The Golden One (57 page)

‘What do you hope to find?’ Emerson went on. ‘The tomb is empty. Ayrton, who was here in 1905, found only a few scraps. The paintings . . . oh, good Gad!’

He whirled round and ran towards the workmen. A stentorian bellow stopped diggers and basket men, and as the cloud of dust subsided, Emerson vanished into the dark opening of the tomb. He was
out again in ten seconds, waving his fists. ‘Someone has been hacking at the walls. There was a painting of the prince offering to Khonsu – ’

‘Defaced or missing?’ Ramses asked.

‘Missing. Completely cut out, leaving a great hole. Probably in pieces. Curse it!’

‘We didn’t do it,’ Sebastian hastened to say. ‘We haven’t touched the paintings.’

‘You aren’t doing them any good,’ Emerson retorted furiously. ‘All that dust and debris floating about . . . My patience is at an end. Stop work at once.’

‘What are you going to do, carry us out of here bodily?’ Mr Albion inquired. ‘There’s nothing to stop us from coming back.’

‘Your workmen won’t come back. I am about to put a curse on the place. They won’t dare go near it after that, and neither will any of the other men on the West Bank.’

‘You better listen, Joe,’ Cyrus advised. ‘The Professor’s curses are famous around here.’

‘That so?’ Mr Albion’s eyes narrowed until they virtually disappeared. Then they resumed their normal appearance and a smile fattened his cheeks. ‘Well, I guess we know
how to give in gracefully, eh, Sebastian? It’s a shame about those fellows, they really need the work.’

That aspect of the matter had not occurred to Emerson. It did not affect his decision, but I could see he was moved by it. He stood for a moment in thought, fingering the cleft in his chin.
‘It’s a new tomb you’re after, I presume? That’s what every dilettante wants. There are one or two areas I’ve been meaning to explore for some time. Very promising
sites.’

Mrs Albion had been stroking the Great Cat of Re, who politely permitted the liberty. (I had hoped it would hiss or scratch.) She looked up at Emerson. ‘Where are these sites,
Professor?’

We delayed long enough to see the men begin to dismantle the comfortable little tent, and Mrs Albion lifted, armchair and all, onto the shoulders of the servants. She was extremely gracious,
though not to me; she thanked Emerson for his advice, spared a frosty smile for Jumana, and shook a playful finger at Ramses when he rose and settled the Great Cat of Re more securely onto his
shoulder. ‘You really ought to select a more appropriate name for that charming creature, Mr Emerson. The name of a lovely Egyptian goddess, perhaps? Hathor or Isis.’

‘I fear that would not be appropriate, ma’am,’ Ramses replied. ‘The cat is not of the female sex – uh – gender.’

‘I may have been mistaken about Mrs Albion,’ I admitted, as we walked away. ‘Cats are generally good judges of character. Playfulness does not become her, however. What on
earth were you thinking of, Emerson, proposing other sites for them? You have no right to do anything of the sort.’

‘Good Gad, Peabody, I expected you would approve of my mild methods.’ Striding along, hands in his pockets, Emerson glanced at me in feigned surprise. ‘I am familiar with men
of Albion’s character; if I had not offered them alternatives, they would simply have moved to some other forbidden area. I can’t put curses on every site on the West Bank.’

‘But the southwest wadis? The Valley of the Queens?’

‘The entrance to the Valley of the Queens,’ Emerson corrected. ‘There’s nothing of interest there. If they mount an expedition to the southwest wadis I will be surprised;
it’s too far and too uncomfortable. Besides, you heard my condition. They will hire Soleiman Hassan as their reis. I will make sure he reports to me the instant they find anything –
which is, in my opinion, unlikely. Why are you looking so glum, Vandergelt?’

‘I kinda hoped for more fireworks,’ Cyrus admitted. ‘Don’t count on Joe doing what you told him, Emerson. He holds a grudge against people who try to order him
around.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson.

‘They were very polite,’ Jumana murmured.

‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully.

We collected Sennia and the picnic basket – and a reluctant but dogged Gargery – and went on to Deir el Medina, where we were forced to listen to another lecture, this one from
Daoud. Selim had regaled him and a select audience with an edited version of our recent adventures, and Daoud was vibrating with indignation.

We had to apologize for leaving him behind and promise never to do it again.

