Crocodile on the Sandbank (11 page)
Read Crocodile on the Sandbank Online
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: #Historical fiction, #Detective and mystery stories, #Mystery fiction, #Fiction, #General, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Historical, #Suspense, #Crime & mystery, #Political, #Women detectives - Egypt, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictious character), #Crime & Thriller, #Mummies, #Peabody, #Amelia (Fictitious character), #Egyptology, #Cairo (Egypt), #Mystery, #Detective, #Women detectives, #Emerson, #Radcliffe (Fictitious character), #Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, #Archaeologists' spouses, #Mystery & Detective - General, #Egypt, #Fiction - Mystery
Walter was a different man. The gentle boy had been supplanted by the
trained scholar. Briskly he gave orders for torches and
ropes. Then he turned to me.
"I have explored these places before. I don't recommend that you come
with me, unless you are fond of bats in your hair and a great deal of
dust."
"Lead on," I said, tying a rope in a neat half-bitch around my waist.
I had Walter thoroughly under control by then. He would not have argued
with me if I had proposed jumping off a pyramid.
I had been in a number of ancient tombs, but all had been cleared for
visitors. I was somewhat surprised to find that this one was almost as
clear, and far less difficult than Walter had feared. There was a good
deal of loose rubble underfoot, and at one point we had to cross a deep
pit, which had been dug to discourage tomb robbers. The villagers had
bridged it with a flimsy-looking plank. Other than that, the going was
not at all bad.
Walter too was struck by the relative tidiness. He threw a comment over
his shoulder.
"The place is too well cleared, Miss Peabody. I suspect it has been
robbed over and over again; we will find nothing of interest here."
The corridor ended, after a short distance, in a small chamber cut out
of the rock. In the center of the room stood a rough wooden coffin.
Lifting his torch, Walter looked into it.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said, misinterpreting my
expression. "The wrappings are still in
place; will you look?"
"Naturally," I said.
I had seen mummies before, of course, in museums. At first glance this
had nothing to distinguish it from any other mummy. The brown,
crumbling bandages had been wrapped in intricate patterns, rather like
weaving. The featureless head, the shape of the arms folded across the
breast, the stiff, extended limbs—yes, it was like the other mummies I
had seen, but I had never seen them in their natural habitat, so to
speak. In the musty, airless chamber, lighted only by dimly flaring
torches, the motionless form had a grisly majesty. I wondered who he—
or
she— had been: a prince, a priestess, the young mother of a family, or
an aged grandfather? What thoughts had lived in the withered brain—
what emotions had brought tears to the shriveled eyes or smiles to the
fleshless lips? And the soul— did it live on, in the golden grain
fields
of Amenti, as the priests had promised the righteous worshiper, as we
look forward to everlasting life with the Redeemer these people never
knew?
Walter did not appear to be absorbed in pious meditation. He was
scowling as he stared down at the occupant of the coffin. Then he
turned, holding the torch high as he inspected the walls of the
chamber. They were covered with inscriptions and with the same sort of
reliefs to which I had become accustomed in the Southern Tombs. All
centered on the majestic figure of pharoah, sometimes alone, but
usually with his queen and his six little daughters. Above, the god
Aten, shown as the round disk of the sun, embraced the long with long
rays that ended in tiny human hands.
"Well?" I asked. "Will you excavate here, or will you remove the poor
fellow from his coffin and unwrap him in more comfortable surroundings?"
For a moment Walter looked unnervingly like his shaven brother as he
tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip.
"If we leave him here, some enterprising burglar will rend him apart in
the hope of finding ornaments such as were sometimes wrapped in the
bandages. But I don't hope for much, Miss Peabody. Some tombs were used
for later burials, by poor people who could not build tombs of their
own. This looks to me like just such a late mummy, much later than the
period in which we are interested, and too poor to own any valuable
ornaments."
He handed his torch to one of the villagers and spoke to the man in
Arabic— repeating the comment, I assumed. The man burst into animated
speech, shaking his head till the folds of his
turban fluttered.
"Mohammed says our mummy is not a commoner," Walter explained, smiling
at me. "He is a prince—a princely magician, no less."
"How does he know that?"
