might contain had been stimulated.
The section of the scroll upon which she concentrated was a description
that the scribe, Taita, had given of a' royal visit by the Pharaoh to
the workshops of the necropolis, where his funerary treasure was being
manufactured and assembled within the walls of the great temple that he
had built for his own embalming. According to Taita they had visited the
separate workshops, first the armoury with its collection of
accoutrements of the battlefield and the chase, and then the furniture
workshop, home of exquisite workmanship. In the studio of the sculptors,
Taita.
described the work on the statues of the gods and the lifesized images
of the king in every different activity of his life that would line the
long causeway from the necropolis to the tomb in the Valley of the
Kings. In this.workshop the masons were also-hard at work on the massive
granite sarcophagus which would house the king's mummy over the ages.
However, according to Taita's later account history had cheated Pharaoh
Mamose of this part of his treasure, and all these heavy and unwieldy
items of stone had been abandoned and left behind in the Valley of the
Kings when the Egyptians fled south along the Nile to the land they
called Cush, to escape the Hyksos invasion that overwhelmed their
homeland.
As Royan turned with more attention to the scribe's description of the
studio of the goldsmiths, the phrase which he used to describe the
golden deathmask of the Pharaoh struck her forcibly. 'This was the peak
and the zenith. All the Unborn ages might one day marvel at its
splen&ur.' Royan looked up dreamily from the micro film and wondered if
those words of the ancient scribe were not prophetic. Was she destined
to be one of those who would marvel at the splendour of the golden
deathmask? Might she be, the first to do so in almost four thousand
years? Might she touch this wonder, take itup in her hands and at last
do with it as her conscience dictated?
Reading Taita's account left Royan with a sense of ancient suffering,
and a feeling of compassion for the people of those times. They were,
after all - no matter how far removed in time - her own people. As a
Coptic Egyptian, she was one of their direct descendants. Perhaps this
empathy was the main reason why, even as a child, she had originally
determined to make her life's work a study of these people and the old
ways.
However, she had much else to think of during those days of waiting for
the return of Atalan Abou Sin. Not least of these were her feelings for
Nicholas Quenton Harper. Since she had visited the little cemetery at
the oasis and made her peace with Duraid's memory, her thoughts of
Nicholas had'taken on a new poignancy. There was so much she was still
uncertain of, and there were so many difficult choices to make. It was
not possible to fulfill all her plans and desires without sacrificing
others almost equally demanding.
When at last the hour of her appointment to see Atalan came around, she
had difficulty bringing herself to go to him. Like somebody in a trance
she limped through the bazaars, using her stick to protect her injured
