Chapter Five.
“Abdul, Abdul! Stop wasting time talking with your friends. Take the donkey over to the westerner’s camp; they will be waiting for this food.”
The young teenager turned in response to his mothers call. He waved to his two friends and ran across to where she stood. A donkey stood next to her with wicker baskets hanging either side of its back. The smell of fresh flat bread and heavily spiced lamb drifted up from the clay pots that sat inside the baskets. Abdul’s father was in charge of the diggers at the old city in the sand, his first wife, Abdul’s mother, cooked their evening meals and then delivered them to the dig site.
The crazy foreigners would not even stop digging to eat their evening meal; they worked until it was too dark to see and then returned to the village where they were renting several houses. The locals thought them all crazy but they paid very well and for such wealth they were happy to put up with a few mad men.
Abdul took the reins of the donkey and led it across the village and into the low hills that marked the landward side. There was a well beaten track through the stunted trees leading to the remains of an ancient city. The locals had stolen bricks from the ruins but had no idea how vast the ruin truly was, that had taken weeks of work by every available man in the village. Now the ruins had been cleared for several hundred feet in all directions and in a few places they had dug down more than twenty feet to reveal walls, statues and pillars.
The young man’s arrival was greeted with a few happy shouts and several of the diggers stopped what they were doing and started toward the lad and his donkey. A shout from Abdul’s father Mohamed sent them back to their work and left father and son at the edge of the dig site with a heavily loaded donkey.
Abdul spent the next half hour or so delivering pots of food and stacks of flat bread to the groups of workers and to the various western archaeologists that were to be found across the site. The last two westerners to be fed were at the bottom of the deepest dig, in the middle of the site where a huge stone building was being uncovered.
“There is no doubt, look at these inscriptions, only a fool would fail to see the name here.”
“Nonsense, you have clearly been in the sun too long you old fool, these are clearly 18th Dynasty.”
“No no, see here, the shape of this naming cartouche, early 19th to be sure, the marking here indicates a temple and this one a dedication to Amun. Would you like me to get one of my books and prove it to you?”
“Bah what would that prove, you wrote that book you keep using to support your argument. Mid 18th and it’s not temple it is place of storage and preparation for temple items.”
At this point Abdul arrived with still hot food and the debate was silenced for a while.
Once everyone had eaten Abdul gathered up the used bowls and jars and packed them back onto the donkey for his return trip to the village, The crazy foreigners would not return to the village for at least an hour, when it became fully dark.
Some two hours later and well after dark the village was settling down for the night, aside from the area between the two houses the foreigners were renting. The villages had learnt to ignore the crazy men who would talk until midnight, all except a few of the youngsters who would creep close enough to hear tales of ancient crypts and men long dead whose names were chiselled onto statues or pillars.
Abdul was one of those curious young men and he loved to sit, just outside the light from the oil lamps, where he could listen to the two old men who argued all the time but knew so much that they even made the village Imam seem uneducated.
Still there would be work in the morning and so, reluctantly, the young men would return to their homes to sleep. Tonight as they separated Abdul noticed a figure that also stood in the shadows and listened. He did not look like a villager nor was he one of the foreigners, Abdul paused to look at the man and it was at this time that the old archaeologists decided it was time to retire. One of them lifted the lamp and the light spread across the street to shine upon the man. He was clad in the garb of a Bedouin, a desert man, a sword through his sash.
Abdul ran to find his father, the men of the desert meant trouble, they seldom came alone and for one to be in the village unknown could mean a raid. Mohamed ordered his son to stay in the house and protect his mother and the other children while he loaded his rifle, then the man slipped out into the dark street.
He returned some ten minutes later having seen nothing, but he had spoken to the men of the houses opposite the foreigners, one had said he had heard someone outside his house but had thought it was the young men listening again. A Bedouin in the village could mean nothing, he could be here to trade. But for one to have come into the village in secret, to have hidden in the darkness and spied on the foreigners, that left Mohamed uneasy.
With his family safe he left the house again for a few minutes, he spoke with the village elders who woke several of the younger men and set them as guards. More than a few spent the night with loaded rifles close at hand.
