Werewolves on the Nile

Rebecca felt a thrill run through her as she used a fine brush to softly sweep the sand away from the desert surface she was kneeling on, to uncover the dark colour of an object she recognised as made of obsidian.

It was by no means the first artefact she had uncovered on an archaeological dig, but it was the first time she had been on a placement in the ruins of an Egyptian temple. She loved the thrill of finding things, but knew that it was not the most spectacular discoveries which improved knowledge of the past, but often the most mundane. But in such surroundings, she had to admit she had been daydreaming of finding some magnificent piece of sculpture, or some relic of the far past fascinating for its own sake.

In order not to become too excited, and so spoil the necessary delicacy with which such things should be unearthed, she took a deep breath, laid down her soft-haired brush, and stood up, brushing the fine sand from her voluminous khaki shorts with her hands, and gazing out through her round glasses and under the rim of her pith helmet at the lone and level sands stretching far around.

But they weren’t really so lonely. There was an army of diggers stretching around her. In the low foundations of the buildings which had been identified as a temple complex, there were archaeology students, graduates, doctors and professors busy concerned with the small square yards on which they sat, knelt or lay. It seemed to stretch out for square miles. She had never been on a dig of this size, with this many people working on it before.

She had worked on archaeological digs on and off during her holidays ever since she had started studying archaeology as a part time degree as a mature student at a local college some years ago, treating them as working holidays. They were an opportunity to travel, something she loved. But when she went travelling on her own, she always ended up sitting on her own at tables outside cafes in beautiful cities, watching other people having fun in the world going by. She had never been very good at making new friends. Rather quiet and introverted, she enjoyed the experience of throwing herself into the digs, among like minded people – or at least people with whom she enjoyed one interest at least – with whom she could at least enjoy a conversation about the work in hand. So, here she was, alongside a remote stretch of the Nile, on a dig in a newly discovered temple complex dating back to the earliest dynasties of the Pharoahs.

There had been a stir throughout the camp yesterday caused by the recent discovery of a passage cut into a nearby rock outcrop, which might have been the entrance to a tomb. She could see it from where she stood, a dark doorway into the earth, the height of two tall men. It was like an entrance to another world. There was a sudden change from the bright light of the midday desert sun to a seemingly impossible complete darkness, which promised a cool refuge from the overhead sun.

She could do with some coolness! The sweat was dripping off her ample body wherever it could, and staining her clothes where it could not. She wore loose clothing in an attempt to conceal her too ample curves, sometimes hoping to look like an adventuring heroine from an old film, but knew that that was a hopeless cause. Especially in this heat, where she could feel the cloth of her shirt, damp with sweat, clinging to and highlighting the folds of her body.

There were carvings around the opening. Rebecca had seen them up close earlier, before going to her allocated spot, arriving long before her shift had started in the dark early morning, trying to be there before anyone else arrived. But seemingly everyone at the dig had had the same idea, and she had to jostle with a crowd which was as eager to see them as her, so she had ended up looking at them from a bit of a distance. But the carvings were large and well preserved, so she could easily make them out. There were hieroglyphics, which weren’t her strong point, and large carved figures. The figures of Egyptian gods. Those human bodied, animal-headed gods so distinctive and particular to the Egyptian religion. Men and women combined with the heads of crocodiles, lions, cats, jackals, hawks - and the puzzle of what the head of Seth, the God of the Underworld was supposed to be a representation of. Perhaps some sort of dog? An animal which didn’t actually exist? No one knew for sure. If it ever had represented a real animal, it had changed beyond recognition over the years- no, millennia – he had been worshipped. Rebecca wondered just where this tradition had come from. She personally liked the idea that it was the head of a dog. Or some other sort of canine. She liked dogs.

Only a couple of people had been inside the doorway so far, and that was simply to quickly check the basic situation inside. Too many ancient interiors of tombs and buildings had been spoiled by bad practices in the past, with wall paintings fading and cracking quickly when the heat, light and moisture of the outside world (and the breath and moisture and heat of the archaeologists themselves) were introduced to them suddenly after millennia of being undisturbed. Here, preparations were being made so that it could be entered and cared for properly, with climate controlling air conditioning being set up and connected to generators which were being brought the half mile from the small town of tents which formed the base camp for the diggers.

It was a lot of impressive, expensive equipment, with a small regiment of engineers working quickly and efficiently to set it up. Rebecca had never seen anything like this on any other digs she had been on.

But this dig was being funded by Baunis Industries.

The Baunis conglomerate was a giant, multinational monster of a company with great twisting tentacles writhing their way into any money making field that could be thought of, from computers to medical research. Constantly in trouble with the authorities, constantly in the courts for sailing close to the wind on all sorts of matters, it was run by Hest Baunis - a man who was also tireless in philanthropic works, funding university places (sometimes entire departments), along with assisting public hospitals and helping businesses and charities in poor areas of cites and countryside around the world. Despite this, he wasn’t the household name that one might have expected. Rebecca knew he had a reputation for being jealous of his privacy, and had the money to buy that privacy. He also a reputation for being a difficult man to work with. Rebecca had met him, once, despite his seemingly almost obsessive desire for privacy. Well, not so much met - more she had seen him and exchanged a few words with him. He probably hadn’t even noticed her.

