And the Rest Is History(8)

‘It’s fine. They’ll never find it.’

Aha! Camouflage device. I knew it. Bugger. That could cause me some problems.

‘Then let’s go.’

The rock was mostly one giant, solid piece, but towards the southern end, it had fragmented into five or six smaller pieces. One leaned slightly, making a shallow cave, some twenty feet up, which gave us some welcome shade and a small degree of cover. We scrambled up, checked carefully for scorpions and snakes, and made ourselves comfortable. Ronan picked up a recorder and examined it.

‘Point and press,’ I said. ‘It’s quite simple.’

He looked at me. ‘It would have to be.’

‘You’re very grumpy.’

‘It’s the company I’m keeping.’

Careful to remain in the shelter of the rock and not expose himself – because armies can sometimes be quite unkind to anyone they think might be spying on them – he stood up and stared thoughtfully. ‘Please remind me never to listen to any future predictions you might make concerning armies, sandstorms, or indeed, anything at all.’

I stood beside him. ‘What?’

He pointed at the horizon. Or rather, where the horizon had been. A dark yellow murky cloud obscured everything and was growing larger. Desert dust. I crossed my fingers that it was being kicked up by a marching army rather than the beginnings of a sandstorm.

‘Oh.’

‘Oh? Is that all you can say?’

‘What else did you want?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. How about “I’m so sorry, Clive. I’m a complete idiot who shouldn’t be allowed out on her own and, worse than that, I’ve risked your life for a few snapshots of a bunch of people who died two and a half thousand years ago when I could have been doing something much more important regarding world peace.’

‘Hey, grumpy, they weren’t my coordinates. Didn’t you check them at all?’

Silence. Well, that answered that question.

At this point, he could have gone back to his pod and left me to it. I wouldn’t have been the slightest bit surprised if he’d said, ‘You’re on your own with this one, Maxwell. See you around,’ and pushed off. Possibly pausing to shoot me on the way out if he was feeling really miffed. But he didn’t. He fiddled with his recorder, panned around for practice, and then settled himself down.

I was aware that I was pushing my luck. On the one hand, I couldn’t afford to let Ronan disappear with the situation he’d created still unresolved, but obviously, I wanted to see what might be the lost army of Cambyses as well. When I’d suggested Ronan remember his historian roots and assist, I’d never for one moment actually thought he would. But he was right – an approaching army was not a good thing. And an approaching army being pursued by a sandstorm was even worse. And a sandstorm that could bury said desert-hardened army was worst of all. If it all came our way, I would be trapped with a psychotic killer who had done me nothing but harm in the past. A sensible and prudent historian would pull out now.

Ah well…

‘Heads up,’ said Ronan softly.

Two chariots were heading our way.

Well, that settled one thing. Whatever was coming our way, it wasn’t a harmless caravan. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be.

‘Scouts,’ I said, drawing back into the cover of the rock and activating my recorder

A heavy sigh on my left indicated that Ronan was, at least for the moment, resigned to the situation.

We crouched and watched.

They approached at some speed. Each chariot contained two men, both balancing easily as the light vehicles bounced over the rough ground. The drivers concentrated on their horses, but the soldiers called to each other and gestured. They were checking out our rock.

‘I have plans for the rest of my life,’ said Ronan quietly. ‘I would be greatly obliged if you could refrain from doing anything stupid. Although I’m not tremendously optimistic.’

We cowered back in our little patch of shade and watched them circle the rock. I was confident my desert camouflage would merge with the surrounding rock, and Ronan’s dark clothing was almost invisible in the deep shadow.

Each chariot was pulled by two horses. I was surprised by the plainness of the harness. Contemporary pictures always show ornately dressed soldiers and drivers, in highly decorated chariots. Sometimes, even the horses wore headdresses. Not on a march through the desert, however. Perhaps they kept the good stuff for the victory parade. Or even for the battle itself. To dazzle the opposition with the wealth and power of the Egyptian empire. On this occasion, horses, men and chariots were smothered in desert dust and everything was a dirty brown.

Both soldiers had bows at the ready, arrows nocked, covering every inch of the terrain. They circled our rock several times, shouting to each other as they went.

‘They’re very thorough,’ I whispered.

‘So would I be,’ said Ronan.

‘Not thorough enough to ensure no passing army would casually wander past when choosing your coordinates.’

‘A moment ago you were full of girlish glee at this opportunity. Make up your mind.’

Apparently satisfied, the two chariots broke away and returned back the way they’d come, soon to be lost in the dust again.

‘Happy now?’ he said. ‘Shall we go?’