Sunrise the following morning revealed no sign of the Bedouin though several armed men checked the village carefully to be sure. Then with no sign of danger the diggers broke their fast and walked out to the dig site to join the archaeologists who were already there.
~
It was mid day when shouts and then the sound of shots drifted over the village from the direction of the dig site. Abdul was leading one of the family donkeys with baskets full of old bricks. The village was building several new houses for some of the extra workers who had been drawn to the area by the wealth coming from the dig.
The young man turned to see where the noise was coming from and as soon as he realised it was coming from the dig sit he dropped the donkey lead and ran toward the hills, the dig and his father.
By the time he reached the edge of the dig site there was a lot more shouting and a number of shots, both the boom of muskets and the sharper crack of foreign pistols. He ran past several dead diggers and found his father with a small group of diggers fighting with several black clad Bedouin. Abdul shouted his father’s name and Mohamed turned to his son.
“Abdul, quickly, go to the village, get your mother and brothers down to the river and into one of the boats. Quickly boy, go and may Allah be with you.”
Abdul had barely started to argue when a shot rang out and Mohamed fell forward, crashing into his son and knocking him to the ground. The young man was dazed and trapped under his father’s body. He was aware of movement around him and more shots and running feet and then silence.
Then a new figure came into sight, Abdul was trapped beneath his father and his head was under the man’s chest, he could only see the feet and legs of the new man, western trousers and western boots. His voice was harsh and guttural, it sounded like one of the archaeologists, Mr Gunter of Berlin spoke English like that but not so gruff.
“Get down there, open the vault and get the book. Faster dogs or I will have the skin flayed from your backs. Get me the book!”
Everything went dark and silent.
~
The sun was sinking to the horizon when Abdul came back to his senses. He was still trapped under the body of his father and the smell of death was now everywhere. It took some time for him to wriggle free and the effort left him exhausted. He staggered across the dig site and everywhere he went he found death.
Every digger had been slain, many showed the wounds from musket or sword, some seem to have died in terror, their faces locked in wide eyed fear. The archaeologists were also dead, killed where ever they had been across the camp. All save two.
The two old men, the leaders of the dig, the men who always argued. They were at the bottom of the deepest part of the dig beside a door that seemed to have been revealed and opened recently. Abdul looked at the two men and turned away before falling to his knees, his stomach heaving again and again. Vomit burning his throat and mouth. They had been, had been tortured. Such things had been done to them that the young man could not believe it had been the work of men.
When he was finally able to stand again one single thought filled him with dread, his mother and brothers, the village.
He staggered onward, the smoke from burning tents behind him giving way to the smoke of burning buildings before him. He reached the village and tripped over the body of a woman before he even realised he had arrived, the sight of the corpse at his feet bought him back to his senses and he ran as quickly as he could manage to his own house.
The brick built structure was in flames, fire and smoke poured out of the door and windows, both of his brothers were by the doorway, both had been shot and their legs and feet were in the flames. Then with a great crash the roof gave way, flame and heat washed out of the door, the two brothers clothes caught fire, Abdul’s face and hands were scorched and his hair caught fire.
He fell backwards beating at the flames on his head, the world spun and twisted, in his mind he heard the screams of his mother burning in the fire, his brothers dying as they tried to defend the doorway. Then he screamed and screamed and screamed.
~
Abdul Rashid blinked as he finished his story, so involved had he been in the telling that he had not noticed a second lamp being lit or that chairs had been bought in or that the doctor had joined them.
“The man who came for the book, the one who led the Bedouin to destroy my village and kill my family. I have hunted him ever since, for ten years I have searched for him. I have sworn to Allah that I will find him and avenge my family and my village. For my vengeance I have walked into the deepest desert, I have walked through cities of the dead and I have spoken to men who do not stand in Gods light.”
“I have learned his name and his purpose. His name is Wilhelm Henry Oami, though he often goes by other names. He is evil upon the land, cursed by God. I have been told that he was born in Germany more than one hundred years ago and yet he looks no more than a man of middle years.“
“I have seen, may Allah protect me, I have seen such things. Things that cannot be, that should not be. Things against God’s law. Each time I am too late, each time he has done his evil and moved on. But this time God himself guided me. He took a book from my village, a book so old it comes from before God. Some call it the Book of Asheb, most call it the Book of Unread Pages. It is a dark and terrible thing; it holds power over the dead and the living and over beasts and men.”
