Children Of The Storm Part 10

The door opened to admit Nefret. He started guiltily, s.n.a.t.c.hed a towel and fled, mumbling apologies for being so long. Had he really been lolling in the bath running over the list of his . . . conquests, some might call them? In his own defense he could truthfully claim that a good many of them had been one-sided and unconsummated. Except for Enid and Layla and one or two others . . . three or four others . . . No. It was a ridiculous theory, and he wouldn't think about it again.

THE SUNSET CALLS OF THE muezzins died into silence and the skies darkened as they drove along the path to the Castle. Selim arrived a few moments later, while they were getting out of the carriages. He made a das.h.i.+ng figure in his flowing robes, astride his favorite stallion; in the crimson glow of the torches that lit the courtyard he was a picture of pure romance, and he obviously knew it. Evelyn exclaimed in admiration, and Lia applauded. Selim grinned complacently.

"Well-timed, Selim," Ramses said.

Selim swung himself out of the saddle and handed the reins to one of Cyrus's stablemen. "I should have come earlier or later. Someone shot at me."

Exclamations of alarm and concern arose, especially from the newcomers. Having got the sensation he desired, Selim put on an air of manly indifference. "I am not hurt. It did not touch me."

"Those d.a.m.ned-fool hunters, I presume," said Emerson, unimpressed. "They go out at twilight to shoot jackals. There are more of them than there were in the old days, Walter, and some of them shouldn't be trusted with a weapon."

"Dear me," said his brother in alarm. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Dangerous, no. Annoying, yes. Just don't go for a quiet stroll at twilight near the Valley or the Ramesseum."

"Come on in, folks," Cyrus called from the doorway of the house. "Welcome! It's great to have you back."

While Cyrus was shaking hands all round, Selim beckoned Ramses aside.

"One does not wish to frighten the women," he began in a low voice.

"Frighten my mother?"

"The Sitt Hakim fears neither man nor beast nor demon of the night," said Selim, adapting one of Daoud's sayings about Emerson. "But someone should speak to the police about the hunters, Ramses. They are becoming careless."

He held out his arms, stretching the fabric of his outer garment. The light was poor, but Ramses knew what to look for. There were several holes. When Selim lowered his arms, the fabric fell into graceful folds, and the rents overlapped. One bullet. But it had pa.s.sed dangerously close to Selim's side.

"I'll have a word with Father," Ramses promised. "And you be more careful."

The gathering was informal; in deference to Emerson's well-known dislike of evening kit, Cyrus wore one of his elegant white linen suits. Bertie was looking more and more like one of the minor poets, with a scarf draped round his neck and, on this occasion, a blue velvet coat and a pensive expression.

The pleasure with which Cyrus had greeted them soon pa.s.sed, however, and his long face relapsed into lines like those of a mournful hound. As Ramses had expected, his mother didn't allow that state of affairs to continue.

"Now, Cyrus, it is high time you got a proper perspective on this business," she said, briskly b.u.t.tering a roll. "It is not really that important."

"Not important!" Cyrus cried in anguished tones. "But I-"

"There are literally hundreds of objects in the collection, Cyrus, including other bracelets and several pectorals. After a single visit M. Lacau cannot claim to remember every one of them. It would be his word against ours."

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that for a moment the preposterous suggestion almost made sense. Emerson stared at his wife. "Good Gad, Peabody, you can't be serious. That would be . . . Hmmm."

"It would be extremely difficult as well as thoroughly unethical," Ramses said, alarmed by the look of dawning speculation on his father's face. "We would have to alter all the records-there are dozens of references to those pieces, all methodically cross-indexed. Your reputation would be seriously damaged, Cyrus, if we were caught trying to play a trick like that. As it is, you have preserved for Egypt and the world a spectacular find, giving unstintingly of your energy and your wealth. Not even Lacau can hold you accountable for the venality of an employee. That sort of thing happens all the time." He added, "Mother was making one of her little jokes. Weren't you, Mother?"

She met his accusatory look with a bland smile. "A little joke is never out of place. You have put the case very nicely, my dear."