"He doesn't. Even if Mohammed could read the hieroglyphs, which he
cannot, there is no inscription on the coffin to give the mummy's name.
He is only trying to increase the backsheesh I owe him for this find."
So Mohammed was the discoverer of this tomb. I studied the man with
interest. He looked like all the other villagers —thin, wiry, epicene,
his sunbaked skin making him look considerably older than his probable
age. The life span in these villages is not high. Mohammed was probably
no more than thirty, but poverty and ill health had given him the face
of an old man.
Seeing my eye upon him he looked at me and grinned ingratiatingly.
"Yes," Walter said thoughtfully. "We must take our anonymous friend
along. Radcliffe can unwrap him;
it will give him something to do."
Emerson was delighted with the find; he fell on the mummy with mumbled
exclamations, so after making sure his temperature and pulse were
normal, I left him to his ghoulish work. When he joined us on the ledge
that evening, however, he was vociferously disappointed.
"Greco-Egyptian," he grumbled, stretching his long legs out. "I
suspected as much when I saw the pattern of the wrappings. Yes, yes;
the signs are unmistakable. I am familiar with them from my own
research; no one has done any work on this problem, although a
chronological sequence could be worked out if one— "
"My dear fellow, we are all of us familiar with your views on the
deplorable state of archaeology in Egypt," Walter broke in, with a
laugh. "But you are wrong about the mummy. Mohammed swears it is that
of a princely magician, a priest of Amon, who placed a curse on this
heretical city."
"Mohammed is a scurvy trickster who wants more money," growled Emerson.
"How does he know
about heretics and priests of Amon?"
"There is another project for you," Walter said. "Investigating the
traditions and folk memories of these people."
"Well, his folk memory is wrong in this case. The poor chap whose
wrappings I removed this afternoon was no priest. It frankly puzzles me
to find him here at all. The city was abandoned after Khuenaten's
death, and I did not think there was a settlement here in Ptolemaic
times. These present villages did not occupy the site until the present
century."
"I doubt that the tomb was used by the official who had it built,"
Walter said. "The reliefs in the corridor were not finished."
"What have you done with our friend?" I asked. "I hope you are not
planning to make him the third occupant of your sleeping dormitory; I
don't think he can be healthy."
Emerson burst into an unexpected shout of laughter.
"Being dead is the ultimate of unhealthiness, I suppose. Never fear;
the mummy is resting in a cave at
the bottom of the path. I only wish I
could account for his original position as easily."
"I might have a look at the tomb in the morning," I said. "That would
leave the afternoon for working
on the pavement— "
"And what do you expect to find?" Emerson's voice rose. "Good God,
madam, you seem to think you
are a trained archaeologist! Do you think
you can walk in here and— "
Walter and Evelyn broke in simultaneously in an attempt to change the
subject. They succeeded for the moment, but Emerson was sulky and
snappish for the rest of the evening. When I tried to feel his forehead
to see if he had developed a temperature, he stalked off to his tomb,
fairly radiating grumpiness.
"Don't mind him, Miss Peabody," Walter said, when he was out of
earshot. "He is still not himself, and enforced inactivity infuriates a
man of his energy."
"He is not himself," I agreed. "In normal health he is even louder and
more quarrelsome."
"We are all a little on edge," Evelyn said in a low voice. "I don't
know why I should be; but I feel nervous."
"If that is the case we had better go to bed," I said, rising. "Some
sleep will settle your mind, Evelyn."
Little did I know that the night was to bring, not a cure for troubled
minds, but the beginning of greater trouble.
It is a recognized fact that sleepers train themselves to respond only
to unfamiliar noises. A zoo keeper slumbers placidly through the normal
nightly roars of his charges, but the squeak of a mouse in his tidy
kitchen can bring him awake in an instant. I had accustomed my sleeping
mind to the sounds of Amarna. They were few indeed; it was one of the
most silent spots on earth, I think. Only the far-off ululation of an
occasional love-sick jackal disturbed the silence. So, on this
particular night, it was not surprising that the sound at the door of
our tomb, slight though it was, should bring me upright, with my heart
pounding.