“He has sought to unlock the secrets of the book, only one thing stood between him and its power, the knowledge of how to open the book itself. That is why he came here, that is what he sought. If he is not stopped then he will call the dead to come forth and serve him. He will claim not just Egypt for his kingdom but the world. He must be stopped, Allah speaks to me in my dreams, he shows me the power that the book holds, he shows me the world given over to the dead.”
“He has learned how to read the book, now he has learned to open it. He is learning to use its power. He will grow stronger as he reads more of the book; his power will grow as he performs the rituals within. If he is not stopped he will call armies from the realm of the dead.”
“He opened the book and on that day he called one back from the realm of the dead, now he has called more. Tomorrow he may call dozens or hundreds. He is here and we must stop him”
The officers had sat and listened to what had been said, Doctor Adler had been filling a small book with notes. But every face showed the same expression. Disbelief at a story that should have been utterly ridiculous, magic books, summoning the dead. These were men of the nineteenth century, a century of science. Parlour tricks were well known to them. Every one of them a Christian.
Yet they had seen; what had they seen? Men walking with wounds that should have killed them many times over. They had stood by and watched as a man who should have been dead crawled towards them, trying to bite them. A man who should have been dead, a man who was dead?
~
General Summerby broke the silence.
“Gentlemen. It seems that we no longer have the time for a siege. We must take this nest of rebels and we must do so today.”
Lieutenant Houseman pointed at the map. “The navy will advance general, but we will be under fire this whole distance. If we lose a track we will support from where we are but then we become a battery not a Frigate.”
General Summerby looked across the table at the artillery officer.
Lieutenant Engler picked up one of the drawings he had made of the fort while he had spent the day at the observation post.
“The problem general is this gun is a devilishly hard target, sheltered by the tower, the wall and by these gabions. I can move my guns into range and open fire but we will be in range of him as well, we will have no shelter against his fire while he is well protected against us.”
“Trading shots under those conditions would rather quickly leave us with no guns or crew.”
He slid the drawing across the table and pointed to the tower that sheltered the rebel cannon.
“This gives us our best chance I think. I can take my guns out at first light down the road and take up a position to the south. The rebel cannon will not be able to fire at us because the tower will be in the way. I will need some soldiers in case they decide to come out after us but I should be able to get into firing position without any return fire. Then 10th Battery will show these rebels and whatever else is in there the meaning of modern artillery.”
Captain Ambrose drew his finger across the map from the spot the artillery man had indicated toward the position of the rebel cannon.
“But you won’t be able to hit the gun, the tower is in the way for you as well? Your shots will hit the tower.”
Lieutenant Engler smiled. “That sir is my target, twenty feet tall, made of local brick and the rebel gun is hard against its base and trapped behind those gabions. My intention sir is to bring down that tower and drop the whole ruddy lot onto of the rebel gun.”
His smile grew wider. “Eight rounds general, my men will have it down and that cannon out of action in eight rounds.”
General Summerby considered the map. “If you can take out the rebel cannon we can advance across this distance and be at the town wall at the walk. Within fifteen minutes of the tower coming down we can be breaching the wall.”
Lieutenant Houseman interrupted. “Twenty minutes sir, unless you want to leave the Ironsides behind.”
The general grunted. “Twenty minutes then, we will start as soon as the tower comes down. First and third platoons together, second behind as support. Use the levy to secure the camp and block these paths to the north. Cavalry covers the open area to the south and protect the guns. Quartermaster to follow us in with fresh rounds. Presuming of course that the tower comes down.”
Captain Ambrose looked at the picture of the fort and tower then looked up at Lieutenant Engler. “Eight shots you say, care to put a wager on that?”
The artilleryman grinned. “Ten guineas it is.”
Both men shook hands while everyone else chuckled, then the officers got down the serious business of planning an attack on the town. Thoughts of shambling corpses and attacks in the dead of night forgotten. They had an enemy in sight, a plan, a company of British infantry and one of the navies finest Land Frigates.
The rebels were about to find out what it meant to defy the Empire and perhaps also pay the price for whatever unholy deeds they had performed to cause the dead to walk.
