Dr Madeleine Whetstone watched several lithe Arab workmen, dressed in their customary
jelabiya
, a long robe of once-white cotton. Most of the older men had the long gowns hitched into the belts at their waist and looped to crudely cover their groin, and some of the younger ones had dispensed with the covering on their tops, choosing instead to push down the blouse-like gown and to wear the cotton as a sarong. It was a pleasing sight that did nothing to cool Madeleine's libido, which had been overactive since she had arrived in this stultifying, Abrahamic land a year ago.
Though, to be honest, she knew enough not to act upon her impulses lest she spell certain disaster for her shaky standing in the Egyptian archaeological community. Her personal situation had not been much better in England. Women rarely attained a doctorate in any field, much less one as esoteric as hers. She'd had very few beaux in her life, none of them serious, and only one had managed to divest her of her burdensome virginity and give her a continued measure of respite from her physical cravings. The experience had been less than stellar, especially with the threat to both their careers had she ended up in the family way. They had parted company after a year. She hadn't even given him a thought when she had left England for the shores of Africa.
Sometimes, though, in the middle of a cold desert night, she wished that she could find a man who would challenge her, make her wanton. She wanted a man who would be all the things that she had renounced on her chosen path, but most of all, she wanted to remain her own woman, a respected archaeologist, not some breeder of Empire bound sons.
She turned her attention from the sweating men, to the sketch she had made of what they were doing, but alas, her attention was once again pulled to the site as a great shout rose from the group.
The men moved around a large cover stone over the entrance to what she hoped would be the discovery of the century. Several heaved against ropes that had been hooked into the stone itself, their strain evident in the tautness of their leg muscles and the sweat that soaked through their cotton garments. A young boy was dispatched to her side, "
Mem, Mem!
Dr Nassir said to tell you that the stone has strange markings. He thinks you should see them! Now,
Mem!
Come! The doctor doesn't like to be kept waiting!"
Dr Salim Nassir's dark, hawk-eyed gaze caught hers, and he sneered slightly through his silver-shot beard. He was the director of antiquities at the museum for which they both worked, and a renowned scholar of all things Egyptian. Madeleine stirred from her camp stool, not relishing the move into the sun from the shade of her tent, set up on the side of the hill for the best vantage of the three week old dig. She donned the pith helmet that she had cadged from her older brother, who had served his military conscription in India rather than the European theatre of the War to End All Wars, before she left England for the hotter, sunnier climes of Egypt.
Making her way down the loose rock strewn gravel of the basin, she arrived at the older man's side. "You requested me, Dr Nassir?"
"Yes, Madame, we have found a strange line of petroglyphs at either side of the structure." His English was precisely spoken, and did nothing to cover his scorn for her status as the lead archaeologist of this particular dig. His refusal to use her title rankled her nearly beyond reason. However, twelve years of scorn in the English academic world helped her to mask her ire. Though his scorn was no less, and no more derisive than the treatment she received from her Western compatriots at the museum, but it somehow stung more. His influential regard would never be won, simply because of her gender, no matter how well received her articles were to any publication in the world. Gathering her scattered thoughts, she finally peered at the markings as she observed, "I've never seen these types of glyphs before."
He barked something in Arabic and the workers halted. She was aware that at least two of the younger men leered at her trouser clad bottom, whilst the more seasoned labourers flopped onto the ground, covering their eyes with the length of cloth left loose from their turbans for that purpose.
Madeleine moved to the side of one stone and looked at the strange markings. The petroglyphs were definitely a new language; they resembled cuneiform since the language used hash marks and geometric shapes to convey meaning, but the glyphs seemed to be grouped into long, rambling strings rather than succinct word groups. In that, they resembled ancient Egyptian tomb spells, but the resemblance ended there. She ran her hand over their surface, attempting to clear some of the years of sand from their surface, and felt an oddly caressing surge of power under her fingertips as she drew away. The feeling stayed in her hand even as she moved back to Dr Nassir. She said, "I've never seen their like, before."
She rubbed her still tingling fingertips against her trousers. She smiled sweetly and asked, "You do have a linguistics expert at the museum, don't you?"
