thighs. With her fingers she spread

the lips of her vulva.

"This is the gateway to eternity. I open it for you., Von Schiller

groaned aloud. No matter how often repeated, the ritual never failed.

Like a man in a trance he moved towards her. His body was thin, dried

out like a thousand-year-old mummy. His chest hair was a silver fuzz,

the skin of his sunken belly was folded and wrinkled, but his pubic hair

was dark and thick as the hair on his head.

His penis was huge, out of all proportion to the skinny old frame from

which it dangled. As she moved slowly to meet him it filled out and hung

at a different angle, and of its own accord the wizened foreskin peeled

back to reveal the massive purple head beneath it.

"On the stele," he grunted. "Quickly! On the stone."

She turned her back to him and knelt upon the stone, watching him over

her shoulder as he came up behind her.

Her buttocks were round and white as a pair of ostrich eggs.

elm and his men worked late that night in the Pegasus workshop, making

the wooden  crates to house both the stele and the coffin securely. At

dawn the next day they were loaded on to one of the heavy trucks,

cushioned with thick "rubber matting and strapped down on to specially

fitted cradles.

At his own suggestion Nahoot rode in the back of the truck, which would

take just over thirty hours to cover the long and arduous journey to

Addis Ababa. The Pegasus Falcon was standing on the airport tarmac when

the dusty truck trundled out through the security gates and parked

beside it.

Von Schiller and Utte Kemper had made the journey in the company

helicopter. General Obeid was with them. He had come to wish them all

revoir and Godspeed.

While the wooden crates were loaded into the jet, Obeid spoke to the

waiting Customs officer. He stamped the documents clearing the two cases

of "Geological Samples' for export, and then discreetly retired.

"Loaded and ready to start engines, Herr von Schiller," said the

uniformed Pegasus chief pilot, saluting.

Von Schiller shook hands with Obeid and clambered up the boarding

ladder. Utte an& Nahoot Guddabi followed him. The rings under Nahoot's

eyes were even darker and deeper than usual. The journey had come close

to exhausting him entirely, but he would not let the wooden cases out of

his sight.

The Falcon climbed up into a bright clear sky over the mountains and

headed northwards. A few moments after the pilot extinguished the Seat

Belt panel, Utte Kemper thrust her lovely blonde head through the

cockpit door and asked the chief pilot, "Herr von Schiller would like to

know our ETA."

"I expect to touch down at Frankfurt at 2100 hours.

Please inform Herr von Schiller that I have already radioed head office

to give instructions for transport to be awaiting our arrival at the

airport."

The Falcon landed a few minutes ahead of schedule and taxied to the

private hangar. The senior Customs and Immigration officials who were

waiting for them were old acquaintances who were always on hand when the

Falcon carried a special cargo. After they had completed the formalities

they drank a schnapps with Gotthold von Schiller at the Falcon's tiny

fitted bar, and discreetly pocketed the envelopes that lay on the bar

counter beside each crystal glass.

The drive up into the mountains took most of the rest of the night. Von

Schiller's chauffeur followed the covered Pegasus truck along the icy

winding mountain road, never letting it and its cargo out of sight. At

five in the morning they drove through the stone gate of the Schloss,

where the snow lay half a metre deep in the deer park. The castle

itself, with its dark stone battlements and arrow-slit windows, looked

like something from Bram Stoker's novel.

However, even at this hour the butler and all his staff were on hand to

welcome the master.

Herr Reeper, the custodian of von Schiller's collection, and his most

trusted assistants were also waiting, ready to move the two wooden cases

down into the vault. Reverently they loaded them on to the forklift and

rode down with them in the specially installed elevator.

While they unpacked the crates, von Schiller returned to his suite in

the north tower. He bathed and ate a light breakfast, prepared by the

Chinese chef. When he had eaten, he went to his wife's bedroom. She was

even frailer than she had been when last he had seen her. Her hair was

now completely white, her face pinched and waxy. He sent the nurse away,

and kissed his wife's forehead tenderly.

The cancer was eating her away slowly, but she was the mother of his two

sons, and in his own peculiar way he still loved her.

He spent an hour with her, and then went to his own bedroom and slept

for four hours. At his age he never needed more sleep than that, no

matter how tired he might be. He worked until midafternoon with Utte and

two other secretaries, and then the custodian called on the house

intercom to tell him that they were ready for him in the vault.

Von Schiller and Utte rode down together in the elevator, and when the

door slid open both Herr Reeper and Nahoot were waiting for them. One

look at their faces told von Schiller that they were beside themselves

with excitement, bubbling over with news for him.

"Are the -rays completed?" von Schiller demanded as they hurried after

him down the subterranean passageway to the vault.

"The technicians have completed their work," Reeper told him. "They have

done a fine job. The plates are wonderful. Ja, wunderbar!'

Von Schiller had endowed the clinic, so any request of his was treated

as a royal command. The director had sent down his most modern portable

–ray equipment and two technicians to photograph the mummy of Lord

Harrab, and a senior radiologist to interpret the plates.