"Do you think Lacau will see it that way?" Cyrus asked, looking a little less tragic.

"If he does not," said Emerson, "I will point out a few embarra.s.sing incidents involving the Service des Antiquites. Good Gad, their own storage magazines have been robbed, and as for the Museum-"

"Yes, Father, we know what you think of the Museum," Nefret said.

Emerson was not to be repressed. "Our mummy," he growled. "The one we found in Tetisheri's tomb. They lost it, you know. Lost it!"

"We do know, Emerson," said his wife. "You have presented an excellent argument, and I feel sure it will make an impression upon M. Lacau. Anyhow . . ." She paused to nibble daintily on a slice of tomato. "Anyhow, he won't be back for several weeks. Something may yet turn up!"

After dinner they went upstairs to view the collection. It took Cyrus several minutes to open the door; there were two new locks, one of them a padlock heavy enough to have anch.o.r.ed a small boat. Meeting Ramses's quizzical eye, Cyrus smiled sheepishly.

"Locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen, I reckon."

"Not at all, sir. Martinelli had the key to the other lock. One must presume he still has it."

"Wherever the son of a . . . gun is."

"How many other people have been let in?"

"Not as many as wanted in," Cyrus replied, tugging at his goatee. "You know what it's like when you've found something unusual. For a while I was getting requests from every tourist who arrived in Luxor, all claiming to be old friends of mine or friends of my old friends, or of some important person. I turned most of 'em down. There were a few I couldn't refuse, though-those that had letters of introduction from Lacau, and colleagues like Howard Carter . . . Say. You aren't suggesting that one of them had a hand in the theft?"

"I don't see how," Ramses admitted.

A question from Lia called Cyrus away, leaving Ramses to wonder what had prompted him to ask about visitors. Even if one of them had yielded to temptation, he (or she) wouldn't have found it easy to pocket an object under Cyrus's very nose, and the timing made Martinelli's guilt certain. Yet the limited extent of the theft was more in line with an attack of kleptomania than the work of a professional thief who had had access to the entire collection and plenty of time in which to operate. A good many of the smaller items could be safely transported, including the rest of the jewelry, and they wouldn't take up much s.p.a.ce if properly packed.

But if a lucky amateur had been responsible, then what had become of the Italian?

Cyrus expanded with pride as the newcomers exclaimed over the dazzling exhibition. Perhaps David was the only one who fully appreciated the effort that had gone into preserving the pieces. He had helped with the clearance of Tetisheri's tomb and been actively involved in restoring many of the artifacts. Walter inspected the other objects appreciatively but casually before gravitating to the inlaid coffins.

"The standard inscriptions," he said to Ramses. "No papyri except the Books of the Dead?"

"No, sir, but there's plenty of inscribed material from the village itself-ostraca and sc.r.a.ps of papyrus. A few weeks ago we came across an astonis.h.i.+ng cache of papyri-it might almost have been someone's private library, thrown into a pit and covered over by a descendant who wasn't a reader. There appear to be parts of a medical book and several literary texts, among other things. I've been trying to find the time to work on them, but . . ."

His uncle's thin face broke into a smile. "I understand. Well, my boy, perhaps I can lend a hand. A medical text, you say?"

Emerson, whose hearing was annoyingly acute when one hoped he wasn't listening, strode up to them. "Never mind the cursed texts, they will keep. I need you both on the dig. Unless you have forgotten everything I taught you about excavation technique, Walter."

"It's been a long time" was the mild response.

"You'll soon pick it up again," Emerson declared.

Before they left, Emerson had settled everything to his own satisfaction. "Everybody at Deir el Medina tomorrow morning, eh?" He didn't wait for answers.