It had been two years before, at the college. He had funded a new wing for the College’s History and Archaeology department, and he had arranged a flying visit (quite literally - he dropped in on his private helicopter whilst he was luckily passing) at just the right time for Rebecca to meet him. Rebecca had been one of hundreds there, in a group of archaeology students paraded before the benefactor. She remembered him clearly. No - not clearly. It was an incredibly powerful memory, but strangely also rather blurry. She remembered him coming into the room like a force of nature - tall, bulky with a powerful walk, and a rangy gait. Wearing clothes which were – well, gorgeous. They were stylish, and he wore them wonderfully. And looked great. But they also seemed curiously old fashioned, if she remembered rightly. But so much of her memory of that occasion was a blur, that she couldn’t be sure that she did remember rightly.

He had obviously been in full ‘meet and greet’ mode, pulling everyone nearby into the orbit of his personality, laughing and grinning and smiling and handshaking and ...and all of it genuine. Enthusiasm like that was impossible in a normal man. But even so it was genuine. She... knew. There was no deceit about these full, flowing reactions and emotions, displayed so physically in his expression and manner. He was like that with everyone, happily bounding from one person to the next with equal enthusiasm, so Rebecca was under no illusions that he would remember any details of her life, what she thought of the course, whether she was happy in her job and flat, and all the other things she remembered pouring out to him at his quick, eager questioning - but she had been absolutely mesmerised by him. She put that down as the reason why things were a bit of a blur. She couldn’t remember the finer details of the conversation, but she remembered his eyes. And his voice. Those eyes staring into her whilst that voice went on....

The other strange thing which made her doubt her memory was the behaviour of his entourage. About five or six people, all in the same style of fantastic clothes as Baunis, rangy and loping along behind and ahead of him, all round the room, looking at the exhibits, grabbing food off the table, and even seemingly jostling, snapping and bickering with each other for explosive seconds when colliding over a a plate of food or one of the prettier members of staff. Whilst everybody in the room simply accepted this behaviour and went on staring at Hest Baunis. It seemed so bizarre, remembering it, that she thought it just couldn’t be true. She must have drunk too much wine. Her memory always played tricks on her when she did that. Anyway, Hest Baunis’s attention had immediately left Rebecca like a tap being turned off as he moved on to his next victim, and Rebecca was left staring at his very well shaped backside.

Another reason she remembered the evening was that things had started to look up for her just after that. She had obtained a small but not inconsiderable pay rise after a small but not inconsiderable promotion in her job - one she really had not hoped of getting, thinking she was underqualified and didn’t have the ability. She had been searching for a new flat, and was contacted by a realtor with the offer of the perfect thing she was looking for at a price she couldn’t believe. Even her car was going fine at last, with the last service from the garage leaving it running better than it had in years, for much less than they had usually charged. Everything seemed to be coming together.

When a letter came through, telling of this dig in Egypt, saying it was possible for her to apply for a bursary to go there, she jumped at the chance to apply, and was so happy when she heard she had got the placement – by return of post, strangely. The contract to be signed was strange as well. Allowing for the company to take full possession of whatever was found under the instruction of the College, whilst binding everyone to complete secrecy about what was found.

It had been explained this was protection against robbers, as the site bordered on a neighbouring country where there was a real possibility of civil war breaking out. Presumably some behind the scenes dealing was being made with the Board for Egyptian Antiquities to allow Baunis Industries to take possession of the objects found. They were rightfully watchful over any digs and artefacts.

Rebecca wiped her brow. She glanced across the rope marking off her area from the one to her next left. The inhabitant of it was Muriel Phelps. She was a pretty, slim undergraduate student, who was presently crouching on the ground herself, using a trowel to scrape away tiny amounts of sand from the base of a low brick wall jutting out of the from the surface of the desert. The two of them didn’t really get on together. Rebecca didn’t mind the fact she had legs which seemed to go on for ever, and a figure which was slim but with curves in the right places – that wasn’t her fault. She didn’t mind that she flirted with the professors to get ahead – women had to work twice as hard as men to stand still anyway, so anything to get a fair playing field was fine by her. She did mind, however, that she often flirted by taking on a slightly giggling, simpering persona which was nothing like the ambitious, rather curt and efficient woman that Rebecca knew her to be. She felt that that was letting the side down somewhat. As she watched, Muriel suddenly laid down her trowel, leaned back on her haunches, and sat down with a bump on the sand. She wiped her hand over her brow, blowing through her cheeks, and looked around, with a concerned look on her face.

“Is everything alright?” Rebecca called out to her. They might not be friends, but they maintained a professional relationship, and Rebecca’s basic nature meant she could do nothing other than be genuinely concerned.

“What?” said Muriel, a little distantly. Then “Oh... yes, yes, thanks. I just suddenly felt a little dizzy. As if I couldn’t think straight. Probably this damn sun.” She sat there, apparently resting a little.

‘Ok’, thought Rebecca, ‘she seems ok. Back to the dig.’ She kneeled back down on the sand, and carefully set to work brushing the sand away from whatever it was she had found.