Reeper inserted his plastic pass card into the lock of the steel vault

door, and with a soft pneumatic hiss it slid open. They all stood aside

for von Schiller to enter first.

He paused in the doorway, and looked around the great vault. The

pleasure never palled. On the contrary, it seemed to grow more intense

every time he entered this place.

The walls were enclosed in two metres of steel and concrete, and were

guarded by every electronic device that genius could devise. But this

was not apparent.when he viewed the softly lit and elegantly appointed

main display room. It had been planned and decorated by one of Europe's

foremost interior designers. The theme colour was blue. Each item of the

collection was housed in its own case, and each of these was cunningly

arranged to show it to its best advantage.

Everywhere was the soft glimmer of gold and precious gems nestling on

midnight-blue velvet cushions. Artfully concealed spotlights illuminated

the lustre of lovingly polished alabaster and stone, the glow of ivory

and obsidian. There were marvelous statues. The pantheon of the old gods

were here assembled: Thoth and Anubis, Hapi and Seth, and the glorious

trinity of Osiris and Isis and Horus, the son. They gazed out with those

inscrutable eyes which had looked upon the procession of the ages.

On its temporary plinth in the centre of the room, in pride of place,

stood the latest addition to this extraordinary hoard, the tall,

graceful stone testament of Taita. Von Schiller stopped beside it to

caress the polished stone before he passed on into the second room.

Here the coffin of Tanus, Lord Harrab, lay across a pair of trestles. A

white-coated radiologist hovered over her back-lit display board on

which the ,ray plates were clipped, Von Schiller went directly to the

display and peered at the shadowy pictures upon it. Within the outline

of the wooden coffin, the reclining human shape with hands crossed over

its chest was very clear. It reminded him of a carved effigy atop the

sarcophagus of an old knight in the precincts of a medieval cathedral.

"What can you tell me about this body?" he asked the radiologist without

looking at her.

"Male," she said crisply. "Late middle age. Over fifty and under

sixty-five at death. Short stature." All the listeners winced and

glanced at von Schiller. He seemed not to have noticed this solecism.

"Five teeth missing. One front upper, one eye too and three molars.

Wisdom teeth impacted. Extensive caries in most surviving teeth.

Evidence of chronic bilharzia infection. Possible poliomyelitis in

infancy, withering in left leg." She recited her findings for five

minutes, and then ended, "Probable cause of death was a puncture wound

in upper right thorax. Lance or arrow. Extrapolating from the entry

angle, the head of the lance or arrow would have transfixed the right

lung."

"Anything else?" von Schiller asked when she fell silent. The

radiologist hesitated, and then went on.

"Herr von Schiller, you will recall that I have examined several mummies

for you. In this instance, the incisions through which the viscera were

removed appear to have been made with more skill and finesse than those

of the other cadavers. The operator seems to have been a trained

physician."

"Thank you." Von Schiller turned from her to Nahoot.

"Do you have any comments, at this stage?"

"Only that these descriptions do not fit those given in the seventh

scroll for Tanus, Lord Harrah, at the time of his death."

"In what way?"

"Tanus was a tall man. Much younger. See the portraits on the coffin

lid."

"Go on,'von Schiller invited.

Nahoot stepped up to the display of -ray plates and pointed out several

solid dark objects, all of them with clean outlines, that adorned the

body.

"Jewellery," he said. "Amulets. Bracelets. Pectorals.

Several necklaces. Rings and earrings. But, most significant," Nahoot

touched the dark circle around the dead brow, "the uraeus crown. The

outline of the sacred serpent is quite unmistakable, beneath the

bandages."

"What does that indicate?" Von Schiller was puzzled.

"This was not the body of a commoner, or even of a noble. The extent of

ornamentation is too extensive. But most significant, the uraeus crown.

The sacred cobra. That was only worn by royalty, I believe that what we

have here is a royal mummy."

"Impossible," snapped von Schiller. "Look at the inscription on the

coffin. Those that were painted on the walls of the tomb. Clearly this

is the mummy of an Egyptian general."

"With respect, Herr von Schiller. There is a possible explanation. In

the book written by the Englishman, River God, there is an interesting

suggestion that the slave Taita swopped the two mummies, that of Pharaoh

Mamose and his good friend, Tanus."

"For what earthly reason would he do that?" Von Schiller looked

incredulous.

"Not for any earthly reason, but for a spiritual and supernat urat

reason. Taita wished his -friend to have the use and ownership of all

Pharaoh's treasure in the afterworld. It was his last gift to a friend."

"Do you believe that?"

"I do not disbelieve it. There is one other fact that tends to support

this theory. It is quite obvious from the Xrays that the coffin is too

large for the body within. TO me, it seems obvious that it was designed

to accommodate a larger man. Yes, Herr von Schiller, I do believe that

there is an excellent chance that this is a royal mummy."

Von Schiller had gone ashen pale as he listened. Sweat headed upon his

forehead, and his voice was hoarse and chesty as he asked, "A -royal

mummy?"

"It may very well be so."

Slowly von Schiller moved closer to the sealed coffin on its trestle,

until he was staring down at the portrait of the dead man upon its lid.