Light penetrated cracks in the curtain, but I could see nothing
without. The sound continued. It was the oddest noise—a faint, dry
scratching, like the rubbing of a bony object on rock.
Once my pulse had calmed, I thought of explanations. Someone on the
ledge outside the tomb— Michael, keeping watch, or Walter, sleepless
outside his lady's chamber? Somehow my nerves were not convinced by
either idea. In any case, the sound was keeping me awake. I fumbled for
my parasol.
The frequent mention of this apparatus may provoke mirth in the reader.
I assure her (or him, as the
case may be) that I was not intending to
be picturesque. It was a very sturdy parasol, with a stiff iron staff,
and I had chosen it deliberately for its strength.
Holding it, then, in readiness for a possible act of violence, I called
softly, "Who is there?"
There was no response. The scratching sound stopped. It was followed,
after a moment or two, by another sound, which rapidly died away, as if
someone, or something, had beat a hasty but quiet retreat.
I leaped from bed and ran to the doorway. I confess that I hesitated
before drawing back the curtain. A parasol, even one of steel, would
not be much use against a feral animal. The scratching sound might well
have been produced by claws; and although I had been told that there
were no longer any lions in Egypt, they had abounded in ancient times,
and an isolated specimen might have survived in the desolate region. As
I stood listening with all my might I heard another sound, like a rock
or pebble rolling. It was quite a distance away. Thus reassured, I drew
back the curtain and, after a cautious glance without, stepped onto the
ledge.
The moon was high and bright, but its position left the ledge in
shadow. Against this dark background an object stood out palely. It was
at the far end of the ledge, where it curved to pass around a shoulder
of rock; and I was conscious of an odd constriction of my diaphragm as
I glimpsed it.
The shape was amorphous. It was of the height and breadth of a man, but
it more resembled a white stone pillar man a human form, split at the
bottom to present an imitation of a man's lower limbs. Stiff, stubby
appendages like arms protruded at shoulder height, but they were not
arms; humans arms were never so rigid.
As I stared, blinking to cure what I thought must be a failure of my
vision, the shape disappeared. It must have moved around the corner of
the path. A faint moaning sigh wafted back to me. It might have been
the sigh of the wind; but I felt no movement of air.
I retreated to my bed, but I did not sleep well the rest of the night.
The first pale streaks of dawn found me wide awake, and I was glad to
arise and dress. I had managed to convince myself that what I saw was a
large animal of some kind, raised
on its back legs as a cat or panther will rise; so the full horror of
the night did not strike me until I stepped out onto the ledge, which
was now illumined by the rising sun. As
I did so, something crackled
under my foot.
Sunrise in Egypt is a glorious spectacle. The sun, behind the cliffs at
my back, shone fully upon the western mountains; but I had no eye for
the beauties of nature then. The sound and feel of the substance my
foot had crushed was horribly familiar. With reluctance I bent to pick
it up, though my fingers shrank from the touch of it.
I held a small fragment of brown flaking cloth, so dry that it crackled
like paper when my fingers contracted. I had seen such cloth before. It
was the rotting bandage which had once wrapped an ancient mummy.
had spent some hours with the mummy. Fragments of the fragile cloth,
caught on the fabric of his garments, might have been brushed off when
he sat down at dinner the night before. But as soon as the idea entered
my mind, common
sense dismissed it. There was a regular trail of the
stuff leading down the ledge as far as I could see. If Emerson's
clothes had been so untidy I would have noticed. Further, Emerson's
chair was some six feet away from the door of our chamber. He had never
approached our door last night; and the largest heap of fragments was
there, as if it had been deposited by a creature who stood for a long
time on our threshold.
I don't know what instinct moved me to action—fear for Evelyn's nerves,
perhaps, or concern for the superstitions of the workers. At any rate,
I dashed inside, snatched up a cloth, and swept the horrible fragments
off the ledge. Evelyn was still sleeping; and from below, the fragrance
of coffee reached my nostrils. Michael was on duty early.
I was not the only early riser. As I stood by the campfire sipping my
tea, Emerson came down the path. He gave me a surly nod and paused for
a moment, as if daring me to order him back to bed. I said nothing; and
after a while he went on and disappeared into the cave where his
precious mummy had been
deposited.
