From Fitzroy’s Private Diary (Extract 176)

I can’t recall the last time I was so bloody infuriated. It’s just the kind of thing my father would have done. Bloody uptight lot. If only I could get my hands on them…

I’m trying to breathe and calm myself down. It’s too damn hot to get angry, and most of them are likely dead, or octogenarians. Even I would feel bad having a go at a man in a bath chair.

At least I left Euphemia back in Cairo. Poor girl’s not been feeling quite right. Normally she has an iron constitution, but she’s been distinctly queasy the last couple of days. I thought it best she didn’t come with us, that being myself and the chap I found who has a jeep. He actually thought he was going to be the one to drive it, but there was no way I was going to give up the opportunity of driving across the sands. It was enormous fun, and I only rolled us over once. If I’d brought Euphemia, I wouldn’t have been able to let rip in the same way. Still, when I was roaring along underneath the bright full moon, it was rather special. Wished she’d been there to witness it.

I offered to stay with her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Personally, she wasn’t too bothered about a jaunt out to the temple of Karnak. I’m not saying that she isn’t interested in history, but she’s a touch more focused on the war right now. Not being a linguist, she doesn’t have the same compunction that I do to make use of a rare opportunity to see ancient hieroglyphs.

It’s quite marvellous. Giant statues, pillars reaching up to the heavens, built with a sound knowledge of mathematics, but no machinery! I can see why people worshipped here. It’s nothing short of awe inspiring – and my awe is seldom inspired. What I wouldn’t give to step back in time for half an hour or so to see the original inhabitants doing their thing. Wouldn’t be able to stay much longer, of course – no brandy in ancient Egypt.

But I was angered to find that the bloody Victorians defaced, or snapped off, anything that their prudish little minds found offensive. I mean, it’s a bloody hot country and it’s little wonder the ancient Egyptians wore so little. That and the phallic symbology, which was so instrumental to their religious beliefs. Even so, the sheer nerve of vandalising such an important historical site just makes my blood boil.

Still, I really must put down my diary and get back to Euphemia. I hate been worried about her. To be fair, she rarely gives me cause, but with this sickness of hers, I can’t help myself. Poor thing, it’s at its worst in the mornings.

I’m beginning to think that we should cut short this trip. Egypt clearly doesn’t agree with Euphemia, and the Cairo spymaster turned out to be an utter washout. A  fantasist who never gets his hands dirty. Euphemia doesn’t mind him, but he irks me in a way that I can’t quite put my finger on. I don’t know, how can a man like that get by with such a massive ego? I simply can’t begin to comprehend it.