Read an Excerpt
The Lost Queen of England
By H. Elizabeth Owen
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 H. Elizabeth Owen
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-1793-5
Chapter One
The Valley of the Kings 2010
There wasn't so much as a whisper of a breeze to stir the scorched air in the valley. The creatures of the desert jumped and skittered across the sizzling griddle of sand, searching for some dark, cool respite from the sear. Biting flies congregated under every available awning and relentlessly punished those who sought to share their shade.
Dr. Fermoy came out from deep inside the tomb, winced at the glare of the sun, and immediately ducked under the shelter of a work tent. She fished a bottle of water out of the cooler and collapsed into a rickety camp chair. As she tied her long black hair up into a ponytail, she wondered how long she would have to wait for the arrival of the secretary general of Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities.
Her team was poised before an ancient wall, waiting to open a tomb that appeared to have escaped discovery for thirty-three centuries. And the wall that separated them from the main burial vault bore a pristine royal seal—an incredibly rare occurrence that had happened only once before in the valley. So, the secretary general had to be present to witness the removal of the stamped clay daub. Only after his authorization would her team finally be allowed to dismantle the brick barrier and open the tomb.
The tedious preliminary work had taken weeks. Basket after basket of rubble had been hauled out, and the stone floor in front of the plastered mud brick wall had been swept clean. Every protocol had to be observed so as to not taint the significance of the find or damage any ancient forensics they might need in the future.
She leaned back and closed her eyes, picturing the treasures that might be waiting for them on the other side of the wall. The sounds of the valley filled her senses as the work gangs busily hummed in a mélange of Arabic, German, French, and Italian. The drone of their voices combined with the rhythmic sounds of digging, scraping, tapping—creating the echo of an ancient song. It was old music that stirred the blood of every archaeologist who had ever dreamed of finding an unopened tomb, its secret chambers stuffed with golden treasures and royal mummies that had slumbered under the sands for thousands of years ... just waiting.
To distract herself from the valuable minutes that were ticking away, Dr. Fermoy gazed up at the Theban Peak that loomed over the valley. She idly wondered if the discovery of this pyramid-shaped mountain had been the impetus for the ancient kings to dig their lavish tombs in its shadow. It was grander than all the pyramids built by their ancestors. Had they perhaps believed that it had been fashioned by the gods themselves?
She checked her watch and groaned. Where can he be?
She reminded herself that it was he who had given her this chance of a lifetime. It was he who had granted her request to dig at this coveted site where radar scans had revealed a mysterious void beneath the sands.
Dr. Fermoy had first heard about the intriguing voids while doing field work in Amarna with the Egypt Exploration Society. Every dig site throughout Egypt had been abuzz with speculation. Had radar revealed the location of two possible tombs? One had already been explored and found to be a funerary cache, filled with embalming supplies and empty coffins.
But the other mysterious void remained uninvestigated. Everyone had agreed that whoever was lucky enough to be granted permission to conduct that dig would very soon discover the burial vault associated with the embalming cache. And, because the void was in such close proximity to Tut's famous tomb, speculation was high that it could be the burial chamber of one of the missing Amarnans—family members of King Tutankhamun.
Archaeologists the world over started vying for the concession. Whoever was chosen would be the envy of their peers.
And then ... fate dealt a card.
While on a dreamlike cruise up the Nile, Dr. Fermoy stumbled across a startling find in the desert plain of Amarna. She soon came to believe that she had been chosen by the ancients to tell the story of King Tutankhamun's lost queen. And she thought that Anomaly #2 just might be the little queen's tomb.
So, immediately upon her return from that fateful cruise, she had sought an interview with the secretary general of Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities (SCA), and that first meeting had gone better than she could have ever hoped. She had presented her evocative theories regarding Tut's lost queen, along with her impressive resume listing the many credentials she had worked so hard to accumulate over the past twelve years—and she had crossed her fingers. She was stunned when, less than two weeks later, the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities put its stamp of approval on her permits, granting her the concession that contained Anomaly #2.
Dr. Fermoy breathed deeply and smiled, remembering the first day she had come into the necropolis as the head of her own archeaological team. She had just stepped out of the jeep when a tiny cyclone of sparkling sand engulfed her. She had stood still, temporarily blinded by the swirl, and then she thought she could hear ancient whisperings. It was just another strange incident in a series of many, all of which had convinced her that she was following her destiny and that she was meant to be there.