He had not been within for more than a few seconds when the sweet
morning air was rent by a hideous cry. I dropped my cup, splashing my
foot with hot tea; before I could do more, Emerson burst out of the
cave. His inflamed eyes went straight to me. He raised both clenched
fists high in the air.
"My mummy! You have stolen my mummy! By Gad, Peabody, this time you
have gone too far! I've watched you; don't think I have been unwitting
of your machinations! My pavement, my expedition, my brother's loyalty,
even my poor, helpless carcass have fallen victim to your meddling; but
this—this is too much! You disapprove of my wwk, you want to keep me
feeble and helpless in bed, so you steal my mummy! Where is it? Produce
it at once, Peabody, or— "
His shouts aroused the rest of the camp. I saw Evelyn peering curiously
from the ledge above, clutching the collar of her dressing gown under
her chin. Walter bounded down the path, trying to stuff his flying
shirttails into his waistband and simultaneously finish doing up the
buttons.
"Radcliffe, Radcliffe, what are you doing? Can't you behave for five
minutes?"
"He is accusing me of stealing his mummy," I said. My own tones were
rather loud. "I will overlook his other ridiculous accusations, which
can only be the product of a disturbed brain—"
"Disturbed! Certainly I am disturbed! Of all the ills on earth, an
interfering female is the worst!"
By this time we were surrounded by a circle of staring faces; the
workers, coming in from the village, had been attracted by the uproar.
They could not understand Emerson's remarks, but the tone of anger was
quite comprehensible; their dark eyes were wide with alarm and
curiosity as they watched Emerson's extraordinary performance. Foremost
in the crowd stood Mohammed, the man who had led us to the tomb the day
before. There was the most peculiar expression on his face— a kind of
sly smirk. It interested me so much
that I failed to respond to Emerson's latest outburst, and turned away,
leaving him waving his fists at empty air. Mohammed saw me. Instantly
his mouth turned down and his eyes widened in a look of pious alarm
that
would have suited an angel.
Seeing the futility of communication with Emerson when he was in this
state, Walter turned to the cave where the mummy was kept. He was soon
out again; his expressive face told me the truth before he spoke.
"The mummy is gone," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Only
scraps of the wrappings remain.
Why would anyone steal such a poor
specimen?"
"These people would steal their grandmothers and sell them if there
were a market for decrepit old ladies," Emerson growled.
I had observed that his fits of rage, though violent, were soon over.
Afterward he seemed greatly refreshed by the outburst and would, in
fact, deny that he had ever lost his temper. He now spoke to me as if
he had never made his outrageous accusations. "What about breakfast,
Peabody?" I was meditating
a suitably crushing retort when Walter spoke
again.
"It is really incomprehensible. The men could have made off with the
mummy when they first found it. And what has become of the bandages you
removed?"
"That, at least, is easily explained," Emerson answered. "I could not
unwrap the bandages. The perfumed resins in which the body was soaked
had glued the wrappings into a solid mass. I had to make an incision
and open the thorax. As you know, Walter, the body cavities often
contain amulets and scraps of— Peabody! Miss Peabody, what is the
matter?"
His voice faded into a dim insect buzzing, and the sunlight darkened. A
ghastly vision had flashed upon my mind. If the moon had been higher—
if
I had seen the nocturnal visitor more distinctly— would I have beheld
the violated body, gaping
wide?
I am happy to say that this was the first and last time I succumbed to
superstition. When I opened my eyes I realized that Emerson was
supporting me, his alarmed face close to mine. I straightened, and saw
a dark flush mantle his cheeks as I pushed his arms away.
"A momentary weakness," I said. "I think— I think perhaps I will sit
down.
Walter quickly offered his arm, and I did not disdain it.
"You are wearing yourself out, Miss Peabody," he said warmly. "We
cannot allow such sacrifices. Today you must rest; I insist upon it."
"Hmmm," said Emerson. His eyes expressed neither concern nor
appreciation, but rather speculation as they examined my face.
As the day wore on I could not help recalling Evelyn's remark of the
previous evening. I had discounted her mention of nervousness then; now
I could not deny that the atmosphere was uneasy. I myself was unable to
settle down to anything. After working on the pavement for a time I
went to the site where Walter and Abdullah were directing the workers.