The head of an animal. Short, pointed ears, carving representing fur and the unmistakable muzzle of a dog.

Before long, she had uncovered a statuette. About eight inches tall , with body of a man and the head of a handsome dog- or perhaps wolf. It was startlingly lifelike – ironic, for something that didn’t actually exist in real life. Perhaps it was because she had been concentrating so much for so long that she felt her mind somehow becoming less sharp, a little -foggy, and she was a little disturbed by the statuette. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being stared at by those piercing eyes.

Later that day, back at the camp, she had taken the statuette to the large sorting tent, where Professor Halfpenny stood at one of the long tables, writing notes into a book as he looked into the multitude of boxes resting on them, filled with the objects which had been uncovered from the dig.

“Could you have a look at this, Professor?” she asked.

“Hm?” said the professor sharply, looking up with an expression on his face seemingly displaying a disinterest bordering on irritation.

“I uncovered it in the antechamber of Temple Building D4. I’ve no idea what it represents.”

The professor frowned and took the statuette off her wordlessly, staring at it for a little while. Rebecca saw the expression on his face subtly change. Almost pleased. But never have seen him look pleased before, she had no way of being sure.

“Wepwawet!” he murmured, seemingly to himself.

“I beg your pardon?” she responded.

“Wepwawet.” he said again, looking up at her.

Rebecca wasn’t sure what to say.

“That’s a type of dance, isn’t it?” she eventually proffered.

“No, you’re probably thinking of the Watusi. Wepwawet was one of the gods of Ancient Egypt. One of the oldest on record, actually. He had a wolf’s head. He was a hunter, and a warrior. He was side by side with the pharoah on his hunts. But it seems he was much more. He became as associated with the afterlife and reincarnation as some of the more famous gods- Osiris or Seth. He was as much the opener of the way to the afterlife as they were. He was there at mummification, he assisted in the reincarnation into the next life.”

Rebecca looked thoughtfully at the statuette she had found beneath the sands of the desert outside earlier, in the ruins of an outer building around the entrance to a rock-cut tomb.

“He seems to have a rather... erm..., noticeable... or rather prominent....”

“Erect phallus? Yes, a common feature. Actually there were slave girls kept at his temple for the purpose of servicing him.”

“Goodness. Nice job if you could get it,” murmured Rebecca to herself.

“Hardly a job if you were a slave,” said the professor, absent-mindedly. “Mind you, we often use the word ‘slave’ to cover a whole range of social situations which were very different from each other. Throughout history, what we might call slavery has actually referred to positions which people would look up to. Not if you were working down a salt mine, or on a plantation of course. But you could be what we might call a slave and also be a Greek scholar working as a teacher. Some people voluntarily sold themselves into slavery as gladiators for fame and fortune. It depended on the life you had as an alternative, I would think. But those slaves of Wetwatwep were probably relatively well looked after and looked up to. They may well have been far better off than in any other situation available to them. And serving their God too. In whatever form. I’ve a feeling the Pharoah, or the priests, may have been the ones to actually enjoy their services. But the slaves may have looked on it as their duty, something they were pleased to do. It may have been a situation many would have leapt at. Mind you, being ravished by some hairy wolf god might not sound that attractive.”

Rebecca studiously said nothing, fiddling with the collar of her shirt and staring at the floor.

The Professor now gazed thoughtfully at the statuette. “He’s not the commonest of gods, but he runs through the religion as deeply as any other. It’s quite a find, Rebecca. Congratulations.”

After he handed the statuette back to her, she should have put it in the appropriate box on the tables along with written documentation for sorting. She was about to do this, when something made her pause. She looked around, to see Professor Halfpenny back in his own world, staring deep into a box and scribbling notes, seemingly no longer aware of her existence. She held the statuette inside the loose outer shirt she had on, and walked briskly off, towards her tent.

Back in her tent, later on in the evening, she wondered why she had done that. She didn’t even feel she had made a decision to do take it – she had simply... well, done it.

She lay on her camp bed, and put the statuette on the small orange box besides it which served as a bedside table. She didn’t need to hide it. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to visit her in her tent.

It was getting late, so she stripped down to her underwear and lay on the uncomfortable camp bed, the metal struts digging into the sides of her body, which spread out to be too wide for the bed when she lay down. She was exhausted though, and turned off the electric lantern to go to sleep.

She lay gazing at the statuette, which she could just make out in the light of the moon coming in through the open tent flaps.

It was a remarkable piece. Much more realistic than she was used to seeing in Egyptian carving. She knew that the art of ancient Egypt went through changes in the long ages it persisted, sometimes being more realistic, sometimes less so, but this statuette was outstandingly and strikingly realistic even so. In the dim light of the tent, she couldn’t help feeling again that those eyes were looking at her, searching into her soul. Judging her? No, not judging. Measuring her. Valuing her. And it was quite nice to be valued for once, she thought. She would have felt unsettled by the thought of being watched by this statuette, even nervous, had it not been for the fact she also felt watched over by it.

“Hopefully you might bring me sweet dreams and a good night’s sleep. Good night, my little God...” she murmured, as her mind began to cloud over.