overdressed to him at first, but he understood the seductiveness of their clothing - the full sleeves tapering to tight cuffs at the wrists, the tiny waists and flowing skirts. They had begun to look normal to him.
And he wished suddenly that they were not here. That they were back in England again, or far away in America.
But the catacombs, he had to see the catacombs before they went on. And so with the other tourists they walked, listening to the droning voice of the guide, who spoke of Christians hiding here, of ancient rituals performed long before that in these rock chambers.
"You've been here before," Julie whispered." It's important to you."
"Yes," he answered under his breath, holding her hand tightly. Oh, if only they could leave Egypt now and forever. What was the point of this agony?
The unwieldy party of chattering, whispering tourists came to a halt. His eyes moved anxiously over the wall. He saw it, the small passageway. The others moved on, cautioned again to remain with the guide, but he held Julie back, and then as the other voices died away, he switched on the electric torch and entered the passage.
Was it the same? He could not tell. He could only remember what had happened.
Same smell of damp stone; Latin markings on the wall.
They came to a large room.
"Look," she said." There's a window there cut high in the rock, how amazing! And hooks in the wall, do you see it!"
It seemed her voice was very far away. He meant to answer, but that was not possible.
He stared into the gloom at the great rectangular stone to which she pointed now. She said something about an altar.
No, not an altar. A bed. A bed where he had lain for three hundred years, until that portal high up there had been opened. The ancient chains had pulled the heavy wooden blind, and the sun had come down, falling warm on his eyelids.
He heard Cleopatra's girlish voice:
"Ye gods, it's true. He's alive!" Her gasp echoing off the walls. The sun flooding down upon him.
"Ramses, rise!" she cried." A Queen of Egypt calls you."
He'd felt the tingling in his limbs; felt the suddenly zinging sensation in his hair and skin. Half in sleep still he'd sat up and seen the young woman standing there, rippling black hair loose over her shoulders. And the old priest, shivering, jabbering under his breath, hands clasped as if in prayer, bowing from the waist.
"Ramses the Great," she had said." A Queen of Egypt needs your counsel."
Soft dusty rays falling down from the twentieth-century world outside. The roar of motor cars on the boulevards of the modern city of Alexandria.
"Ramses!"
He turned. Julie Stratford was looking up at him.
"My beautiful one," he whispered. He took her in his arms, tenderly. Not passion, but love. Yes, love." My beautiful Julie," he whispered.
In the lobby they took high tea. The whole ritual made him laugh. To eat scones, eggs, cucumber sandwiches, and not call this a meal. But why should he complain? He could eat three times what everyone else was eating and still be hungry for dinner.
He cherished this time alone with her. That Alex and Samir and Elliott were not about.
He sat staring at the parade of plumed hats, frilly umbrellas. And the big shiny open motor cars, chugging up to the side entrance, right along with the open leather carriages.
These were no longer the people of his time. The racial mix was different. She'd said he would see it was the same with the
Greeks when they went there. Oh, so many places to go. Was he feeling relief?
"You've been so patient with me," he said, smiling." You don't ask me to explain anything."
Ah, but she looked radiant; her dress was a pale flowered silk; lace at the wrists and those tiny pearl buttons he was growing to love. Thank God she had not worn an open gown since that first night at sea. The sight of all that flesh drove him mad completely.
"You'll tell me when you want to tell me," she said." What I can't bear is to see you suffering."
"It's all as you said," he murmured. He drank down the tea, a beverage he didn't much like. It seemed to be half of something." All gone without a trace. The mausoleum, the library, the lighthouse. All that Alexander built; and Cleopatra built. Tell me, why are the pyramids still standing at