The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (42 page)

"I do know a bit about this site, sir—enough, perhaps, to save you some time and trouble. I would like very much to join your staff."

"Now?" Emerson took his pipe from his mouth. "Naturally I would be glad to have you, but I don't think Reisner would forgive me for leaving him short-handed."

Geoffrey sat up and clasped his arms round his bent knees. "He would not only forgive you, sir, he would be forever in your debt if you allowed someone to replace me—someone whose qualifications are far greater than mine." He added, with a boyish grin, "He's not as scrupulous as you, Professor. Admit it, Ramses, Reisner has tried several times to persuade you to work with him."

Emerson's eyes flashed. "I suspected as much! Grrr! Curse it, excavators are all alike, not a moral among the lot of them. Ramses, is this true?"

"Yes, sir. I believe I mentioned last year, after my season with him at Samaria, that he had offered me a position on his Giza staff. He made no secret of it."

"Nor should he," I said, seeing Emerson's face redden. "You have always said, my dear, that Ramses is free to take any position he likes."

"Well, yes, but..." said Emerson. "Hmph."

"I have no interest in working for anyone else, sir," said Ramses.

"It's true that your talents are wasted here," Emerson muttered. "We're not likely to find much in the way of inscriptional material. Those Fourth Dynasty mastabas at Giza ..."

Geoffrey looked from his crestfallen face to the expressionless countenance of Ramses. "I didn't mean to cause trouble," he said earnestly. "My decision has already been made. Leaving Mr. Reisner may be professionally wrong, but other considerations far outweigh that. Do you suppose, sir, that I am unaware of the dangers you face—I, who was present on the occasion Mrs. Emerson was attacked by an unknown gunman? I may not be of much use, but my place at a time of peril is at the side of my wife."

He reached for Nefret's hand and held it to his cheek.

"Hmmm," said Emerson. "So you told him, Nefret?"

"She didn't have to tell me," Geoffrey said indignantly. "Even if I were not familiar with your past history, I could not be fool enough to miss the signs. There have been too many suspicious accidents. Poor Maude's death was another such. I don't know what lies behind all this, and if you choose not to inform me I will not ask. All I ask is the privilege of helping you to the best of my poor abilities."

"A handsome offer," said Ramses. "I don't see how we can refuse."

So intense was the emotional atmosphere that when David cleared his throat, we all started and stared at him. He hardly ever spoke when we were all together; everyone else talked louder and faster than he did and his gentle nature prevented him from the rudeness of interrupting. Now he said quietly,

"I agree. The least we can do is tell Geoffrey what does lie behind this. Or have you already informed him about the forgeries, Nefret?"

"No. I thought... There hasn't been time."

Ramses, seated cross-legged on the rug, shifted position slightly. Nefret glanced at him and then looked away.

"You thought to spare me embarrassment," David said, with an affectionate smile. "That was good of you, dear, but it was not necessary."

I had told him most of the story that morning. He now repeated it to Geoffrey, who listened with astonishment writ large across his ingenuous countenance.

"But then," he stuttered. "Then—that explains the attacks on you. This person fears exposure. He will kill to prevent it!"

"It doesn't explain a damned thing," said Emerson. "Or, to be more accurate, it doesn't solve our problem. We've made no progress finding the swine. He could be anyone; he could be anywhere."

"Anywhere around Cairo," I corrected. "Unless the actual violence has been perpetrated by hired thugs, in which case, I agree, he might be elsewhere. If we can capture one of the villains next time he attacks us—"

David raised his hand. "Excuse me, Aunt Amelia. I know that waiting to be attacked is your preferred method of catching criminals, but I would rather try something less dangerous. You have been so tender of my feelings and my reputation that you've overlooked the step we must take next. Indeed, it is the only one a man of honor could consider."

"What do you mean?" I asked apprehensively. When men start talking about honor, there is sure to be trouble.

"I intend to write to every dealer who handled the forgeries, informing them that my grandfather had no collection of antiquities and that the individual who sold them the objects was an impostor. You can supply me with a list, I presume?"

For a time the only sounds that broke the silence were the hiss of windblown sand and the droning of flies. Ramses was—of course—the first to speak. "I have a list. It is not complete."

"It's a start," David said. "The word will spread. This may or may not lead to information that will help us identify the man we want, but that is not the important thing."

Emerson's pipe had gone out. Slowly and deliberately he removed it from his mouth, tapped out the ashes, and put it in his pocket. Then he rose and offered David his hand.

"I am," he remarked, "a damned idiot. It just goes to show that one should never allow sentiment to interfere with common sense. Shake hands, my boy, and accept my apologies."

"Not at all, sir. It was my fault, for getting married and distracting everyone."

He was laughing as he looked up at the impressive form towering over him. What a handsome, upstanding lad he was! Marriage had given him additional confidence and maturity; I fancied (for I have my moments of sentiment) that his grandfather must have looked like David when he had been the same age, long before I met him. Abdullah had been a fine-looking man till the day of his death. He had been so proud of David. He would have been even prouder if he had heard him that day.

In the villages the separation of the sexes which rouses the indignation of foreign visitors is not so strictly enforced. Separate harems or women's quarters are only found in the villas of the well-to-do, and only a wealthy man can afford to keep a woman who contributes nothing to the maintenance of the household. Such a woman is purely ornamental, a sign of his success. (I should not have to point out certain uncomfortable parallels with our own society; but in case the Reader be too obtuse or blinded by prejudice to see them, I will remind him or her of the upperclass ladies of England, who do little but dress richly and drive out in their carriages to pay calls on other richly dressed ladies.)

