The Seventh Scroll: A Novel of Ancient Egypt (Novels of Ancient Egypt)
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For 4,000 years, the lavish crypt of the Pharaoh Mamose has never been found...until the Seventh Scroll, a cryptic message written by he slave Taita, gives beautiful Egyptologist Royan Al Simma a tantalizing clue to its location.
But this is a treasure cache others would kill to possess. Only one step ahead of assassins, Royan runs for her life and into the arms of the only man she can trust, Sir Nicholas Quenton-Harper--a daring man who will stake his fortune and his life to join her hunt for the king's tomb. Together, they will embark on a breathtaking journey to the most exotic locale on earth, where the greatest mystery of ancient Egypt, a chilling danger and an explosive passion are waiting.
Steeped in ancient mystery, drama and action, The Seventh Scroll is a masterpiece from Wilbur Smith, a storyteller at the height of his powers.
‘The Russian was good. I am glad I don’t have to fight him again,’ Mek admitted, and stood up. ‘We can reach the monastery before dark, if we start now.’ Mai Metemma, the newly elected abbot of St Frumentius, met them on the terrace of the monastery overlooking the river. He was only a little younger than Jali Hora had been, tall and with a dignified silver head, and today he was wearing the blue crown in honour of such a distinguished guest as Mek Nimmur. After the visitors had bathed and
within half a mile of him.’ ‘I say, steady on,’ Geoffrey protested, looking pleased with the reference that Nicholas had given him. ‘Please don’t believe a word the man says, Dr Al Simma. Notorious prevaricator.’ Geoffrey drew Nicholas aside and quickly gave him a résumé of conditions in the country, particularly in the outlying areas. ‘HE is a little worried. He doesn’t like the idea of you swanning around out there on your own. Lots of nasty men down there in the Gojam. I told him that you
to make petition to the saint, or to seek from him a cure for their disease and suffering. There were blind children weeping in their mothers’ arms, and lepers with the flesh rotting and falling from their bones, and still others in the coma of sleeping sickness or some other terrible tropical affliction. Their whines and moans of agony blended with the chanting of the monks, and with the distant clamour of the Nile as it cascaded into the cauldron. They came at last to the entrance to the
Nicholas was so strong,’ Tessay panted, for the stairs were steep and the pace was hard. ‘I didn’t either,’ Royan admitted. She experienced a ridiculous proprietary pride in his feat, and smiled at herself in the darkness as they approached the camp. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she admonished herself. ‘He isn’t yours to boast about.’ Nicholas threw his burden down on Boris’s own bed in the thatched hut and stood back panting heavily, the sweat trickling down his cheeks. ‘That’s a pretty good recipe for
gorge seemed deserted and devoid of all human presence. Then there was another stealthy movement out there. ‘The rearguard,’ Boris grunted softly. ‘Mek is keeping the woman at the rear. His new plaything. He is taking great care of her.’ He slipped the safety-catch on the rifle gently, making certain that no alien metallic sound fell on the heated and hushed air. ‘Now let them come,’ he breathed. ‘I will take Mek first. Nothing fancy, no head shots. Squarely in the centre of the chest. The