I TRY TO AVOID CONTRADICTING Emerson's dogmatic p.r.o.nouncements in public. It is ill-mannered, and although a good brisk argument never bothers me-or, to do him justice, Emerson-it upsets some members of the family. However, I had no intention of allowing him to brush aside the needs and interests of his staff so dictatorially. I had not realized, until I overheard the conversation between Walter and Ramses about the ma.s.ses of ostraca we had found, how badly Ramses wanted to get at those texts. Like his uncle, he was primarily interested in the ancient language and its literature. The eager note in his voice, the brightness of his eyes were those of an excited boy. Those eyes were somewhat sunken, however; he must have been sitting up half the night, every night, over the ostraca, after putting in a long day at the site. That could not be good for his health-or, come to think of it, his marriage. The instincts of a mother informed me that I had failed him. I ought to have stood up to his father. Emerson takes a good deal of standing up to.

I would have to stand up for Walter, too. And for Cyrus. In a few weeks the majority of the objects from the tomb would be removed to the Museum. Heaven alone knew how they would survive the transport and the handling they would receive in Cairo. Now was the time to make copies, and the opportunity to avail ourselves of the skills of two trained artists was not to be missed.

I did not doubt that Emerson had also decided to ignore other, more serious, matters. M. Lacau had not questioned Martinelli's antecedents when Cyrus hired the latter, but now that he had turned out to be a cunning thief, Lacau might well inquire why we had employed a restorer who was unknown to the Department of Antiquities. Sethos might turn up at any minute, in some guise or other, to make a nuisance of himself. Then there was that strange encounter of Ramses's. I had formulated a little theory about it, which I meant to investigate when I found the time.

I raised several of these issues with Emerson after we had retired to our room that night. One after the other he pooh-poohed them. One after the other I demolished his arguments. We ended up nose to nose, shouting at each other. Emerson shouted because he had lost his temper, whereas I raised my voice only because I had to do so in order to be heard.

"So how do you explain the veiled lady?" I demanded.

"I don't see why the devil I should have to!"

"Are you indifferent to a threat to your son's life?"

I had known that would fetch him. The angry color faded from his face. "Peabody," he said in plaintive tones, "from what I have been able to gather about that encounter, she did not threaten Ramses with anything except-er-um. It may have been meant as a joke."

"Joke? Really, Emerson!"

"The word was ill-chosen," Emerson admitted, fingering the cleft in his chin. "d.a.m.nation, Peabody, you know what I mean. Sethos suggested it the other evening. Some lunatic female has taken a fancy to the boy. Egypt is full of people like that," Emerson went on sweepingly. "Believers in mystical religions, reincarnation, the wisdom of the ancients, and that sort of rot. We've run into a number of them over the years."

There had been a number of them, including Madame Berengeria, who claimed to have been wedded to Emerson in not one but several past lives, and poor confused Miss Murgatroyd, a theosophist and believer in reincarnation. (I should add, in justice to my s.e.x, that the delusion was not limited to females.) If Emerson was correct, the woman need not have been anyone with whom we were previously acquainted.

"Admit it, Peabody, that is the most logical explanation," Emerson went on. "It is unlikely that she would follow us to Luxor, and Ramses is even more unlikely to fall into a similar trap. I will watch over the boy, as I always do. Why the devil won't you let me get on with my work?"

"But you do agree that the others are ent.i.tled to get on with the work that interests them? Walter is a philologist, not an excavator; Ramses is itching to get at those ostraca. Evelyn and David-"

"Can draw every b.l.o.o.d.y artifact in Cyrus's collection, if that is what you want. I don't know why I bother arguing with you," Emerson muttered. He began removing his garments and tossing them round the room. "You always win."

"My dear, with us it is not a question of winning or losing." I sat down at my dressing table, took the pins from my hair and shook it out. "We are always of one mind, are we not? I am, as you have so often told me, the other half of yourself-the voice of your own conscience and sense of fair play."

Emerson came up behind me and gathered my loosened hair into his hands. "The better half of myself is what you mean. Well, my love, you may be right. You have not yet won me over completely, but if you care to try another sort of persuasion . . ."

I was more than happy to do so. Emerson's fits of temper are particularly becoming to him.

