Kirby shook his head. ‘Actually it’s a fairly specific measurement. The ancient Egyptians used the term an hour of march to signify a distance of 21,000 royal cubits. One royal cubit is about twenty inches long. It was the standard measurement used for everything from laying out street plans to building pyramids.’
Ben did some quick sums in his head. ‘Then an hour of march equals about eleven kilometres. Which means the papyrus is telling us to travel a hundred and thirty or so kilometres west from Kerma.’ He reached for a heavy volume that lay on Claudel’s desk, and flipped it open. It was a book of ancient maps. He leafed through the pages, stopped and studied it closely. Ran his finger down the path of the Nile, from Giza southwards to Thebes, and then further down past Aswan, deep into what had once been the land of Nubia. It was a long, long way downriver to the ancient city of Kerma. He ran his finger westward from that point, and imagined the kind of landscape there. Nothing much would have changed in thousands of years. It would be an arid wilderness of desert and rock, stretching over a vast area.
Claudel seemed to sense his thoughts. ‘What perplexes me is the lack of a precise physical landmark or orientation. We’re simply told “head for the horizon”. That strikes me as very vague.’
‘Show me the glyph for horizon,’ Ben said.
Claudel pointed it out on the screen. ‘Here. The word is denoted by the setting of the sun in a U-shaped cleft in the rock.’
Ben thought for a second. ‘What if it had a double meaning? What if Wenkaura was describing an actual physical location?’
Claudel considered the idea. ‘In what way?’
‘Perhaps a rock or mountain, with a cleft formed like this.’ Ben waved his hand in a U-shaped gesture. ‘Into which the sun settles as it sinks in the evening sky.’
‘It’s possible,’ Kirby said. ‘Definitely possible.’
‘Though you won’t know until you get there,’ Claudel added.
‘Which leaves the teeth of Sobek,’ Ben said. ‘Who or what is Sobek?’
‘Sobek was the Egyptian crocodile-headed god of water,’ Claudel replied. ‘As to what the reference means-’ He shrugged. ‘It’s obscure.’
‘With my luck it probably means we’ve got to navigate a croc-infested river,’ Kirby said, shuddering.
Claudel gave a grim little smile. ‘There’s only one way to find out the truth. You’re just going to have to wait and see.’
Ben returned to his book of old maps. He tapped the page with his finger. ‘Now, if I’m not mistaken, these directions are taking us smack bang into the middle of the Sudan.’
Claudel looked grave. ‘It looks that way to me, unfortunately. One of the most unstable and dangerous places in the world. You’d be travelling into the Sahara desert, towards the Darfur region. The war there may be over for now, but there are still a great many rebel groups operating across the area, clashing with Sudanese military forces and posing a major threat to travellers.’
‘Wonderful,’ Kirby said. ‘African war zone, man-eating crocodiles, certainty of death. Piece of cake.’
‘How could Wenkaura have transported the treasure that far?’ Ben asked Claudel, ignoring Kirby. ‘It seems impossible.’
‘The ancient Egyptians were able to cover huge distances,’ Claudel explained. ‘New discoveries have shown they ventured far deeper into the desert than previously thought. They were also extremely adept at river travel. It’s quite feasible that Wenkaura and his helpers could have transported a large cargo that distance. Remember that as early as 3350 BC the Egyptians had mastered the art of sail.’
‘See these two guys here?’ Kirby said, pointing out two figures on the screen. ‘These are the deities Osiris and Hapi. Wenkaura would have added them in as good luck charms to bless the journey of whoever went to reclaim the hidden treasure. Hapi was the river god, patron of the Nile. And Osiris was the god who ordained the river’s annual inundation. It seems to me he’s suggesting that the voyage be undertaken when the Nile is in flood, to allow swift navigation and the use of a vessel with a deep draught.’
‘Like a cargo ship,’ Ben said.
Claudel nodded. ‘Which is a sign that they could have been carrying a very great deal of treasure.’
‘Probably could have been done in just a few weeks, give or take,’ Kirby said.
‘We don’t have that long,’ Ben replied. ‘So I need to get moving fast.’
‘Sudan is extremely difficult,’ Claudel warned. ‘The country is a military regime, and the soldiers who patrol the border in heavily armed jeeps will tend to shoot first and ask questions later. Not to mention the risk from rebel groups running riot across northern Sudan. Westerners are major targets for robbery and kidnap. Even crossing the border legally can be a nightmare. Security’s tight. You could take the train to Aswan and from there a twenty- four-hour ferry across Lake Nasser to Wadi Halfa. But the border is seething with police and you’d need to procure all the necessary papers to get in. As well as mandatory yellow fever, typhoid and cholera inoculations.’
Paxton’s deadline was never far from Ben’s mind, and he thought about it again now. He couldn’t afford the slightest delay. He shook his head. ‘I’m not sitting it out in Cairo for five days waiting to get rubber-stamped by some petty bureaucrat. And I won’t be going through any checkpoints.’
‘Hey, what happened to “we”?’ Kirby asked.
Ben turned to glare at him. ‘You’re not coming. I go it alone from here. You’ve done your bit.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Kirby said, outraged. ‘I have to go, too.’
‘Think about what you’re saying. You want to drive into hostile territory with me. A million acres of wilderness, armed border patrols chasing us, militant Bedouin groups everywhere, fresh from the Darfur conflict.’
Kirby swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘Look at you. You couldn’t even climb out of a window. You almost died climbing a few stairs.’
‘What if you still need me? What if there are more things to decipher? How do you know this map isn’t just going to lead to another clue?’
‘He’s right,’ Claudel said. ‘You just don’t know what to expect.’
Ben sat in silence for a while, mulling it over. He sighed. ‘Then I don’t have much choice. We leave as soon as possible.’
‘What about me?’ Claudel asked.
‘What, you want to tag along as well?’
‘Certainly not,’ the Frenchman said. ‘I told you, all I want is out of this whole thing. I’ve had enough. But I don’t want to be here when Kamal gets back. You said you were going to take care of him.’
‘I will. But my business comes first. When it’s done, I’ll take care of yours. That was the deal.’
‘So what am I to do in the meantime?’ Claudel asked.
‘Have you got a friend in Cairo whose wife you haven’t slept with?’ Ben asked him. ‘That’s where I’d be heading, if I were you. That, or leave the country. Take a long vacation. Anywhere but here.’
Claudel thought about it. ‘Very well. I think it’s time I paid a visit to France. I have a sister in Lyon. I’ll leave early in the morning. You two are welcome to stay the night here.’
Ben shook his head. ‘No stopping. We still have time to catch the night train to Aswan, and from there we’ll drive south across the desert towards Abu Simbel and then the Sudanese border. Say a five-, six-hour drive if the roads are reasonable.’
‘More running around?’ Kirby moaned. ‘Why can’t we just fly to Abu Simbel in the morning? I’m knackered.’
Ben nudged the bulging holdall with his foot, and felt the weight of the weapons and ammunition inside. ‘Because I think there could be an issue with taking this stuff through customs, and I have a feeling it’s going to be needed.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
After the two Englishmen had left and he had watched the taillights of their car disappear down his driveway and into the night, Claudel poured himself a nice glass of champagne and leaned back on the chaise longue in his living room to listen to a Boccherini cello concerto and reflect on the sudden change in his fortunes.
It was almost one in the morning by the time he’d polished off the bottle, but he wasn’t remotely sleepy. He