“Abdul, Abdul! Stop wasting time talking with your friends. Take the donkey over to the westerner’s camp; they will be waiting for this food.”
The young teenager turned in response to his mothers call. He waved to his two friends and ran across to where she stood. A donkey stood next to her with wicker baskets hanging either side of its back. The smell of fresh flat bread and heavily spiced lamb drifted up from the clay pots that sat inside the baskets. Abdul’s father was in charge of the diggers at the old city in the sand, his first wife, Abdul’s mother, cooked their evening meals and then delivered them to the dig site.
The crazy foreigners would not even stop digging to eat their evening meal; they worked until it was too dark to see and then returned to the village where they were renting several houses. The locals thought them all crazy but they paid very well and for such wealth they were happy to put up with a few mad men.
Abdul took the reins of the donkey and led it across the village and into the low hills that marked the landward side. There was a well beaten track through the stunted trees leading to the remains of an ancient city. The locals had stolen bricks from the ruins but had no idea how vast the ruin truly was, that had taken weeks of work by every available man in the village. Now the ruins had been cleared for several hundred feet in all directions and in a few places they had dug down more than twenty feet to reveal walls, statues and pillars.
The young man’s arrival was greeted with a few happy shouts and several of the diggers stopped what they were doing and started toward the lad and his donkey. A shout from Abdul’s father Mohamed sent them back to their work and left father and son at the edge of the dig site with a heavily loaded donkey.
Abdul spent the next half hour or so delivering pots of food and stacks of flat bread to the groups of workers and to the various western archaeologists that were to be found across the site. The last two westerners to be fed were at the bottom of the deepest dig, in the middle of the site where a huge stone building was being uncovered.
“There is no doubt, look at these inscriptions, only a fool would fail to see the name here.”
“Nonsense, you have clearly been in the sun too long you old fool, these are clearly 18th Dynasty.”
“No no, see here, the shape of this naming cartouche, early 19th to be sure, the marking here indicates a temple and this one a dedication to Amun. Would you like me to get one of my books and prove it to you?”
“Bah what would that prove, you wrote that book you keep using to support your argument. Mid 18th and it’s not temple it is place of storage and preparation for temple items.”
At this point Abdul arrived with still hot food and the debate was silenced for a while.
Once everyone had eaten Abdul gathered up the used bowls and jars and packed them back onto the donkey for his return trip to the village, The crazy foreigners would not return to the village for at least an hour, when it became fully dark.
Some two hours later and well after dark the village was settling down for the night, aside from the area between the two houses the foreigners were renting. The villages had learnt to ignore the crazy men who would talk until midnight, all except a few of the youngsters who would creep close enough to hear tales of ancient crypts and men long dead whose names were chiselled onto statues or pillars.
Abdul was one of those curious young men and he loved to sit, just outside the light from the oil lamps, where he could listen to the two old men who argued all the time but knew so much that they even made the village Imam seem uneducated.
Still there would be work in the morning and so, reluctantly, the young men would return to their homes to sleep. Tonight as they separated Abdul noticed a figure that also stood in the shadows and listened. He did not look like a villager nor was he one of the foreigners, Abdul paused to look at the man and it was at this time that the old archaeologists decided it was time to retire. One of them lifted the lamp and the light spread across the street to shine upon the man. He was clad in the garb of a Bedouin, a desert man, a sword through his sash.
Abdul ran to find his father, the men of the desert meant trouble, they seldom came alone and for one to be in the village unknown could mean a raid. Mohamed ordered his son to stay in the house and protect his mother and the other children while he loaded his rifle, then the man slipped out into the dark street.
He returned some ten minutes later having seen nothing, but he had spoken to the men of the houses opposite the foreigners, one had said he had heard someone outside his house but had thought it was the young men listening again. A Bedouin in the village could mean nothing, he could be here to trade. But for one to have come into the village in secret, to have hidden in the darkness and spied on the foreigners, that left Mohamed uneasy.
With his family safe he left the house again for a few minutes, he spoke with the village elders who woke several of the younger men and set them as guards. More than a few spent the night with loaded rifles close at hand.
