The next morning Lara took some time to inspect her sleeping quarters as she had not seen much in terms of colour and detail in the darkness. Here the rock wasn't as red as in the heart of Petra, but there were decoractive veins of quartzite in the walls of the small tomb she'd spread her sleeping bag in. It was a roughly carved, probably unfinished and thus unused burial place. Lara liked to think that used tombs had a specialized reek – one of dry bones mixed with murky water, stuffiness and death, and this certainly did not hold that appeal. It was just a cave.
And it was good enough for another night if she fancied the idea later on. But right now she would have to get to work.
Her boots were damp due to nighttime moisture, and she changed on a fresh pair of socks. They'd be damp as well soon but she didn't care. Blisters were the least of her worries.
A certain phonecall she ought to make soon would be the worst.
She resisted the urge to hike a kilometre behind the nearest hill to have a look at what the camp looked like during daylight but that would have to wait. Maybe indefinitely, she reasoned, but something told her she would return. Soon.
Site number two on her list turned out to be a partridge in a pear tree – a public toilet her ancient maps understandably knew nothing about had been built into it. It had originally been a tomb, but the remains and the artefacts had been transported into Amman. Not exactly a blasphemy, but I certainly wouldn't fancy the thought of a family crypt turned into a tourist lavatory.
Then she reminded herself that she would most likely never be buried in the Croft family plot, and forgot all about the Nabataean tomb. Where would she be buried then? On a regular five-year term rental plot in some modern graveyard next to a drug rehab clinic? Or would her bones rot in some Peruvian sacrificial well with an empty casket buried in Britain? Or would she simply vanish, missed by noone except Winston?
Or would she be buried in the family lot with her Father and Mother? She could be, unless a will forbade it.
Lara bought a carton of orange juice from a passing vendor and sat down onto a rock that lined the Cardo Maximum or 'Paved Pathway', watching tourists promenade towards the Qasr al-Bint Farun.
A few minutes later she joined the hoardes of tourists and checked her watch. She had plenty of time left to check out the second site if she wanted and still pick up some gear from the hotel assuming she took a taxi from the Siqq exit.
She hiked to the Qasr. It was a fortress-like building that bore the name of 'The Castle of Pharaoh's Daughter'. It was in ruins and the structure was not easy to make out. Her maps placed another storage are a good five hundred metres behind it behind an almost vertical rock face and a sidelining gorge. Lara checked that noone was in sight – according to the infomration she had climbing was forbidden only inside the ruins themselves, but didn't want to risk unwanted attention anyway. She dug out her ropes and hooks, strapped on her harness, and began the short climb. Footholds were plentiful and the wall only some twelve metres high so it only took a few minutes to get up. She tied the rope to a rock and pulled it up – it would be unwise to leave it dangling in case a guard came to inspect.
Lara let out a sigh of relief. No company there. She would still have to get past that gorge, though.
It was a gaping wound in the cliff lining the path to the Unfinished tomb and the Zibb Farun – a single obelisk which had gotten quite a crude name in Arabic.
Lara measured approximately two metres of rope and tried to throw the end across to measure the distance. The rope was slightly wider than the breadth of the rope. She could just about make it if she tried hard enough.
She grabbed her original climbing rope which would at least prevent her from plummeting into certain death some twenty metres below. She'd bang against the rock face if she fell, of course, but at least she could pull herself back up.
Lara tied the rope with an eight figure knot into her harness, flung her backpack to the other side, backed a few steps and then began running as fast as she could.
Here goes nothing, she thought when ground disappeared from underneath her. A split second later, she hit solid ground on the other side with a thunk that put her knees into agony. She fell onto her side and rolled back onto her feet, patting sand off her shorts.
She would definitely have to get back before dark. The jump would be no playing matter without light to see where the gorge ended and where it began.
She descended down a ramp-like slant of rock into a well-hidden large crevice. Now this looked like a place to hide valuables in.