"The golden uraeus of Mamose. The personal jewellery of a pharaoh." His

hand was shaking as he laid it on the coffin lid. "If that is so, then

this find exceeds our most extravagant hopes."

Von Schiller drew a deep steadying breath. "Open the coffin. Unwrap the

mummy of the Pharaoh Mamose."

It was painstaking work. Nahoot had performed the same task many times

before, yet never on the earthly remains of such an illustrious

personage as an Egyptian pharaoh.

Nahoot first had to establish where the joint of the lid lay beneath the

paint. Once he had done this, he could whittle away at the ancient

varnish and glues that secured the lid in place. Great care had to be

taken to inflict as little damage as possible: the fragile coffin in

itself was a priceless treasure. This work took the greater part of two

days.

When the lid was free and ready to be lifted, Nahoot sent a message to

von Schiller, who was in an executive meeting with his sons and the

other '  directors of his company in the library upstairs. Von Schiller

had refused to go into the city for this meeting: he could not bear to

be separated from his latest treasure. Immediately he heard from Nahoot

he adjourned the meeting until the following Monday, and dismissed his

directors and his offspring unceremoniously, Then, without waiting to

see them into their waiting limousines, he hurried down to the vaults.

Nahoot and Reeper had rigged a light scaffold over the coffin, from

which hung two sets of block and tackle. As soon as von Schiller entered

the vault, Reeper sent away his assistants. Only the three of them would

be present to witness the opening of the coffin.

Reeper brought him the carpet-covered block for him to stand on

and'positioned it at the head of the coffin, so that von Schiller would

be able to see inside as they worked. From this eminence the old man

nodded to them to proceed. The ratchets of the two blocks clicked, one

pawl at a time, as both Reeper and Nahoot gently put pressure on the

tackle. There was a faint crackling and tearing sound, at which von

Schiller winced.

"It is only the last shreds of glue holding the lid," Nahoot reassured

him.

"Go on!" von Schiller ordered, and they lifted the lid er six inches

until it hung suspended over the body anoth of the coffin. The

scaffolding was on nylon castors which rolled smoothly over the tiled

floor. They wheeled away the entire structure, with the coffin lid still

suspended from it.

Von Schiller peered into the open coffin. His expression changed to one

of astonishment. He had expected to see the neatly swathed human form

lying serenely in the traditional funereal pose. Instead, the interior

of the coffin was stuffed untidily with loose linen bandages that

entirely hid the body from view.

"What on earth-' von Schiller exclaimed with astonishment. He reached

out to take a handful of the old discoloured wrappings, but Nahoot

stopped him.

"No! Don't touch it," he cried out excitedly, and then  immediately

apologetic. "Forgive me, Herr von Schiller, was im but this is

fascinating. It strongly supports the theory of an exchange of bodies. I

think we should study it, before we proceed with the unwrapping. With

your permission of Herr von Schiller."

course, Von Schiller hesitated. He was anxious to discover what lay

beneath this rat's nest of old rags, but he realized the virtue of

caution and prudence now. A hasty move might do irreparable damage. He

straightened up and stepped down from his block.

"Very well," he grunted. He pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket

of his dark blue doublebreasted suit jacket, and mopped the heavy sweat

from his face. His voice was shaky as he asked, "Is it possible? Could

this be Mamose himself?"

Stuffing the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket, he discovered

with mild surprise that he had a painful erection. With his hand in his

pocket he rearranged it to lie flat against his stomach. "Remove the

loose wrapp

"With your permission, Herr von Schiller, we should take the photographs

first," Reeper suggested tactfully.

Of course," von Schiller agreed at once. "We are scientists,

archaeologists, not common looters, Take the photographs."

They worked slowly, and von Schiller found the delay tantalizing. There

was no sense of the passage of time down here in the vault, but at one

stage von Schiller, now in his shirtsleeves, glanced at his gold

wrist-watch and was surprised to see' that it was past nine 'clock at

night. He unknotted his necktie, threw it on the bench where his jacket

already lay, and reapplied himself to the task.

Gradually the shape of a human body emerged from under the compacted

mass of ancient bindings, but it was after midnight when at last Nahoot

teased away the last untidy clump of old cloth from the mummy's torso.

They blinked at the glimpse of gold just visible through the neat layers

of bandages laid upon the corpse by the meticulous and skilful hands of

the embalmers.

"Originally, of course, there would have been several massive outer

coffins. These are missing, as are the masks.

Those must still be in Pharaoh's original sarcophagus, covering the body

of Tanus in the royal -tomb that still awaits discovery. What we have

left here is only the inner dressing of the royal mummy."

With long forceps he peeled away the top layer of bandage asVon

Schiller, perched on his block, grunted and shuffled his feet.

"The pectoral medallion of the royal house of Mamose," Nahoot whispered

reverently. The great jewel blazed under the arc light. Resplendent in

blue lapis lazuli and red carrielian and gold, it covered the entire

chest of the mummy. The central motif was of a vulture in flight,

soaring on wide pinions, and in its talons it clutched the golden