Sunrise the following morning revealed no sign of the Bedouin though several armed men checked the village carefully to be sure. Then with no sign of danger the diggers broke their fast and walked out to the dig site to join the archaeologists who were already there.
~
It was mid day when shouts and then the sound of shots drifted over the village from the direction of the dig site. Abdul was leading one of the family donkeys with baskets full of old bricks. The village was building several new houses for some of the extra workers who had been drawn to the area by the wealth coming from the dig.
The young man turned to see where the noise was coming from and as soon as he realised it was coming from the dig sit he dropped the donkey lead and ran toward the hills, the dig and his father.
By the time he reached the edge of the dig site there was a lot more shouting and a number of shots, both the boom of muskets and the sharper crack of foreign pistols. He ran past several dead diggers and found his father with a small group of diggers fighting with several black clad Bedouin. Abdul shouted his father’s name and Mohamed turned to his son.
“Abdul, quickly, go to the village, get your mother and brothers down to the river and into one of the boats. Quickly boy, go and may Allah be with you.”
Abdul had barely started to argue when a shot rang out and Mohamed fell forward, crashing into his son and knocking him to the ground. The young man was dazed and trapped under his father’s body. He was aware of movement around him and more shots and running feet and then silence.
Then a new figure came into sight, Abdul was trapped beneath his father and his head was under the man’s chest, he could only see the feet and legs of the new man, western trousers and western boots. His voice was harsh and guttural, it sounded like one of the archaeologists, Mr Gunter of Berlin spoke English like that but not so gruff.
“Get down there, open the vault and get the book. Faster dogs or I will have the skin flayed from your backs. Get me the book!”
Everything went dark and silent.
~
The sun was sinking to the horizon when Abdul came back to his senses. He was still trapped under the body of his father and the smell of death was now everywhere. It took some time for him to wriggle free and the effort left him exhausted. He staggered across the dig site and everywhere he went he found death.
Every digger had been slain, many showed the wounds from musket or sword, some seem to have died in terror, their faces locked in wide eyed fear. The archaeologists were also dead, killed where ever they had been across the camp. All save two.
The two old men, the leaders of the dig, the men who always argued. They were at the bottom of the deepest part of the dig beside a door that seemed to have been revealed and opened recently. Abdul looked at the two men and turned away before falling to his knees, his stomach heaving again and again. Vomit burning his throat and mouth. They had been, had been tortured. Such things had been done to them that the young man could not believe it had been the work of men.
When he was finally able to stand again one single thought filled him with dread, his mother and brothers, the village.
He staggered onward, the smoke from burning tents behind him giving way to the smoke of burning buildings before him. He reached the village and tripped over the body of a woman before he even realised he had arrived, the sight of the corpse at his feet bought him back to his senses and he ran as quickly as he could manage to his own house.
The brick built structure was in flames, fire and smoke poured out of the door and windows, both of his brothers were by the doorway, both had been shot and their legs and feet were in the flames. Then with a great crash the roof gave way, flame and heat washed out of the door, the two brothers clothes caught fire, Abdul’s face and hands were scorched and his hair caught fire.
He fell backwards beating at the flames on his head, the world spun and twisted, in his mind he heard the screams of his mother burning in the fire, his brothers dying as they tried to defend the doorway. Then he screamed and screamed and screamed.
~
Abdul Rashid blinked as he finished his story, so involved had he been in the telling that he had not noticed a second lamp being lit or that chairs had been bought in or that the doctor had joined them.
“The man who came for the book, the one who led the Bedouin to destroy my village and kill my family. I have hunted him ever since, for ten years I have searched for him. I have sworn to Allah that I will find him and avenge my family and my village. For my vengeance I have walked into the deepest desert, I have walked through cities of the dead and I have spoken to men who do not stand in Gods light.”
“I have learned his name and his purpose. His name is Wilhelm Henry Oami, though he often goes by other names. He is evil upon the land, cursed by God. I have been told that he was born in Germany more than one hundred years ago and yet he looks no more than a man of middle years.“
“I have seen, may Allah protect me, I have seen such things. Things that cannot be, that should not be. Things against God’s law. Each time I am too late, each time he has done his evil and moved on. But this time God himself guided me. He took a book from my village, a book so old it comes from before God. Some call it the Book of Asheb, most call it the Book of Unread Pages. It is a dark and terrible thing; it holds power over the dead and the living and over beasts and men.”