It was pitch dark inside and the place was the shape of a well. Lara lit her torch and peered inside, hoping she'd have brought more rope. Well then, can't have everything, she sighed, and carefully climbed inside, locking her soles into the side walls and chimneying herself down using her hands, torch held between her teeth.
Luckily it was only some three metres deep.
Being in the bottom was like standing inside a pressure kettle. The chamber had been carved round and smooth like the insides of a kettle. A well-preserved mosaic circled the walls. Lara lit another torch and stuck it inside a crevice to illuminate the images.
She half-expected to find Cleopatra, so was disappointed when the whole wall was filled with images of war. Attack wagons pulled by strong-looking horses. Spears being thrown, soldiers running, arrows flying. The scene reminded Lara of the still rather colourful and violent reliefs at the temple of Ramses II in the west bank of Thebes in Egypt. Hadn't the Nabataeans have something to do with the Battle of Kadesh engraved into the walls of Ramses' temple? They had certainly been formidable enemies of the Egyptian empire once, but Lara could not recall if they had fought against Ramses' army.
The last scene was peculiar. Gold and iron-coloured liquids were being melted into battleaxes and spears, even arrows. Surely they had not used gold for their weapons? Such a waste.
Save for the skeleton of a bat, the well was otherwise empty.
Another wild goose chase then.
The last site would have to be the one. Otherwise she would have to leave empty-handed.
Her spirits dampened, she made her way across the gorge again.
The taxi left her at the hotel entrance. It felt strange being in the midst of so-called civilization again. Lara walked up to her room and spent a few minutes staring out of the window. Wadi Musa boomed with neon lights whose cones could even reach the entrance of the Siqq. The illuminated Lara's room even if she tried pulling the curtains closed. A dreadful place to sleep in.
In the main street, drunken tourists made use of the laid-back atmosphere lacking in Amman but present in Wadi Musa by bringing their beer bottles outside. Their hollering and the clink of glass made Lara nervous. Such a shame, she thought sadly, they come here convincing themselves they wish to see Petra and then all they're really looking forward to is the booze after a day of dull hiking among ruins.
Oh well. She had a call to make now that she was in the vicinity of a telephone. She sat down on the bed, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt when raising her soiled boots onto the bedcover. She wouldn't be using the bed anyways for at least one more night.
She dialled the country code for Britain and then a familiar number.
"Hello?" answered her aunt. Was it just Lara's imagination or did she sound slightly troubled?
"It's me." Lara didn't bother with her name. Gillian could tell anyway.
"How great to hear from you, Love. I assume you've heard the news?" her Aunt asked carefully.
Don't remind me.
"Yes, I've heard it. I called to ask about the funeral. Will you be - -" Lara's tone was more stern than she would've liked.
"I will be handling the arrangements. It will be held on the twenty-eight as well as the reading of the will. You are required to attend." Gillian sounded apologetical.
Lara was slightly confused. "Me, why?"
"You are mentioned in the document. In which way I do not know."
What was this? His last sadistic act, his last chance to downplay his traitor daughter in front of the rest of the family!
Had she been given a choice, she would not have attended. But it would mean Gillian extra trouble if she didnt – she'd have to postpone the will-reading.
Poor Daddy, his bones rotting in a morgue storage because his daughter is doing exactly what she wants and refusing to attend his funeral, she thought sarcastically.
"Of course, you could arrange for a representative."
Her rescue. "Would Winston do or would it require a family member?"
Gillian coughed, sounding slightly disappointed. "He would do fine."
"I'm sorry I haven't been able to update you on the rose, it's just that I'm in Jord-" Lara began blabbering away, but her Aunt interrupted gently.
"Lara. How are you?"
"Fine." she stuck up her chin stubbornly even though Gillian could not see her.
"I mean, how do you feel - -"
"I'm quite alright. Listen, I would love to chat but there are a million things I need to check tonight and there's somewhere I have to be – " Now why had she said that?
Gillian decided not to push her. Lara wasn't being herself, that was for certain. "Alright then. We'll meet when you return to Surrey then, won't we? It's my time to come for a visit," Gillian offered a little more warmly.