There were more than fifty people at work. The men were removing the
sand that had covered the foundations of temples and houses, shoveling
it into baskets which were then carried away by children, boys and
girls both. It was necessary to dump the sand some distance away, lest
it cover future excavations. The work was tedious, except when the men
reached the floor level, where abandoned objects might be found; yet
all the workers, children and adults alike, usually worked cheerfully
and willingly. They are very musical people, the Egyptians, although
their wailing, yodeling singing sounds odd to European ears; but today
no brisk chorus speeded the work. The children who carried the baskets
were slow and unsmiling.
I joined Abdullah, the foreman, where he stood on a little rise of sand
watching the diggers. "They do not sing today," I said. "Why not,
Abdullah?" Not a muscle moved in the dignified brown face; but I sensed
an inner struggle.
"They are ignorant people," he said, after a time. "They fear many
things."
"What things?"
"Afreets, demons— all strange things. They fear ghosts of the dead. The
mummy— they ask where it
has gone."
That was all he could, or would, say. I went back to my pavement in
some perturbation of spirit. I could hardly sneer at the ignorance of
the natives when I had experienced equally wild thoughts.
The reader may well ask why I had not spoken of my adventure. I asked
myself the same question; but
I knew the answer, and it did not reflect
creditably on my character. I was afraid of being laughed at. I could
almost hear Emerson's great guffaws echoing out across the valley when
I told him of seeing his
lost mummy out for a midnight stroll. And yet
I felt I ought to speak. I knew I had not seen an animated mummy. My
brain knew it, if my nervous system did not. I spent the rest of the
day brushing tapioca
and water over my lovely pavement and carrying on
a vigorous internal debate — common sense against vanity.
When we gathered on the ledge for our customary evening meeting, I
could see that the others were also distraught. Walter looked very
tired; he dropped into a chair with a sigh and let his head fall back.
"What a wretched day! We seem to have accomplished nothing."
"I shall come down tomorrow," said Emerson. He looked at me. "With
Peabody's permission or without it." Walter sat upright.
"Radcliffe, why do you address Miss Peabody so disrespectfully? After
all she has done for us..."
It was unusual for Walter to speak so sharply—another indication, if I
had needed one, of the strained atmosphere.
"Oh, I don't mind," I said calmly. "Sticks and stones may break my
bones, you know. As for your returning to work tomorrow..."
I looked Emerson up and down. The clinical appraisal annoyed him, as I
had known it would; he squirmed like a guilty schoolboy, and exclaimed.
"What is your diagnosis, Sitt Hakim?"
Truthfully, I was not pleased with his appearance. He had lost
considerable flesh. The bones in his face were too prominent, and his
eyes were still sunken in their sockets.
"I disapprove," I said. "You are not strong enough yet to be out in the
sun. Have you taken your medicine today?"
Emerson's reply was not suitable for the pages of a respectable book.
Walter sprang to his feet with a hot reproof. Only the appearance of
Michael, with the first course of our dinner, prevented an argument. We
went early to bed. I could see that Emerson fully intended to return to
the excavations next day, so he needed his sleep, and after my
disturbed night I too was weary.
Yet I did not sleep well. I had disturbing dreams. I awoke from one
such dream in the late hours of the night, and as my sleep-fogged eyes
focused, I saw a slim white form standing by the doorway. My heart gave
such a leap I thought it would choke me. When I recognized Evelyn, I
almost fainted with relief.
She turned, hearing my gasp.
"Amelia," she whispered.
"What is it? Why are you awake at this hour? Good Gad, child, you
almost frightened me to death!"
She looked ghostly as she glided toward me, her bare feet making no
sound, her white nightdress floating out behind her. I lighted a lamp;
Evelyn's face was as pale as her gown. She sank down on the edge of my
bed, and I saw that she was shivering.
"I heard a sound," she said. "Such an eerie sound, Amelia, like a long,
desolate sigh. I don't know how long it had been
going on. It woke me; I am surprised it didn't waken you too."
"I heard it, and it became part of my dream," I answered. "I dreamed of
death, and someone weeping over a grave... Then what happened?"
