Page 69 of The Stolen Queen

Charlotte stopped in front of a pair of tomb entrances located close together. Both were blocked with locked metal gates and solid-looking doors. She explained how when she first discovered it, theentrance had been completely hidden by rocks and debris, and how she’d come upon the first stone step, which led to another and another, until she realized what she’d found was an entirely new tomb.

Charlotte’s strong reaction to the broad collar being included in the Costume Institute’s exhibition now made sense. It wasn’t just a pretty piece of jewelry; it was a part of history, and a hard-won part of history, at that.

“Excuse me, miss?”

A large man in a white robe approached. He nodded to Charlotte and pointed to the far side of the pathway. “My grandfather, over there, said he knows you and wanted to say hello. Pay his respects.”

Annie and Charlotte turned to see where he was pointing. Four old men, also wearing robes, sat in chairs underneath a pair of umbrellas. One rose and beckoned them to come closer.

When the old man and Charlotte were only a few feet apart, he held out one hand, palm up. There was a large scar in the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. When Charlotte caught sight of it, her expression changed from suspicion to delight.

“Of course!” she said. “It’s you.”

“I recognized you even though it’s been many years,” said the old man.

Annie looked at Charlotte. “You know each other?”

“We met briefly, back in the ’30s, when I was working on my first dig.”

“This woman,” said the old man, bowing his head, “saved my life after I’d been bitten by a cobra.”

“I’m happy you’re doing well, Mehedi,” Charlotte said.

“Better than well. This is my grandson Jabari,” he said, pointing to the younger man. “He’s part of the council that oversees the running of the Valley of the Kings.”

“It’s all very different from when I was here last.”

The two of them spoke for a few minutes, and then the man asked Charlotte if there was anything he could do for her.

Charlotte glanced over at Annie. “Can we see the tomb with the sarcophagus of Hathorkare’s wet nurse?”

“It hasn’t been opened in many years,” said the old man. “But for you, of course. Jabari here will take you.”

Annie tried to imagine coming to this strange country alone, working in the desert with snakes and scorpions lurking around every rock. Charlotte’s steely nature made sense now, but whether it had been honed during her time here or she’d been born with it, Annie wasn’t sure.

As Jabari fiddled with the lock to the tomb, Charlotte asked about Leon Pitcairn.

“No good, that man,” Jabari said. “Charming, though. The tourists love him.”

Once Jabari opened the doorway, he led the way, bending low, holding an industrial flashlight that illuminated two scary-looking eyes painted on either side of the otherwise bare walls. Eventually, the narrow hallway opened up into a larger room, the interior decorated with faded hieroglyphics.

“Jabari, would you mind shining the flashlight on that wall?” asked Charlotte, taking the lens cap off the camera that hung around her neck. He did so, and she snapped several photos, even though the paint on the wall was barely legible.

Charlotte took more photos, Jabari lighting the way. “I wish I’d taken more time to study these back in 1936,” she said. “We were all so drawn to the broad collar that we missed the literal writing on the wall.”

“What does it say?” asked Annie.

“I can’t make it out, but I’m wondering if that’s a depiction of Hathorkare,” she said, pointing to a relief of a reddish figure wearing a headdress and kilt.

Annie had read about Hathorkare in her travel guide, a rare female leader who stole the throne from her stepson. “My guidebook says that the figures with red skin tones are men.”

“Hathorkare was something of a chameleon. Several years into her reign, she began ordering the artists who carved or sculpted her image to add masculine traits to their depictions—reddening her skin tone, dressing her in a man’s kilt, adding a false beard.”

“Why would she do that?”

“So the public would be more inclined to accept her role as their divine leader. With every stone carving, every sculpture, she cemented her hold on the populace. Unfortunately, I doubt my camera will pick up any of this clearly, not without proper lighting.”

“We can arrange that for another day,” said Jabari.

---