I had it all worked out, so when we met for breakfast I explained their duties to the persons concerned. The presence of all four of the children and both of the cats was somewhat distracting, but I persevered. "Cyrus awaits you at the Castle, Evelyn," I said, returning to Davy the boiled egg he had handed me. "He would like you to begin, I believe, with the ornamentation on the robe. I trust that is agreeable to you? Good. I-that is, we-Emerson and I-offered him David's services for several hours each afternoon, subject, of course, to David's approval . . . ? Good. Walter, you will want to have a look at the site, but it would be inadvisable for you to put in a full day until after you have become reacclimated. Is that not so? Yes. If you feel up to it, you may work on the inscribed material after luncheon. Ramses will show you how far he has got, won't you, my boy? Yes. Lia, dear, the Great Cat of Re only scratches when he is cornered. Evvie appears to have cornered him. Perhaps you had better . . . Thank you.

"I believe," I continued, as the children's parents and Fatima pulled them out from under various pieces of furniture and attempted to sc.r.a.pe them off, "that except on special occasions the children might take breakfast by themselves from now on. We are going to be late."

This was a little hard on Dolly, whose manners were impeccable. However, I felt sure he would prefer to be with the others.

If I may say so, we made a handsome party as we set out on horseback. The animals, progeny of a pair of fine Arabians given to Ramses and David some years back, were splendid beasts. Ramses bestrode his great stallion with easy grace, and Nefret was no less at home in the saddle. Walter kept up better than I had expected; when I commended him he informed me that he had been in the habit of riding each day to prepare himself for the trip.

"But," he added somewhat wistfully, "the years have taken their toll, Amelia dear. It has been a long time since I had the skill of those two lads."

I did not contradict him, though, in fact, he had never been up to the standards of the boys. They rode like Arabs, a much more graceful method in my opinion than our stiff English style.

As we went through the narrow opening that led into the valley from the north, past the walls of the Ptolemaic temple, the sun lifted over the heights of the eastern hill. Even in the clear light of morning the narrow valley had a gloomy air about it, or so it had always seemed to me. Isolated and remote, walled in by rocky slopes and steeps, it was a monotony of grayish buff, with no ripple of water or verdant plant anywhere. It was also a silent place. The voices of visitors echoed like an intrusion.

I reminded myself that it would not have seemed that way to the ancient inhabitants, when the houses were intact and the streets were crowded with people bustling about on various errands, their voices raised in cheery greetings-and, people being what they are, acrimonious arguments. Though crowded close together, the dwellings were comfortable enough for their time; the basic plan consisted of several rooms, including reception room and kitchen, with sometimes a cellar for storage. Windows were limited, but the flat roof served as an airy retreat. There are few village sites in Egypt, and we were fortunate to have the firman for this one. To Emerson's everlasting credit, he had tackled the job with his usual energy and dedication; but I knew that in his heart he yearned for temples and tombs. Candidly, so did I. If his explosive temper had not led to a falling-out with M. Maspero . . .

But no, I told myself, again giving Emerson his due; it was not entirely his fault. Most of the interesting sites in Thebes had been allocated to other expeditions, and Lord Carnarvon was unlikely to give up his firman for the Valley of the Kings. He was a gracious gentleman, but my hints had had not the slightest effect on him.

It immediately became apparent that Emerson had paid no attention whatever to my little lecture the previous evening. Instead of allowing the others time for their own activities, he had determined to set a second crew to work in another area outside the village itself. I bit my lip with vexation as he outlined his intentions and issued his orders. Walter, looking a trifle bewildered, went off with Selim to continue excavating along the village street. Emerson led the rest of us toward the temple, lecturing all the while.

The Ptolemaic temple was surrounded by an enclosure wall of mud brick. This common, convenient building material is remarkably resistant to the destructive forces of time and nature; in some places the walls had survived to a height of almost twenty feet. They enclosed not only the later temple, which was fairly well-preserved, but the tumbled ruins of earlier shrines that had been built by the villagers for their devotions. The remains of other such structures lay outside the walls, to the north and west. Some of our incompetent predecessors had dug pits in that area, finding nice little votive stelae and other objects. It was Emerson's intention to clear the entire area methodically and completely. It presented a challenge even to Emerson's powers.

"What a mess," Lia murmured, her eyes moving over the ground.

"Precisely," said Emerson. He rolled up his sleeves. "We'll take it in meter-square sections, starting . . . here. Ramses and David, help me get the markers placed."