"Certainly. Take care," Lara replied, relieved.
"Take care, Love. Bye." The dialtone returned as Gillian cut off.
Lara let down the receiver.
She wanted, no, correction, needed to get out of the empty, lonely room.
Lara discarded her laundry into a corner, packed some more food into her backpack, and returned to the Siqq by taxi. She hiked the canyon as the sun was setting, and then made her way to the already familiar abandoned tomb in the west outskirts of the archaeological site. This time she'd even remembered to bring a kerocene lamp and some fuel.
Here it was so quiet.
First she'd been annoyed by the noise and the presence of the phoneline, now she felt she couldn't handle the silence either.
I'm going mad. Positively.
She needed people. Again. She needed life, not this damp tomb and the sounds of the desert. But the company she needed could not be found in the bars surrounding Wadi Musa either.
Before she'd realized she was walking away from Petra towards a familiar cliff which gave a magnificent scenery over the surrounding valleys. Down below shone the lights of the camp of the Sirhan.
Lara didn't spare a thought to her immodest dress, sweaty hair or the gear she'd left in the cave. She began climbing down the hill towards the welcoming lights.
An hour later she sought out the largest tent and peeked inside. Hiding herself partly behind the door fabric, she gazed around in search of Hussain. Like often happened when someone's looking at a certain person, he soon looked in Lara's direction, and delight dawned onto his face. He snuck out of the conversation he'd been having and left the tent.
Lara was freezing, hugging herself in the wind although it was not particularly cold. She had not eaten for hours, she suddenly realized. Hussain joined her near the horse fence.
"So you returned. Ahlan wa sahlan," he welcomed her, although his words seemed as empty as any Westerner's when laying out idle polite phrases. Perhaps his Western studies had had a negative impact in certain aspects.
"Thank you. I just didn't want to be alone," she found herself suddenly confessing. He nodded, and for the first time she dared to lock eyes with him.
"Here you are always welcome. My Father inquired about you. He asked what you do for a living. I thought that you might not like it so I did not tell him you are famous, only said that you have recovered many ancient treasures."
"Not recently I haven't." Lara gazed out into the pitch black desert. Why was it that everything was suddenly going so wrong? Everything felt false, except for a few things, like the situation she was presently in. This place was real, these people were human and not pretentious bastards rivalling each other for gain. Often it had seemed that her morals created an invisible barrier most colleagues could not cross. She felt at home for a change. These people took her for what she was, not by her fame.
"But you are here to seek a treasure, right?" he asked, smirking.
"Maybe," Lara teased. "Could you possibly get me a gallabia or something? I'm freezing but don't want to offend anyone."
Hussain glanced at her boots and Lara realized he had not spared one look at her body before. Was it because she'd only worn a baggy gallabia? Or was it because in his opinion she wasn't much to look at?
Somehow Lara felt as though her looks did not matter to him at all. He was pleasantly curious about her as a person, with no regard to her Western way of life, her family, her history, her achievements or shortcomings.
He disappeared into a nearby tent. Lara could hear him conversing casually with a female voice – his wife? Soon he returned with one of the decorative blue dresses she'd admired the previous evening.
Lara's eyes widened. "I can't possibly wear that, it's too - - I'll probably spill coffee on it or something!" Cocktail dresses she could handle but this was hand-woven. It had probably taken months of work.
"It's alright. Zaila wants you to have it. She has several."
Lara was flabbergasted. He'd heard stories of the Bedouins' hospitality from colleagues – she knew that if you commented an object positively you would be offered it as a gift. But she had not uttered a word about the dresses. How had Hussain guessed? Or was it just a coincidence?
She also knew refusing would be very impolite. Hussain passed her the wrapped piece of fabric, and she held it carefully. "Alright Hussain, but could you please then get me something more ordinary to wear while we eat?"
He laughed. "You worry too much, Lara," he commented before disappearing into the tent again.