"I didn't want to wake you; you had worked so hard today. But the sound
went on and on, until I thought I should the; it was so dreary, so
unutterably sad. I had to know what was making it. So I went and drew
the curtain aside and looked out." She paused, and went even paler.
"Go
on," I urged. "You need not fear my skepticism, Evelyn. I have reasons,
which you will hear in due course, for believing the wildest possible
tale."
"You cannot mean that you too— "
"Tell me what you saw."
"A tall, pale form, featureless and stark. It stood in shadow, but...
Amelia, it had no face! There was no sign of nose or mouth or eyes,
only a flat, white oval; no hair, only a smooth-fitting covering. The
limbs were stiff— "
"Enough of this equivocation," I cried impatiently. "What you saw
resembled... was like... seemed to
be... in short — a Mummy!" Evelyn
stared at me.
"You saw it too! You must have done, or you could not accept this so
readily. When? How?"
"One might add, 'why?'" I said wryly. "Yes, I saw such a form last
night. This morning I found scraps
of rotted wrappings on the ledge
outside our chamber."
"And you said nothing of this to Walter— or to
me?"
"It sounded too ridiculous," I admitted, "particularly after I
learned that the mummy we discovered had mysteriously disappeared in
the night."
"Ridiculous, Amelia? I wish I could think so. What are we to do?"
"I will have the courage to speak now that I have you to support me.
But I shudder to think what Emerson will say. I can hear him now: "A
walking mummy, Peabody? Quite so! No wonder the
poor fellow wants exercise, after lying stiff for two thousand years!"
"Nevertheless, we must speak."
"Yes. In the morning. That will be time enough for my humiliation."
But the morning brought a new sensation, and new troubles.
I was up betimes. Emerson, another early riser, was already pacing
about near the cook tent. A pith helmet, set at a defiant angle,
proclaimed his intentions for the day. I glanced at it, and at his
haggard face, and sniffed meaningfully; but I made no comment.
Breakfast was prepared; we returned to our table on the ledge, where
Evelyn and Walter joined us; and the meal was almost finished when
Emerson exploded.
"Where are the men? Good God, they should have been here an hour ago!"
Walter withdrew his watch from his pocket and glanced at it.
"Half an hour. It appears they are late this morning."
"Do you see any signs of activity in the direction of the village?"
Emerson demanded, shading his eyes and peering out across the sand. "I
tell you, Walter, something is amiss. Find Abdullah."
The foreman, who slept in a tent nearby, was nowhere to be found.
Finally we made out a small white figure crossing me sand. It was
Abdullah; he had apparently been to the village in search of his tardy
work force. We were all at the bottom of the path waiting when he came
up to us. He spread out his hands in an eloquent gesture and looked at
Emerson.
"They will not come."
"What do you mean, they won't come?" Emerson demanded.
"They will not work today."
"Is there some holiday, perhaps?" Evelyn asked. "Some Moslem holy day?"
"No," Emerson answered. "Abdullah would not make such an error, even if
I did. I would think the men are holding out for higher pay, but... Sit
down, Abdullah, and tell me. Come, come, my friend, let's not stand on
ceremony. Sit down, I say, and talk."
trained scholar. Briskly he gave orders for torches and
ropes. Then he turned to me.
"I have explored these places before. I don't recommend that you come
with me, unless you are fond of bats in your hair and a great deal of
dust."
"Lead on," I said, tying a rope in a neat half-bitch around my waist.
I had Walter thoroughly under control by then. He would not have argued
with me if I had proposed jumping off a pyramid.
I had been in a number of ancient tombs, but all had been cleared for
visitors. I was somewhat surprised to find that this one was almost as
clear, and far less difficult than Walter had feared. There was a good
deal of loose rubble underfoot, and at one point we had to cross a deep
pit, which had been dug to discourage tomb robbers. The villagers had
bridged it with a flimsy-looking plank. Other than that, the going was
not at all bad.
Walter too was struck by the relative tidiness. He threw a comment over
his shoulder.
"The place is too well cleared, Miss Peabody. I suspect it has been
robbed over and over again; we will find nothing of interest here."