During the weeks when we had been removing the artifacts from the tomb we had been swamped with visitors hoping for a glimpse of the treasure. The effrontery of certain people never ceases to amaze me; some had offered bribes to our men, while others had actually forced their way past our guards and tried to s.n.a.t.c.h off the coverings that protected the more fragile objects. Emerson had dealt with them in his usual forthright manner. Now that there was nothing to see except a group of grubby people digging, the flood had slowed. However, some tourists came that way, since the temple was mentioned in Baedeker. I did not suppose they would cause us much trouble; the tumble of stones held little attraction and the dragomen who led the parties knew better than to get in Emerson's way.

Nevertheless, I deemed it advisable to keep an eye on them, so I was the first to see a somewhat unusual group. There were four of them, in addition to several donkey boys and a dragoman. One of the women leaned heavily on the latter individual. Her shoulders were stooped, and the wisps of hair that had escaped from the mantilla-like veil over her head were pure white. Supporting her on the other side was another female, who appeared to be some years younger, though not in her first youth. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and her face was lined. She helped the older lady to a seat on a fallen stone and began fanning her.

But it was the other two members of the party who caught my attention. They were not a pair one easily forgot. Emerson had seen them too. He straightened and stared.

The boy who had introduced himself as Justin Fitzroyce caught sight of us. Crying out in recognition, he came toward me, scrambling nimbly over the uneven ground and followed closely by his black-a-vised protector.

"It is my friends the Emersons," the lad exclaimed. "Are you archaeologists? What are you doing? Where is the pretty lady?"

Emerson had opened his mouth. Now he closed it and looked helplessly at me. It was impossible to be curt with the young chap, whose bright face shone with ingenuous goodwill.

"Good morning, Mr. Justin," I said. "So you are still in Luxor."

"Yes, we like it here. I have seen all the tombs in the Valley of the Kings and several of the temples. But there is still a great deal to see." Seeing Nefret coming toward us, he exclaimed, "There she is. I remember her name-another Mrs. Emerson. There are two Mrs. Emersons."

"Three, in fact," Nefret said pleasantly. "You haven't met the other one. Did you and Francois come here alone?"

His attendant's scowling face was like a thundercloud hovering over the boy's sunny countenance. "I can take care of the young master," he growled.

"But we did not come alone." Justin turned and gestured at the two women. "That is my grandmother. Her health has improved greatly since we came. But this is her first excursion and she must be careful not to tire herself."

"Who is the other lady?" I asked.

"She is not a lady," Justin said carelessly. "She is Miss Underhill."

"Your grandmother's companion?"

Justin nodded, dismissing the non-lady. "I will tell them to go back to the hotel. I will stay with you."

"Let me speak to your grandmother," I said, antic.i.p.ating Emerson's protest. Surely the old lady would forbid such a scheme.

She remained seated, her shoulders bowed and her head bent as I introduced myself and Nefret. At first there was no response. Then she said, in a voice cracked with age, "My name is Fitzroyce. You will forgive me, I hope, if I say good-bye instead of good morning. It has been most interesting, but at my age even the smallest exertion leaves one exhausted."

"Of course," I said. "Can we a.s.sist you in any way?"

"Thank you, no." She pressed a handkerchief to her lips.

"I help the lady," the dragoman volunteered.

I knew the fellow; he was one of the more dependable of the Luxor guides. Mrs. Fitzroyce seemed to have all the attendants she needed, though her companion had retreated a few steps into the shadow of a column, and had adopted the humble pose of a dependent. She wore the garments suitable for that role, drab and shabby and ill-fitting. Cast-offs of her mistress? I wondered. No self-respecting woman would have purchased a hat like hers; it was an aged straw with faded ribbons that tied under her chin. The spotted veil had several rents in it.

"I am staying here," Justin announced. "I want to see the temple of Hathor and help my friends dig."

I began, "I am afraid-"

An unexpected cackle of laughter from the old lady interrupted me. "You don't want him getting in your way, Mrs. Emerson? You heard the lady, Justin. Come with me."