Soon Lara was wearing a simple white ankle-lenght cotton gallabia.
"Is Zaila... your sister?" Lara asked Hussain before they entered the main tent, expecting a no and the story of how they'd gotten married.
"No." Lara was annoyed by the fact that she'd been right. Now why is that?
"He is the widow of my brother. He was an Islamist who died in Golan ten years ago."
"I'm sorry," was the only comment Lara came up with. She wanted to inquire whether the family shared Hussain's brother's ideals in high honour, but he spared her the trouble.
"My Father almost could not cope. He was against Bayram's involvement, said such matters did not touch us here in the desert. In reality they do, in a way, but no other from this family has ever been politically active. Still, when he was buried my Father, for the first time, travelled to Amman for the funeral. My brother had many friends, friends his family did not share or approve of."
Lara felt a pang of jealousy. Hussain's Father was a wise man, it seemed. His son had many undesired decisions but had not been cut out of the family like a rotten apple from a tree. Cut out like she herself had been.
Lara nodded silently, but inside her the familiar rage that surfaced everytime her Father came into her thoughts emerged again. Rage she had thought long gone. It was either rage or sorrow, and she preferred the more aggressive approach. But the more tired she became, the more difficult it was to find that reserve of anger.
They entered the tent. Lara sensed they'd been expected. Baba Hussain, the old man, raised his glass of araq at Lara and she nodded courteously. They seeted down next to the fire, and soon the trays of food were brought forth again, this time almost dipping over with mensaf – roasted lamb filled with rice and seasoned with a dozen spices including almonds and pine nuts.
It was the best meal Lara had ever had. She ate until she could no longer move, feeling her soul quench its hunger as well as her body as she took in the pleasant, happy company.
After dinner half of the oil lamps were turned off, and storytelling and dancing began. First the menfolk of the family performed traditional dances, culminating in the mukhtar - a sword dance of Circassian origin.The men challenged each other into a sort of a battle ballet, imitating complex series or sweeps and strikes. Lara was mesmerized. She had rarely seen such swordplay.
"How do you challenge someone?" she acquired Hussain, perhaps leaning a bit too close to be heard over the playing of the musician's rababas and flutes.
"You take a bow and then you tap your left foot on the ground and your right hand on the sword in front of him. Lara, you're not thinking - - " He sounded horrified. But Lara knew what she was doing. She grabbed a sword that had been leaning against an ornate side table. It had a handle perhaps a little wide for her taste, but the sabre-like blade was in good condition and not too heavy.
When the previous performers returned to their seats Lara stood up again, walked up to Hussain and challenged him. To everyone's utter surprise Lara then turned and walked up to another man, a heavy youth who'd proved to be very fast in his moves. Lara challenged him as well, then took a low stance between the two men.
Hussain seemed hesitant to strike her at first, but the youth had no such objections. He attacked Lara with wide, circling sweeps and she pivoted on her right foot and parried them easily. Hussain tried to nail her from behind, but she was too fast. She swung her blade in semicircles, changing the angle according to the height of the sweeps of her opponents.
After a good two minutes of fighting she dropped lower and did a backflip off the circle they'd created.
Applause and loud hollering combined with the women's appreciative, high-pitched ululations accompanied her return to her sitting pillow.
Baba Hussain requested his son to approach and whispered him something. Hussain then returned to Lara, his face awesome but friendly.
"Father says you fight well," he said to her. Lara smiled. It wasn't often she had the chance to use such skills, and it was always a thrill to try out new weapons. "Thankyou. Was that all he said?"
Hussain laughed. "You are perceptive. He also said that you have no choice but to stay with us tonight."
It wasn't as though Lara was in a dreadful hurry to get up early now that she'd already spelunked three sites. "I will accept."
Hussain's expression was serene. Lara decided she loved this about him, the way minor matters did not disturb him, but he could discuss more gravelly subjects if the situation called. She could relax in his company. Or perhaps it was the desert that made her feel so strange?