Sitamun lay in her husband's arms, exhausted from his vigorous lovemaking. His plans had lit a fire within him and heedless of the life his wife carried within her he had her again and again.

Now the love talk he whispered in her shell-like ear had changed and he began talking of his plans. He would kill the Pharaoh in the Temple of a Million Years in front of the gathered crowd. He would slit Ramesses throat and then the throat of his half-brother. The people were tired of the ruler who had spent the country's wealth in his wars; he, Pentaweret, would give them the peace and prosperity they so longed for. His mother was right, the nobles would flock to his side and demand that the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt would be placed on his head.

Sitamun was frightened by his talk. The stakes were high. If his plans succeeded, she would be queen of Egypt. If not, what would be her fate?

Traitors would find themselves burned at the stake. Tiye would not be spared for her part in the pharaoh's assassination. The nobles who had sided with them would be lucky if they were allowed to commit suicide and escape death by fire.

What would be her fate, the wife of the traitor? Would she be allowed to live because of the baby she carried in her womb? Would she find herself burned at the stake with Tiye or would she be forced to commit suicide?

She was young, about to become a mother, and she loved her husband. She had been excited when she found out she was to be wed to the pharaoh's son. Of the two brothers, Pentaweret was the most handsome, his magnetic personality drew people to him. He was only the son of a secondary wife, but people often remarked that he would be a fitting successor to Egypt's throne, not his brother the designated heir.

It was Tiye's fault, for it was she who had put these ideas in her son's head. If his brother became Pharaoh, Pentaweret could be a governor or the general who led the army of Egypt. She knew of the hostility between the brothers, Pentaweret resented being passed over in favor of Ramesses. Yes, she would like the be the Lady of the Two Lands, but, but, what if their plans failed? What if the nobles failed to support them? Her husband would not be allowed to live and what would life be for her without him?

She wished she could consult the priests but dared for fear that she would be found out. What if word would leak of Tiye's schemes? She was afraid of her mother-in-law, Tiye was formidable and if her plans were thwarted would she take her fury out on her? She would not put it past her to kill her son's wife, and the baby she carried in her womb would not protect her.

Rick and Roma were sitting alone at the table in the kitchen pavilion. The plates of food so carefully prepared sat untouched. Ardeth was off with Omar, talking to the workmen about yet another set of bones that had been found.

"Rick," Roma said, and he looked up at her with empty eyes. "Do not tell Ardeth what I am about to tell you, this must be our secret."

"Yes," he looked at her, wondering what she meant.

"Do you know where you could purchase dynamite?"

"How much?"

"Enough to blow up the tomb, obliterate it. As soon as we get Evie back, I want to destroy it. Maybe his power will dissipate if his house of eternity is destroyed. As soon as Evie is returned, I'm going to take everything we found and place it inside, then blow it up. I want to destroy all traces of it. All I want to leave is rubble."

"Won't that get you in trouble with the authorities?" A light was coming back into Rick's eyes and Roma realized he had been thinking the same thing.

"Only if they catch me. This tomb is isolated, and I think I can cover my tracks. I can pay off the workmen and they will say nothing about what we found. After all, a lot of things could happen. Limestone is fragile, it could be destroyed by an earthquake. Maybe the structure was weak, and it collapsed on its own."

She leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. "that tom is too dangerous. Maybe if I destroy it, I can also destroy the evidence. An over-eager looter could have blown it up looking for secret passages. What did we find anyway? A tomb with no hieroglyphs or cartouches in an out-of-the-way place in the desert. Who will even know?"

"Have you told Ardeth about your plans?"

"Yes, he agrees with me. No good has come of us finding it. Something lives in that tomb, and it has plagued us ever since Ardeth and I took shelter in it from the sandstorm. First, something followed me, then after we returned to the tomb it attached itself to Evie. I will not allow it to torment anyone else. I can't destroy the mummy in the museum, but I can destroy the mummy that we found. I am going to make sure there is nothing left.

"It may take a few days, but I can find what we need," Rick replied, "I'll rig the tomb with explosives and let you have the honor of pushing the plunger. You have the necessary funds?"

"Yes, I do. How long will it take?"

"A few days at most. I have a few friends from my days in the legion. I can purchase dynamite and not have it traced back to us. I'm with you, I want to burn that mummy and blow up that tomb."

"And when we get Evie back that is exactly what we'll do."

The morning dawned cool and clear, a good sign. The flowers that people spread along the sides of the streets were heaped knee-deep, their fragrance perfuming the air. The statues of the gods, Amun-Re, his consort Mut, and their son Khonsu were crowned with sun discs and draped in rich scarlet robes, embroidered in gold sequins. The preparations now completed, they were ready for their journey to the Temple of a Million Years that Ramesses III had constructed as his funerary chapel.

People lined the streets, some reverent, some cheering as they watched their gods being paraded on their journey to the golden barques that would bear them to the temple. The Nile's surface was piled with floating blossoms as the people honored the gods and their dead with flowers, food, and drink.