The corridor ended, after a short distance, in a small chamber cut out
of the rock. In the center of the room stood a rough wooden coffin.
Lifting his torch, Walter looked into it.
"There is nothing to be afraid of," he said, misinterpreting my
expression. "The wrappings are still in
place; will you look?"
"Naturally," I said.
I had seen mummies before, of course, in museums. At first glance this
had nothing to distinguish it from any other mummy. The brown,
crumbling bandages had been wrapped in intricate patterns, rather like
weaving. The featureless head, the shape of the arms folded across the
breast, the stiff, extended limbs—yes, it was like the other mummies I
had seen, but I had never seen them in their natural habitat, so to
speak. In the musty, airless chamber, lighted only by dimly flaring
torches, the motionless form had a grisly majesty. I wondered who he—
or
she— had been: a prince, a priestess, the young mother of a family, or
an aged grandfather? What thoughts had lived in the withered brain—
what emotions had brought tears to the shriveled eyes or smiles to the
fleshless lips? And the soul— did it live on, in the golden grain
fields
of Amenti, as the priests had promised the righteous worshiper, as we
look forward to everlasting life with the Redeemer these people never
knew?
Walter did not appear to be absorbed in pious meditation. He was
scowling as he stared down at the occupant of the coffin. Then he
turned, holding the torch high as he inspected the walls of the
chamber. They were covered with inscriptions and with the same sort of
reliefs to which I had become accustomed in the Southern Tombs. All
centered on the majestic figure of pharoah, sometimes alone, but
usually with his queen and his six little daughters. Above, the god
Aten, shown as the round disk of the sun, embraced the long with long
rays that ended in tiny human hands.
"Well?" I asked. "Will you excavate here, or will you remove the poor
fellow from his coffin and unwrap him in more comfortable surroundings?"
For a moment Walter looked unnervingly like his shaven brother as he
tugged thoughtfully at his lower lip.
"If we leave him here, some enterprising burglar will rend him apart in
the hope of finding ornaments such as were sometimes wrapped in the
bandages. But I don't hope for much, Miss Peabody. Some tombs were used
for later burials, by poor people who could not build tombs of their
own. This looks to me like just such a late mummy, much later than the
period in which we are interested, and too poor to own any valuable
ornaments."
He handed his torch to one of the villagers and spoke to the man in
Arabic— repeating the comment, I assumed. The man burst into animated
speech, shaking his head till the folds of his
turban fluttered.
"Mohammed says our mummy is not a commoner," Walter explained, smiling
at me. "He is a prince—a princely magician, no less."
"How does he know that?"
"He doesn't. Even if Mohammed could read the hieroglyphs, which he
cannot, there is no inscription on the coffin to give the mummy's name.
He is only trying to increase the backsheesh I owe him for this find."
So Mohammed was the discoverer of this tomb. I studied the man with
interest. He looked like all the other villagers —thin, wiry, epicene,
his sunbaked skin making him look considerably older than his probable
age. The life span in these villages is not high. Mohammed was probably
no more than thirty, but poverty and ill health had given him the face
of an old man.
Seeing my eye upon him he looked at me and grinned ingratiatingly.
"Yes," Walter said thoughtfully. "We must take our anonymous friend
along. Radcliffe can unwrap him;
it will give him something to do."
Emerson was delighted with the find; he fell on the mummy with mumbled
exclamations, so after making sure his temperature and pulse were
normal, I left him to his ghoulish work. When he joined us on the ledge
that evening, however, he was vociferously disappointed.
"Greco-Egyptian," he grumbled, stretching his long legs out. "I
suspected as much when I saw the pattern of the wrappings. Yes, yes;
the signs are unmistakable. I am familiar with them from my own
research; no one has done any work on this problem, although a
chronological sequence could be worked out if one— "
"My dear fellow, we are all of us familiar with your views on the
deplorable state of archaeology in Egypt," Walter broke in, with a
laugh. "But you are wrong about the mummy. Mohammed swears it is that
of a princely magician, a priest of Amon, who placed a curse on this
heretical city."
"Mohammed is a scurvy trickster who wants more money," growled Emerson.
"How does he know
about heretics and priests of Amon?"