Egyptian women of the fellahin class work hard, and are, in my opinion, all the better for it. In many ways their position is invidious, but they have some rights Englishwomen still lack. Their property is their own and in the case of divorce or the death of their husband they are entitled by law to a portion of his estate. Older women who have outlived several husbands are said to be among the wealthiest citizens of the country, lending money at usurious rates (and undoubtedly enjoying their power).

But I digress. The village of Atiyah, where our men and their families lived, was a model of its kind. Not only was it unusually clean, but it boasted a number of amenities not often found in such small places. Abdullah and his kin had commanded (and deserved) high wages, and I daresay their long acquaintance with us had modified some of their views of the world. Egypt was changing, slowly and not always for the better, but the younger men like Selim were far more open to new ideas than their fathers had been.

It had been almost five years since Abdullah left us, but whenever I went to the village my eyes automatically looked for the tall dignified form that had once been the first to greet us. Now it was Selim, his father's son and successor, who advanced to welcome our party. The village was draped with banners and bunting, and the noise was deafening—dogs barking, drums beating, children shouting, and rising over it all the shrill ululating cries of the women. A guard of honor escorted us to Selim's house, where a feast was to precede the fantasia.

Rugs and cushions covered the floor of the principal reception room, and we were invited to take our places upon them. I made a point of sitting next to Geoffrey, for I assumed he would appreciate a few tactful hints as to how to behave. To be sure, Egyptologists were less narrow-minded than other non-Egyptians, but few of them mingled socially with their workers, and some had never tasted Egyptian food.

Ignorant persons picture Egyptians as crouching round a platter of food and stuffing it into their mouths with both hands. In fact, the procedure is quite elegant and refined in its own way. After we had seated ourselves round the large copper tray that served as a table, servants poured water over our hands, into a basin with a pierced cover, and we dried them on the serviette (footah) that had been supplied. In a low, reverent voice Selim intoned the blessing—Bismillahi—in the name of God—inviting us to partake. Round flat loaves of bread are used as plates and as utensils, a piece being torn off, doubled, and used to scoop up bits of food. It takes some practice to do this neatly, but then, so does the use of a knife and fork! Knives were not necessary; the food was in the form of yakhnee, stewed meat with onions, or other edibles that could be daintily picked up with the thumb and the first and second fingers. One uses only the right hand, of course; when a roasted fowl must be dismembered it is sometimes necessary for two persons to cooperate, each using only the right hand.

I will not describe the dishes in detail; they included several of my favorites, including a large dish of bamiyeh, which is the pod of the hibiscus lightly cooked and sprinkled with lime juice. As platter followed heaping platter and the temperature rose higher, Geoffrey's pale face grew flushed and finally he fell back against the cushions with a subdued groan.

"I don't want to let the side down, Mrs. Emerson," he whispered. "But I don't think I can go on much longer. I've never eaten so much in my life!"

"You have done nobly/' I assured him. "Just nibble."

We were all uncomfortably replete by the time we removed from the house to the village square, where the fantasia was to take place. Chairs had been placed for us (I saw Geoffrey brighten visibly when he realized he no longer had to kneel) and colored lanterns hung round the perimeter of the space.

The principal forms of entertainment at these celebrations are music and dancing. Egyptians are very fond of music; it is a tradition that goes back to ancient times. Modern Egyptian singing sounds strange to Western ears at first. I now found it very beautiful when it was well performed, as I expected would be the case that evening.

The drummers tuned their instruments—pottery jars of various sizes covered with animal skins drawn tight across the wide mouths—and began a soft beat. It was wonderful to watch the movements of their long fingers and supple wrists; even more wonderful to hear the variety of tone and volume their skill evoked. The beat quickened and grew louder, and other instruments joined in—pipes and flutes, lutes and dulcimers, and a kemengeh, an odd-looking stringed instrument which is played with a bow, like a viola.

The piece de resistance was a performance by the most famous singer of the region, who had graciously consented to come out of retirement for this occasion. He was no longer young; but when he cupped his hand round his mouth and let his voice out, the tone was so beautiful the other musicians fell silent, so that not even the soft tap of a drum interrupted the golden notes.

Tumblers and jugglers, dancing by men and by women— though not together—a famed storyteller—it went on and on, for this was a celebration not only of a marriage but of the formalization of a relationship between two groups of people who were now united legally as well as by the bonds of affection. I would have said something to this effect had not Emerson warned me in advance that if I attempted to make a speech he would stop me by one means or another. He made a speech instead, in his most flowery Arabic, acknowledging both young couples and quoting several verses of poetry, which were not as vulgar as I had feared they would be. The speech was very well received, especially the poetry.

The evening ended with fireworks—purchased, as Selim proudly explained, at great expense. As we drove away, the spattering of firecrackers and the farewells of our friends faded into silence. The ride home in the open carriages was long but very beautiful, for the stars shone like jewels and the night breeze cooled faces flushed with pleasure and excitement. Emerson wrapped me tenderly in a shawl. If he had hoped to do more he was deterred by the presence of Ramses, who explained, with incontrovertible logic, that the other carriage would have been too crowded with five.