Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [96]
It was impossible to think of it in any other way—impossible to visualize that luminous orb as a ball of cold rock two hundred thousand miles away, or to believe that the surface on which they stood was imperceptibly but steadily turning. No wonder the ancients had viewed the lunar orb as a divinity.
By the time they reached the entrance to the valley of Deir el Medina the temple ruins glimmered with pale shadows. David let out a long breath of satisfaction. “In another half hour the light will be perfect. I won’t even need a torch.”
They left the horses near the shelter and picked their way over the fallen stones. Both men were loaded down, David with his drawing materials and Ramses with blankets and baskets of food and drink—a real picnic, as Nefret had declared. Either she had got over her nervousness about the place or she was determined to overcome it. Ramses had tentatively suggested they spend the night; she hadn’t said yes or no, but the blankets were a hopeful sign. His spirits rose. They hadn’t slept out under the stars for a long time—not since the children were born.
After casting back and forth for a while, with the other three trailing him and offering their opinions, David settled on a spot from which the view satisfied him. It was on the opposite side of the temple from which they had approached, just inside the enclosure wall and a little to one side. There wasn’t a completely smooth surface anywhere, but they cleared away the larger and sharper of the bits of stone that littered the ground and spread the blankets. Nefret scattered the cushions she had brought from the shelter and subsided luxuriously onto them, motioning Lia to join her.
“You and I will loll,” she declared. “And be waited upon. Ramses, will you open this?”
He took the tall slim bottle. “Wine?”
“Yes, why not? We can get a little drunk. All of us except David. He has to paint.”
David had managed to set the easel up, bracing its legs with stones. “David too,” he said with a laugh. “It might be just the inspiration I need.”
“I presume you mean to employ a certain amount of artistic license,” Ramses said, holding the bottle between his knees and removing the cork. “As temples go, this one is fairly dull.”
“I’ll add a broken obelisk or two, and perhaps a headless colossus.” David began drawing with quick, sure strokes of his charcoal. He dashed off several sketches and then joined them.
The wine was pale as moonlight, cool and dry as the night air. They finished one bottle and David glanced at the dark ruins. “Inspiration, a fickle goddess, continues to elude me,” he said. “Is there more wine?”
Ramses laughed and opened the second bottle. He hadn’t felt so relaxed and happy for weeks. It wasn’t only the wine, it was everything—the peace and silence, the stark beauty of the setting, the company of his best friends—including his wife—and the fact that his adored children and beloved parents were a long way away. Nefret was singing softly to herself. He caught a few words and recognized one of the sentimental ballads she favored. In her sweet voice, with moonlight glowing in her hair, the words didn’t sound as banal as they should have. He had forgotten their ostensible purpose for being there, and David, stretched out on the blanket with his head on Lia’s lap, had obviously lost interest in art, though the moon rode high and the facade of the temple was well lighted. Ramses wondered lazily which of them would be the first to propose that they separate. He reached for Nefret’s hand, and then dropped it and jumped to his feet.
“What is it?” Nefret demanded.
“Someone’s coming. Listen.”
“Hathor?” David sat up.
“If it is, she’s making the devil of a racket,” Ramses replied.
The voices grew louder. They were coming closer, following the enclosure wall toward the entrance. He couldn’t quite make out the words; the crunch of stone under feet or hooves drowned them out. Whoever they were,