‘So Daoud knows all about it,’ Cyrus remarked. His voice was mild but his expression was severe. The same look of reproach marked Bertie’s features.

‘You promised me, ma’am,’ he began.

‘My dear boy, you must not take it personally. We don’t plan these things, you know; most of them just – well, they just happen.’

‘This one didn’t,’ Cyrus said. ‘You were in the war zone, I got that much from what Daoud said. Do you have less confidence in us than you do in him?’

‘My sentiments exactly, ma’am,’ said Bertie.

‘Of course not,’ I said heartily. ‘We will tell you all about it this evening; how’s that?’

‘Precisely what are we going to tell them?’ demanded Emerson, after he had succeeded in drawing me aside.

I had had a little chat with Selim before we left Cairo. I knew Ramses had told him part of the story, and I felt fairly certain he had worked the rest of it out. He had known Sir Edward
Washington; he had known a great deal about Sethos; he had been present on several occasions when we had discussed matters that would enable a clever man, which Selim was, to put the pieces
together. So I took him into my confidence, holding nothing back. If any man deserved that confidence, it was he.

‘Ah,’ said Selim, unsurprised. ‘I knew when I saw him clean-shaven that he must be a kinsman of the Father of Curses. They are very much alike. We do not speak of this to
others, Sitt?’

‘Except for Ramses and Nefret, you are the only one who knows. We do not speak of it, even to Vandergelt Effendi.’

His face brightened with gratified pride. ‘You can trust me, Sitt Hakim.’

‘I am sure I can. But now we must work out what we are to tell the others, including Daoud.’

I repeated the conversation to Emerson, adding, ‘You may be sure Selim produced a thrilling narrative without giving anything important away. Anyhow, I am tired of all this confounded
secrecy. The more tightlipped and mysterious we are, the more suspicious people will be. A partial truth will put them off the track far better than silence.’

‘You may be right,’ Emerson agreed. ‘I will leave it to you, then, my dear. What have you done with my field notes?’

I found his notebook in the pile of papers he had brought, and set about erecting my little shelter.

‘I must say it looks rather pitiful compared with the Albions’s arrangement,’ I remarked to Nefret, who was helping me.

Nefret chuckled. ‘Did you ever see anything more ridiculous than Mrs Albion in her armchair being hoisted aloft by those two poor fellows? God help either of them if he stumbles and spills
her out. Mr Albion would probably have him beheaded.’

‘What did you think of their excessive courtesy to Jumana? That young man is not still under the impression that he can – er – win her over, surely.’

‘Surely not,’ Nefret said. ‘They were only trying to ingratiate themselves with us, Mother. And they succeeded. I’m like Cyrus; I was rather hoping Father would blow them
to bits and perform one of his famous curses.’

‘Oh, were you?’ said Emerson, appearing upon the scene. ‘I cannot imagine why everyone in this family is under the false impression that I am a violent and unreasonable man.
Bring the camera, Nefret; we are about to start on a new section.’

‘May I have a moment of your time, Father?’ Ramses asked.

‘What the devil is Bertie doing up there?’

‘Continuing his survey, I suppose. May I – ’

‘Certainly, my boy, certainly. Something about that new section?’

‘No, sir. Something about the Albions. I would be happy to assist in whatever you’re planning, if you care to let me in on it.’

Emerson’s eyes shifted warily from side to side, around, and behind. ‘Promise you won’t tell your mother?’

‘I’ll try not to. But you know how she – ’

‘Yes, yes, I do know. But this time, by Gad, I think I’m one step ahead of her. Come over here where she can’t hear us.’

His mother was two hundred feet away but Ramses let his father draw him aside. ‘Well, sir?’

Emerson took out his pipe. ‘It struck me as somewhat strange that the Albions would select that particular part of the valley. There is no more reason to expect a big find there than
anywhere else. Unless they had a hint from someone.’

He lit a match and puffed. ‘A hint such as the fragment of wall painting?’ Ramses asked. ‘Khonsu. He is a god and he has human hands.’

‘As do many other gods,’ Emerson said. ‘But the Albions, for all Sebastian’s book learning, haven’t much experience, and at the moment they are at a loss as to
where to look.’

‘For Jamil’s tomb?’

‘I see the idea does not surprise you. What made you think of it?’

‘I don’t like the Albions,’ Ramses said. ‘Any of them.’

