‘I’d go along with that,’ Jack said. ‘Virtually all we know of the place during those years of Mahdist rule after 1885 comes from the account of Rudolf von Slatin, the Austrian officer who had been one of Gordon’s staff and later returned under British rule as a special inspector for the Sudan. It is extraordinary that a former boatbuilder from the Nile should have ended up ruling a country three times the size of France, and anything that can be done to put that period into visible history is very worthwhile, in my book.’
Costas knitted his brows. ‘Wasn’t there another steamer, one that was wrecked? I flipped through Jack’s books on the plane on the way here and that caught my interest. Gordon sent one of his officers downstream with a lot of his personal papers and artefacts, but the steamer foundered and the officer was murdered.’
‘Colonel Stewart,’ Jack said. ‘The steamer was the Abbas, wrecked in the fifth cataract, about five hundred kilometres upstream of here, in September 1884. It was the event that really seems to have sent Gordon into a downward spiral.’
Costas turned to Aysha. ‘Has anyone ever dived on it?’
She shook her head. ‘Not to my knowledge. The Mahdi’s men ransacked her and salvaged what they could after Stewart was murdered. They’d been persuaded that there was gold on board, and that’s what the locals still believe. They’re pretty hostile to anyone going near the site. There’s a local warlord who runs the place like a private fiefdom.’
‘Any truth in it?’ Costas asked. ‘The gold?’
‘Gordon wasn’t that kind of treasure-hunter. But he does seem to have sent a good part of his archaeological collection away in the Abbas, and that must still be lying on the riverbed. We thought it might make a good IMU project.’
Costas turned to Jack. ‘What do you think? Sounds like another case of the Beatrice, digging up a nineteenth-century wreck to find ancient antiquities.’
Jack pursed his lips. ‘It’d have to be a pretty big prize for me to go diving at a site guarded by a Sudanese warlord and his private army who might be hankering after reliving the murder of a British officer on the site a hundred and thirty years ago.’
Aysha nodded. ‘I think you’d have to get them on your side.’
Costas turned to Hiebermeyer. ‘Would that project come under the aegis of this new guy? Excavation of the steamer would put that period of history into the limelight, with the added attraction of ancient artefacts. Who knows what kind of things Gordon might have collected.’
Hiebermeyer looked uncertain. ‘I’m keeping my distance. I haven’t told you about this man’s background. He’s not a career politician, but he’s from an immensely wealthy Sudanese family based in Egypt. His father’s side are originally from this part of the Nile in upper Sudan. They claim descent from the prophet Muhammad through his grandson Hassad.’
‘The same as the Mahdi?’ Jack said.
‘The man’s name is Hassid al’Ahmed. His family were boatbuilders, just like the Mahdi’s. He’s never openly claimed a connection, but my contact in the ministry says it’s an unspoken assumption.’
Costas whistled. ‘Now that is living history. Maybe he’s not just intent on celebrating the history of the Mahdi, but is also a jihadist himself.’
Hiebermeyer pursed his lips. ‘You have to ask that question of everyone you meet out here. But I don’t think it’s as straightforward as that. When Aysha and I gave our briefing on the Semna project for the ministry people in Khartoum, I noticed that he seemed completely uninterested and was texting most of the time until I mentioned my particular interest in Akhenaten, when he suddenly pocketed his iPhone and began furiously taking notes. I mentioned this to my ministry friend, and he said that both this man and his father had plagued the ministry with requests to excavate a number of sites up and down the Nile with evidence for ancient Egyptian occupation. They’d been rebuffed because the family had an ugly reputation for treating any project they’d been allowed to develop in the Sudan as their own private enterprise, using bribery to corrupt officials sent to police them. The ministry had been obliged to accept Hassid’s appointment with great reluctance after he’d made a cash donation of thirty million dollars to the Khartoum museum in return for the role. Officially he has nothing to do with ancient sites, but it’s no surprise that he’s managed to shoehorn himself into the inspection today. Ostensibly he’s here to look at the evidence we’ve found from 1884, but I’m sure what he’s really interested in is the pharaonic remains and anything else he might wheedle out of us about ancient Egyptian discoveries. Why he should have that special interest, I don’t yet know.’
He looked at his watch and stood up. Aysha went over to Costas and took the baby, now fast asleep, and sat down again. Hiebermeyer turned to Jack and Costas. ‘I promised to show you how I know that two soldiers died up here that day in 1884. And how that’s led to a fabulous ancient discovery. It’s the reason why you’re here. Aysha, we’ll be back in half an hour. Let’s go.’
11
Hiebermeyer led Jack and Costas from the shrine over about two hundred metres of bare rock towards the beginning of a large gully that opened out into the desert to the east. They dropped a few metres below the level of the surrounding rock and walked towards an off-white tent some fifty metres into the gully, at the end of a dirt track from the main road where several of the expedition vehicles were parked. The tent was the size of a small marquee, with a pitched roof and guy ropes pegged out and anchored against the wind. Hiebermeyer opened the door flap and ushered them inside, where the air was noticeably warmer. ‘It’s something of a greenhouse in here during the day, but it’s the price we pay for keeping the dust out of the excavation,’ he said. They followed him over to a square trench about three metres across and two metres deep, with measuring rods along the sides and a plastic sheet laid over the bottom.
Costas squatted close to the edge of the trench, being careful not to let the loose dust and stone crumble inside. ‘This looks like a crime scene investigation,’ he said. ‘An ancient burial?’
Hiebermeyer nodded. ‘During our preliminary recce Aysha spotted two low piles of rocks about two metres long, evidently man-made. As you’ve seen, the plateau is largely exposed rock – gneiss and granite with some sandstone – and this gully is one of the few collecting places near the river for wind-borne dust and sand, the only place with stable sediment deep enough for a burial. But the two burials we found under the stones weren’t ancient. Beneath that tarpaulin are the semi-mummified remains of two British soldiers.’
Jack stared, his mind reeling. ‘Are they from the Gordon relief expedition?’
‘The khaki uniforms are correct. They have the shoulder badges of the South Staffordshire Regiment, one of the units with the river column. And one of them has a letter from a woman in Dublin in his front tunic pocket, dated early October 1884.’
‘So this is why you think a second soldier was killed in the sangar.’
‘We’ve left the bodies in situ, but did a full forensic analysis. They were clearly both buried at the same time and with some care, undoubtedly by their comrades. One was killed by a single gunshot wound to the upper chest, and probably died immediately. The other, the one with the letter, was hit twice, once in the lower leg and once through both thighs, severing the artery in his right thigh. He probably bled to death in agony.’
Costas stood up and backed away. ‘I don’t want to see.’