Sitamun woke with a violent morning sickness. So severely ill was she that she was unable to rise from her bed, each time she tried to move she became so sick she had to lie down. Even bread and sweetened beer were impossible to keep down, and a physician had been sent for to prepare a potion to help her sleep.

Pentaweret, clad in his finery, came running to the women's quarters to see what was wrong with his young wife. He had counted on her presence beside him, but she lay there pale and wan, deep shadows under her dark eyes and looking helpless as a child.

"Are you sure you cannot attend the festivities, my love?" He stroked her finely shaped head with his long fingers, "I want you beside me to share my triumph."

"I am so sorry, my lord husband, but I cannot. The morning sickness has never been this bad, I try to sit, then stand, but I become so dizzy and nauseous that I must lie down. I do not understand, I was fine yesterday but today I am so sick."

He kissed the top of her head, "I would rather have you beside me but if you are ill, I want you to remain here and take care of yourself and our son. Perhaps you will be well enough tonight to attend the feast. You are the most important thing in my life, and I would have you taken well care of." He left, his attendants following him and Sitamun felt a sinking feeling in her heart.

A draught had been prepared for her and she drank hoping it would bring her relief, and if not relief, at least a restful sleep. She lay her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes, waiting for the narcotic to take effect.

Was she dreaming? Was she awake, she could not tell? She was in the middle of a crowd, surrounded by people dressed in their best clothes, throwing flowers at the procession of the royal family following behind their gods. The golden barque had stopped in front of the magnificent funeral chapel Ramesses had built for himself. The way to the temple was heaped with flowers and the bearers of the royal litters waded knee-deep through the colorful petals.

The statues of the gods were put reverently in their places, the priests swinging the censors filled with burning frankincense that could not overpower the scent of the flowers.

The pharaoh stood, surrounded by family and his courtiers in the place where one day offerings would be left to sustain him in the afterlife. It was here he would also receive the blessings of his gods and his priests.

She could hear the droning of the priests and from her place in the crowd, she could see the look of hatred that marred her husband's handsome face. Then, the slight movement of his arm as he brought out the dagger he had hidden in the folds of his kilt. The blade flashed in the sun as he raised his arm and in one swift movement, he slit the throat of the god-king who had given him birth.

She sat up, aware now that she was in her bed and not witnessing her husband commit the murder that spelled the end of them both. She called for her maids, not knowing how long she had been asleep only knowing, somehow, it was not a dream, but a vision. She knew without knowing why but knowing all the same that Pentaweret had killed his father, only hoping hoping hoping that it was all a bad dream.

Her maids came in, their faces grim and their kohl-lined eyes filled with tears. They fell to their knees, weeping loudly.

"What is wrong, what has happened?" She did not need to ask the question she knew the answer, "Why do you weep, my maids?"

"Oh, madam!" Nesi, the trusted slave she had brought with her from her childhood home of Abydos, took her hand, "It is awful, the most horrible thing has happened!"

"Tell me what is it, speak!" she commanded.

"The Pharaoh has been killed, it happened during the ceremonies in the Temple of a Million Years."

Sitamun held up her hand, "Nesi, Nani, you stay; the rest of you, go to your rooms and wait until you are summoned." The maids bowed and left the room. "You must help me get dressed, bring my finest linen robe and my jewelry, and my makeup, I must have my makeup." The maids bowed and busied themselves obeying her orders.

Her finest gown, her finest jeweled collar, her wigs, and her makeup were brought to her. Her pleated lined gown was wrapped around her and tied under her breast. The collar, which felt strangely heavy was placed over her neck and shoulders. Nane was skilled in the art of cosmetics and rimmed her mistress's eyes with kohl, painted a little malachite above. Then, last of all, her finest Nubian wig with its multitude of braids was placed on her head.

"Now, go," she told them, "And I do not want to be disturbed until I call for you." She watched as they bowed and left the room.

She gently wiped the tears from her eyes, being careful not to smear her makeup. Her fingers with their hennaed tips carefully searched through her jewelry until she found what she was looking for.

Sitamun drew out the fine-bladed stiletto with its jeweled handle with shaking hands. She had stolen it from her brother when they were young and had gleefully kept it hidden all these years. Now, it was to be her friend, her last hope in a world where she had lost all hope.

"I cannot bear to watch Pentaweret die," she thought, "And what would be my fate? Would my child be taken from me? Would he be killed? What would they do with the widow of the murderer of the Pharaoh? Would they believe me if I told them I knew nothing of it, I was not part of it? No, they wouldn't."

She took the blade, and carefully pushed it into her heart. The pain she did not expect, the throbbing of the wound, the heart struggling against the blade. But it was done.

The room was slowly growing black, and she felt cold. She lay down on her bed and closed her eyes against the darkness. The blood was flowing more quickly now, down her side and onto her linen sheets. Death was not so bad after all.