The early stages of the the excavation had been thrilling for her. But, in reality, it was pretty tedious stuff: hauling, sifting, photographing, and cataloging tiny bits of history—all of it done in choking heat and dust. Her team had proceeded slowly and was painstakingly careful to make sure every step was correctly executed. Occasionally, they were rewarded with little pieces of an ancient puzzle, but nothing earth-shattering. And then, just two days ago, they had reached the brick wall that bore the royal seal.
Broiling in the stifling heat, she sipped from the bottle of already tepid water. Then—a movement in the distance. She squinted toward the entrance of the valley and watched as a shimmering black blob evolved into a car. "Here we go," she said aloud. And she suddenly had the odd sensation of feeling her life distill down to that moment. She unfolded herself from the canvas chair and walked over to greet the man who had given her this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
She hadn't particularly liked the secretary general at first. In his TV specials, he seemed like a promoter, a showman who sometimes embellished history with intrigue and mystery that didn't actually exist. She had thought him arrogant and self-serving with his Indiana Jones hat and movie-star smile. But slowly, she had come to realize that he simply had the heart of a storyteller. He was a dream-weaver. Over time, he had won her grudging respect for his tremendous dedication to preserving his country's ancient heritage. He waged a constant battle, every day, shamelessly trying to guilt the museums of the world into returning his country's plundered antiquities.
"After all, Dr. Fermoy," he had once said to her, "these are missing pieces of Egypt's history and they belong to her people—just like the Crown Jewels of England or the original copy of America's Declaration of Independence. I am committed to bringing our lost treasures home."
So, here he was ... at last.
"Finally!" she said, laughing, as the car door opened.
He stepped out and with his broad grin, clasped her hand in his. Both of them were excited—eager, but nervous. They believed they were on the brink of the greatest discovery in Egypt since Howard Carter peeked through the tiny breach in the wall of Tut's tomb. Of course, they were also keenly aware that this was the moment when all their hopes could be crushed—the tomb already plundered of its wonders—nothing left but broken and empty coffins, mutilated mummies and flood-damaged bits and pieces that were far beyond any hope of analysis or restoration.
The secretary general bowed slightly at the top of the short entrance shaft and swept his arm in front of him, inviting Dr. Fermoy to lead the way. As she climbed down the ladder into Egypt's past, she flashed back to the events that had led her to this moment.
She couldn't believe that it had been thirteen years.
She had changed so much that she was barely recognizable even to her own eyes. Egypt had become her home. That other life she once led seemed no more real to her now than a fairy tale. So long ago. So much time—time to rethink a decision that had changed her life forever.
If I could go back, would I?
Chapter Two
London, England 1980
It was utter chaos from the very beginning—the mad rush of publicity, the whirlwind of attention, the flashbulbs of instant celebrity. And it was all so terribly exciting, she had to admit. After all, she would someday be queen, and the world wanted to know everything about the shy young girl who had captured their prince. She was living the fairy tale for them.
After the wedding, surely things would settle down and return to normal. That was what they kept telling her—what they all hoped. Then, she would be just another member of the royal family—and she and her prince would live happily ever after.
Of course, that never happened. She became a national obsession—everyone loved the new princess. But alas, the prince loved someone else.
Then it all spiraled out of control.
Fifteen years after the magical wedding, Diana was out on her own—no more Her Royal Highness, no more Royal Protection Squad. She was stalked and hunted almost like an animal, and every tiny facet of her life was photographed, analyzed, and judged. Nothing, no matter how humiliating, was considered too private—embarassing phone calls, lost lovers, even her daily workout routine became fodder for the tabloids. She was always running and ducking her head ... trying to hide.
Her life became a circus.
She floundered. She seemed to falter.
But then, gradually, Diana gained a foothold in her new reality and started to change her image: that of a scorned, anorexic, muddle-headed ninny. She returned to the familiar arena of humanitarianism, and soon the positive headlines began to crowd out the bad. Her recent trip to Bosnia with the International Campaign to Ban Landmines focused global attention on the horrible injuries that the buried and forgotten mini-bombs caused, especially to innocent children at play. She had stirred the conscience of the world. And, even though she was sometimes accused of using her fame to further her causes, Diana didn't care. After all, she had paid the price for that privilege, hadn't she?