“He has sought to unlock the secrets of the book, only one thing stood between him and its power, the knowledge of how to open the book itself. That is why he came here, that is what he sought. If he is not stopped then he will call the dead to come forth and serve him. He will claim not just Egypt for his kingdom but the world. He must be stopped, Allah speaks to me in my dreams, he shows me the power that the book holds, he shows me the world given over to the dead.”
“He has learned how to read the book, now he has learned to open it. He is learning to use its power. He will grow stronger as he reads more of the book; his power will grow as he performs the rituals within. If he is not stopped he will call armies from the realm of the dead.”
“He opened the book and on that day he called one back from the realm of the dead, now he has called more. Tomorrow he may call dozens or hundreds. He is here and we must stop him”
The officers had sat and listened to what had been said, Doctor Adler had been filling a small book with notes. But every face showed the same expression. Disbelief at a story that should have been utterly ridiculous, magic books, summoning the dead. These were men of the nineteenth century, a century of science. Parlour tricks were well known to them. Every one of them a Christian.
Yet they had seen; what had they seen? Men walking with wounds that should have killed them many times over. They had stood by and watched as a man who should have been dead crawled towards them, trying to bite them. A man who should have been dead, a man who was dead?
~
General Summerby broke the silence.
“Gentlemen. It seems that we no longer have the time for a siege. We must take this nest of rebels and we must do so today.”
Lieutenant Houseman pointed at the map. “The navy will advance general, but we will be under fire this whole distance. If we lose a track we will support from where we are but then we become a battery not a Frigate.”
General Summerby looked across the table at the artillery officer.
Lieutenant Engler picked up one of the drawings he had made of the fort while he had spent the day at the observation post.
“The problem general is this gun is a devilishly hard target, sheltered by the tower, the wall and by these gabions. I can move my guns into range and open fire but we will be in range of him as well, we will have no shelter against his fire while he is well protected against us.”
“Trading shots under those conditions would rather quickly leave us with no guns or crew.”
He slid the drawing across the table and pointed to the tower that sheltered the rebel cannon.
“This gives us our best chance I think. I can take my guns out at first light down the road and take up a position to the south. The rebel cannon will not be able to fire at us because the tower will be in the way. I will need some soldiers in case they decide to come out after us but I should be able to get into firing position without any return fire. Then 10th Battery will show these rebels and whatever else is in there the meaning of modern artillery.”
Captain Ambrose drew his finger across the map from the spot the artillery man had indicated toward the position of the rebel cannon.
“But you won’t be able to hit the gun, the tower is in the way for you as well? Your shots will hit the tower.”
Lieutenant Engler smiled. “That sir is my target, twenty feet tall, made of local brick and the rebel gun is hard against its base and trapped behind those gabions. My intention sir is to bring down that tower and drop the whole ruddy lot onto of the rebel gun.”
His smile grew wider. “Eight rounds general, my men will have it down and that cannon out of action in eight rounds.”
General Summerby considered the map. “If you can take out the rebel cannon we can advance across this distance and be at the town wall at the walk. Within fifteen minutes of the tower coming down we can be breaching the wall.”
Lieutenant Houseman interrupted. “Twenty minutes sir, unless you want to leave the Ironsides behind.”
The general grunted. “Twenty minutes then, we will start as soon as the tower comes down. First and third platoons together, second behind as support. Use the levy to secure the camp and block these paths to the north. Cavalry covers the open area to the south and protect the guns. Quartermaster to follow us in with fresh rounds. Presuming of course that the tower comes down.”
Captain Ambrose looked at the picture of the fort and tower then looked up at Lieutenant Engler. “Eight shots you say, care to put a wager on that?”
The artilleryman grinned. “Ten guineas it is.”
Both men shook hands while everyone else chuckled, then the officers got down the serious business of planning an attack on the town. Thoughts of shambling corpses and attacks in the dead of night forgotten. They had an enemy in sight, a plan, a company of British infantry and one of the navies finest Land Frigates.
The rebels were about to find out what it meant to defy the Empire and perhaps also pay the price for whatever unholy deeds they had performed to cause the dead to walk.