‘I am glad to see you are beginning to trust your instincts,’ his father said approvingly.

‘As Mother would say – ’ Emerson’s scowl made him abandon that thought. ‘I don’t like their behaviour towards Jumana,’ Ramses elaborated. ‘Their
attitude towards Egyptians is characteristic of their class and nationality – bigoted and prejudiced, in other words. After his initial blunder Sebastian has leaned over backward to be polite
to her. Nefret thinks it is because they hope to ingratiate themselves with us, but there could be another reason.’

His father nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Let’s go at it from another direction. Jamil was getting financial support from someone. We assumed it was Yusuf, but there were those interesting items of European manufacture
among his supplies. The Albions asked you to introduce them to a few tomb robbers. I don’t believe it was a joke. They had been asking around Gurneh, and Albion mentioned that
“Mohammed” had put them on to someone. What if that someone was Jamil?’

‘Mohassib’s first name is Mohammed,’ Emerson said.

‘It might have been Mohassib, or Mohammed Hassan – or any one of several other Mohammeds. Those two are the most likely, however. Both had spoken with Jamil, both were afraid of him.
What better way of conciliating him than to introduce him to a wealthy patron? Then Jamil was inconsiderate enough to get himself killed before he disclosed the location of the tomb. The Albions
believe there’s a chance he confided in Jumana. An outside chance, but that’s what they have been reduced to.’

‘And Jamil promised that in exchange for their support he would sell them the objects from the tomb once he’d cleared it. My thought exactly.’

‘If I know Albion, he’d insist on more than promises,’ Ramses said.

‘Oh, well done,’ Emerson said approvingly. ‘Yes, he’d want proof of the find, and – a little something on account? Something as fine as the cosmetic jar?’

‘Possibly. It’s all conjecture, and we can’t . . . Father, no!’

‘Can’t do what?’ said Emerson, fumbling with his pipe. He was too late; his face had betrayed him.

‘Search their rooms. Don’t deny it, Father, that is what you were thinking.’

‘You thought of it, too, or you wouldn’t have been so quick to read my mind.’

The accusation was accurate, the grin conspiratorial, but Ramses tried to look stern. ‘That sort of thing is more in Mother’s line.’

‘We can’t have her doing something like that,’ Emerson said. ‘It’s against the law.’

Ramses couldn’t resist the grin. He began to laugh. ‘It’s a tempting thought, but not really practical. Even if we found illegal antiquities, we couldn’t confiscate them
or prove where they came from. Jamil may have dropped enticing hints to the Albions, but they don’t seem to know any more than we do.’

His father’s abstracted expression told him he hadn’t got the point across. ‘This is all conjecture,’ he insisted. ‘Logical and consistent, but without
substantiating evidence. We can’t even be certain that Jamil told the Albions about the hand of the god. It may have been pure coincidence that they chose to dig in that spot.’

‘Well, we will soon find out.’

‘Ah. Those alternate sites you suggested?’

‘Mmmm.’ Emerson sucked on his pipe. ‘None of them has any connection with a divine representation. If the Albions are solely interested in excavation – ’

‘Ramses!’ His mother’s voice had considerable carrying power. Emerson twitched guiltily and Ramses turned. She was on her feet, waving some object at him. It appeared to be a
large piece of pottery – an ostracon.

Ramses waved back. ‘We may as well stop for lunch,’ he said. ‘Sennia has told me twice already that she’s faint with hunger.’

‘Where is she?’ Emerson turned, scanning the terrain.

‘Probably in the shelter, investigating the basket, which would explain why the Great Cat of Re has also abandoned us. I must speak to her about overfeeding the creature, it’s
getting absolutely obese.’

‘He,’ Emerson corrected.

Sennia, and the cat, were where he expected. The others joined them in time to save most of the chicken. Ramses’s lecture was not as forceful as he had intended it to be; the hurt looks he
got from two pairs of eyes, one pair big and black, the other pair round and clear-green as peridots, had a softening effect. Apologetically he offered the cat a piece of chicken.

Sennia had collected a few ostraca too, but the one his mother had found was outstanding – larger than most, the hieratic clearly preserved. He was touched to see how her face brightened
when he expressed his appreciation.

‘Was this in the fill?’ he asked, holding it carefully by the edges. ‘I’m surprised that any of our fellows would overlook something so large.’