She had surived firestorms of scandal and controversy, and everything in her life had been turned upside-down. Now, with her two sons growing up, there would be even more drastic changes to come. William and Harry would soon be spending most of their time at school or with their father, learning the business of royalty—getting "Windsor-ized." Sadly, the care and feeding of the two heirs to the throne would no longer be her happy responsibility.
So. What to do with the extra time on her hands. She thought she might use it to right some wrongs, mend some fences, do more good works. And, after a few more years, perhaps she would try to make a private life for herself ... somehow.
But a tiny voice inside told her that she would never be able to escape it all.
Then she met Dodi. And the sudden development of a new and exciting relationship made her even more eager for a fresh start.
What did he say on the boat that day?
"How can I make you happy, Diana?"
"Oh, how about a totally new life, for starters?" she said flippantly.
"I can give you that. Just give me the chance," he said, as he gathered her hands into his.
She had no idea, at the time, that Dodi would indeed give her the opportunity to start a new life. And that it would happen all too soon.
Chapter Three
There had been so many chances for love—first, her lost prince, then the riding instructor, the rugby player, the art dealer, the bodyguard—so many heartbreaks. Diana had adored the doctor and had tried very hard to fit into his life; she had even studied Islam. But it hadn't been enough, in the end. Their cultural differences were too great, and his family had disapproved of her. It seemed that the only thing they really had in common was their mutual hatred of the irritating paparazzi and the insatiable curiosity of the public that fueled the fire.
Time, she kept telling herself, would heal the wounds.
So, when the first invitation came from Mohamed al-Fayed, inviting Diana and her boys for a holiday at his villa in St. Tropez, she accepted. She remembered that she had already met al-Fayed's son, Dodi, when his polo team had played and defeated Charles's team at Windsor Park. And she had found him sweet and interesting, at the time. So the prospect of a few days of fun and relaxation in the luxurious privacy of al-Fayed's world sounded like the perfect remedy for yet another failed love affair.
The maddening, persistant paparrazi intruded, of course, whenever they could find a chink in the tight security of the villa. But its opulent seclusion offered them almost complete privacy. It was only when they ventured out on the Jonikal, al-Fayed's magnificent new yacht, that they became exposed to the telephoto lenses. And, while certainly not condoning the outlandish behavior of the photographers, Diana thought she had finally learned how to exert a certain amount of control over them. She knew that they would be relentless until they captured some provocative pictures they could sell, so she staged a few photo opportunities.
The dashing "Egyptian playboy" and she were captured out on the deck of the fabulous yacht, basking in the sun, laughing and talking, face to face. Then, they were caught swimming together in the blue waters off the coast of St. Tropez—playing, teasing. Diana knew that the pictures would fly around the globe in an instant. Would they start a few rumors, stir things up a bit, cause a little jealousy in certain corners? Oh, she hoped so. There was nothing at all wrong with a little innocent flirting, was there?
But it wasn't long before Diana felt a real spark of attraction for Dodi. So, when he extended another invitation, she felt that old, familiar surge of excitement. Could this be the beginning of something—perhaps another chance for love?
They spent quite a lot of time together over the next six weeks, exploring likes and dislikes and hopes for the future. They shared their life histories and found much in common. Both were children of privilege who had grown up without their mothers. And, while neither had excelled in school, they had both done well in sports. They led similarly luxurious lifestyles, so Dodi was obviously no gold-digger who might end up writing a kiss-and-tell book to pay the rent. Unfortunately, Diana was all-too-well acquainted with that particularly vile form of betrayal.
She told him about the painful events of her childhood, chief among them the abandonment of her mother. Of course he already knew, as did everyone else on the planet, the sad tale of her life as the Princess of Wales and the crushing disappointments she had endured while married to England's heir to the throne.
Dodi told her about growing up without his own mother, his life as a playboy and as a Hollywood mogul. And then he told her all about "my Egypt." And he made it sound so exotic and romantic that, even though Diana had enjoyed a brief visit to Cairo during her princess years, now she wanted to go back—with him as her guide.
"I will take you there," he promised. "We will go to the pyramids and Abu Simbel, the Valley of the Kings, Karnak, and the haunting city of Akhetaten, where Nefertiti once lived."
At the mention of that ancient city, Diana remembered a book about Egypt that she had read as a girl and how it had made her feel as if she had lived there in another lifetime. She told Dodi the whole sad saga of Tutankhamun and his young queen and the tragedy of their ancient love story.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Lost Queen of England by H. Elizabeth Owen Copyright © 2011 by H. Elizabeth Owen. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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