Introduction

Known for her “delightful blend of historical fiction and suspense” (People), New York Times bestselling author Marie Benedict, returns with a sweeping tale of a young woman who unearths the truth about a forgotten Pharaoh--rewriting both of their legacies forever.

In the 1920s, archeologist Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon of Highclere Castle made headlines around the world with the discovery of the treasure-filled tomb of the boy Pharaoh Tutankhamun. But behind it all stood Lady Evelyn Herbert?daughter of Lord Carnarvon?whose daring spirit and relentless curiosity made the momentous find possible.

Nearly 3,000 years earlier, another woman defied the expectations of her time: Hatshepsut, Egypt’s lost pharaoh. Her reign was bold, visionary?and nearly erased from history.

When Evelyn becomes obsessed with finding Hatshepsut’s secret tomb, she risks everything to uncover the truth about her reign and keep valued artifacts in Egypt, their rightful home. But as danger closes in and political tensions rise, she must make an impossible choice: protect her father’s legacy?or forge her own.

Propelled by high adventure and deadly intrigue, Daughter of Egypt is the story of two ambitious women who lived centuries apart. Both were forced to hide who they were during their lifetimes, yet ultimately changed history forever.

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Excerpt

I take the torch from him and wedge it into my tool belt. I lift the hem on either side of my skirt and tuck it into my belt as well. I want nothing to trip me up, nothing to stand in my way.

“Eve, what on earth are you doing with your skirt?” Mama calls down. Only my mother would be worried about propriety at a time like this. She’s lost the war to keep me from archeology, so she engages in skirmishes over small matters whenever the opportunity arises.

Ignoring her, I remove my hat, and put it on the ground next to the threshold. Then I descend the uneven steps, taking one at a time.

Four men crowd around the eight-foot-high stone rectangle that Howard and I have been calling a door, but is really more like a multi-ton barricade. They ready their levers and crowbars, but I put up a hand for them to pause. I want to study the door up close.

To the naked eye, the stone surface has no marking. But I want to be absolutely certain before they wrench it open, which could cause it to break or splinter. Running my hands along every inch of it, I feel nothing but the grooves and indentations of the stonemason’s tools from millennia ago.

“It’s clean!” I call up to Howard.

“You can go ahead then!” He calls back.

Stepping back a bit, I nod for them to proceed. The men insert their tools in the crevices around the door and try to prize it open with all their might. Sweat forms on their foreheads, and yet still, the stone does not budge.

The men pause, and one of them yells out in Arabic. In less than a minute, Ali scurries down the steps with a larger lever in his hand. We exchange smiles as he passes me, and I ruffle his hair.

The fellaheen push their levers harder. Sweat pours down their faces with the effort and darkens their tunics. Finally I see movement in the stone. They give it one enormous, concerted effort, and the door clatters to the side, intact.

“It’s open!” I practically scream.

“What do you see?” Howard shouts back.

The men move to the sides to allow me to proceed toward the opening. As they clamber up the steps behind me, I step toward the darkness of what can only be a chamber. I shine my torch into the interior, and I see nothing but undecorated walls and ceilings and a pile of rubble in one corner. No objects.

“It seems empty!” I yell.

“Empty?” My father’s voice drifts down from the surface.

“Hold steady, Eve. I’m coming,” Howard calls to me.

I know I should wait. I know Howard will be at my side within a minute or so. But I cannot stop myself. I rub the scarab in my pocket for luck — I’ve become as superstitious as my father — and step into the chamber.

The blackness envelopes me once I enter. It is as if the blinding Egyptian sun exists on an entirely separate plane than this space. Even the light from my torch illuminates only the tiniest of circles; the rest of its beam seems to be sucked away by the very air.

I feel rather than see Howard next to me. We are silent, allowing our torches to explore every inch of the walls. Once I scour the floor for signs of a single artifact — to no avail — I hunt for another entrance, perhaps to another, more plentifully-filled chamber. I assume Howard is searching for the same.

“Looks like it was plundered in antiquity,” he mutters. “Or abandoned for a more impressive tomb before anything of significance could be permanently entombed here.”

“How can you tell?” I ask.

He points to markings on the floor. “There you can see the indentations from furniture. The feet of chairs and tables. And if you follow them, you can see the marks where they were dragged toward the entrance.”

I am deflated. Beyond deflated. The entire season dedicated to this chamber — for nothing.

“No Hatshepsut here,” I whisper, mostly to myself.

“No Hatshepsut here,” Howard echoes me, his voice sounding every bit as dejected as I feel.

“Wait, one moment,” he says, following the beam of his torch. It has landed on a seam in

the wall opposite the opening.

We walk toward it, shining both our torches on the crack. I get down on my haunches, and Howard follows suit. My finger traces the seam, and I ask, “Is it too sinuous to be another door?”

“I’m afraid —”

Before he can finish, a crash sounds behind us. We turn, and our torches light upon an enormous pile of rock blocking the entryway. Racing toward it, we can just make out a glint of sunlight at the very top of the mass of rubble.

“The ceiling has collapsed near the entrance,” I cry out. Panic rises within me, and I struggle to control my voice and my breathing.

I’ve heard the stories of collapsed tunnels and tombs. Of archaeologists and fellaheen who never made it out alive. I'd never imagined that could be me.

As my thoughts spin around wildly, Howard places a finger on his lips. “Stay still and talk quietly. Loud noise or sudden movement could cause further instability.”

Placing his hand on my arm, he then turns to me, looks into my eye, and whispers, “Breathe.” Together, we take several deep inhales, until I feel myself calm. Somewhat.

We hear the voices of the fellaheen on the other side of the heap of rocks, just outside the entrance. I cannot make out what they are saying, but Howard approaches the rubble and speaks to them softly in Arabic.

“What's happening?"

“They are gathering equipment to dig us out,” he murmurs, trying to reassure me.

More stones cascade from the ceiling, forming another mound near the entrance. I feel frantic again, nearly desperate to claw my way out. I begin to remove the stones, one by one, but Howard stops me. “Let my men work on it from the outside. Eve, it will be alright.”

I've always trusted Howard, ever since I was girl. His soothing tone and words calm me, and my heartbeat slows. I feel the fright begin to subside.

But then I hear Papa’s voice, louder than I would have expected. He must have climbed down into the pit. “Eve, Howard! Are you quite alright?” He calls to us, his tone as panicked as I've ever heard it.

Very gingerly, Howard steps toward the rock pile. In a hushed voice, he says, “We are fine. We will just wait to be dug out.”

“Papa, be careful. The pit is very rocky,” I say. The last thing I want is for my father to suffer an injury trying to prevent our injuries.

“Don’t you worry about me, Eve,” Papa says, then adds more quietly, “Howard, you keep her safe.”

“I promise, Lord C,” Howard replies.

With his torch, Howard gestures toward the wall farthest from the rubble. “We should sit away from the debris. I don’t want any more to rain down on us. And it could be some time before the men dig a hole through the rubble.”

We settle side-by-side against the ancient wall, and I allow the stone to cool my skin. The chamber has become increasingly hot, and I worry what temperature it might reach by the time the fellaheen get to us. “Will we really be fine?” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

From the publisher - added by Pauline:

1. When Daughter of Egypt opens, the Great War—known to us now as World War I—has ended, and both England and Egypt are in a period of tremendous change. How much did you know about this time period in England and continental Europe? How familiar were you with the impact the Great War had on Egypt? Is this an era about which you needed to educate yourself?

2. Highclere Castle is famous as the real-life location of Downton Abbey. The castle and the family who own it, however, have a fascinating and important history. Had you heard of the Carnarvons, for whom Highclere Castle has been the seat since the 1600s? What, if anything, did you know about them and their realm?

3. For many people——their first introduction to ancient Egypt and its archaeology comes through the splendors found in the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankamun. Was this the case for you? Did you find the role of the esteemed Carnarvon family in unearthing this singular discovery—Lady Evelyn Herbert, in particular—surprising? Did their excavations and those of this time period differ from the way you envisioned them?

4. Egypt and its history are at the very core of the novel—not only ancient Egypt but also Egypt during this critical juncture. Did you have any specific reaction to the colonial nature of 1920s Egypt or the rise of the movement for independence?

1. Daughter of Egypt weaves together the story of Evelyn and her desire to uncover the tomb of the female pharaoh Hatshepsut with the story of Hatshepsut herself. Had you ever heard of Hatshepsut? Did the depiction of her in the novel shift any understanding you may have had about ancient Egypt? What legacy do you think Hatshepsut may have left behind?

6. Did you see any parallels between Evelyn and Hatshepsut, despite the fact that the worlds and times they inhabited were so very different? What similarities exist between their concerns and the issues faced by people of today?

7. How did you respond to the way in which Hatshepsut and Evelyn’s stories concluded in Daughter of Egypt? Were you satisfied with the path that Evelyn chose? How did you feel about the manner in which Hatshepsut’s reign—indeed, her life insofar as most people knew—ended? As you may know from the Author’s Note, the cause of Hatshepsut’s death and the reason for her erasure from monuments, sculpture, and even papyri throughout Egypt remains a mystery.

8. Woven throughout the novel is the question about who owns the past and its artifacts, and how it is remembered. Discuss this critical issue, one that is both historical and modern.

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