"There is another project for you," Walter said. "Investigating the
traditions and folk memories of these people."
"Well, his folk memory is wrong in this case. The poor chap whose
wrappings I removed this afternoon was no priest. It frankly puzzles me
to find him here at all. The city was abandoned after Khuenaten's
death, and I did not think there was a settlement here in Ptolemaic
times. These present villages did not occupy the site until the present
century."
"I doubt that the tomb was used by the official who had it built,"
Walter said. "The reliefs in the corridor were not finished."
"What have you done with our friend?" I asked. "I hope you are not
planning to make him the third occupant of your sleeping dormitory; I
don't think he can be healthy."
Emerson burst into an unexpected shout of laughter.
"Being dead is the ultimate of unhealthiness, I suppose. Never fear;
the mummy is resting in a cave at
the bottom of the path. I only wish I
could account for his original position as easily."
"I might have a look at the tomb in the morning," I said. "That would
leave the afternoon for working
on the pavement— "
"And what do you expect to find?" Emerson's voice rose. "Good God,
madam, you seem to think you
are a trained archaeologist! Do you think
you can walk in here and— "
Walter and Evelyn broke in simultaneously in an attempt to change the
subject. They succeeded for the moment, but Emerson was sulky and
snappish for the rest of the evening. When I tried to feel his forehead
to see if he had developed a temperature, he stalked off to his tomb,
fairly radiating grumpiness.
"Don't mind him, Miss Peabody," Walter said, when he was out of
earshot. "He is still not himself, and enforced inactivity infuriates a
man of his energy."
"He is not himself," I agreed. "In normal health he is even louder and
more quarrelsome."
"We are all a little on edge," Evelyn said in a low voice. "I don't
know why I should be; but I feel nervous."
"If that is the case we had better go to bed," I said, rising. "Some
sleep will settle your mind, Evelyn."
Little did I know that the night was to bring, not a cure for troubled
minds, but the beginning of greater trouble.
It is a recognized fact that sleepers train themselves to respond only
to unfamiliar noises. A zoo keeper slumbers placidly through the normal
nightly roars of his charges, but the squeak of a mouse in his tidy
kitchen can bring him awake in an instant. I had accustomed my sleeping
mind to the sounds of Amarna. They were few indeed; it was one of the
most silent spots on earth, I think. Only the far-off ululation of an
occasional love-sick jackal disturbed the silence. So, on this
particular night, it was not surprising that the sound at the door of
our tomb, slight though it was, should bring me upright, with my heart
pounding.
Light penetrated cracks in the curtain, but I could see nothing
without. The sound continued. It was the oddest noise—a faint, dry
scratching, like the rubbing of a bony object on rock.
Once my pulse had calmed, I thought of explanations. Someone on the
ledge outside the tomb— Michael, keeping watch, or Walter, sleepless
outside his lady's chamber? Somehow my nerves were not convinced by
either idea. In any case, the sound was keeping me awake. I fumbled for
my parasol.
The frequent mention of this apparatus may provoke mirth in the reader.
I assure her (or him, as the
case may be) that I was not intending to
be picturesque. It was a very sturdy parasol, with a stiff iron staff,
and I had chosen it deliberately for its strength.
Holding it, then, in readiness for a possible act of violence, I called
softly, "Who is there?"
There was no response. The scratching sound stopped. It was followed,
after a moment or two, by another sound, which rapidly died away, as if
someone, or something, had beat a hasty but quiet retreat.
I leaped from bed and ran to the doorway. I confess that I hesitated
before drawing back the curtain. A parasol, even one of steel, would
not be much use against a feral animal. The scratching sound might well
have been produced by claws; and although I had been told that there
were no longer any lions in Egypt, they had abounded in ancient times,
and an isolated specimen might have survived in the desolate region. As
I stood listening with all my might I heard another sound, like a rock
or pebble rolling. It was quite a distance away. Thus reassured, I drew
back the curtain and, after a cautious glance without, stepped onto the
ledge.
The moon was high and bright, but its position left the ledge in
shadow. Against this dark background an object stood out palely. It was
at the far end of the ledge, where it curved to pass around a shoulder
of rock; and I was conscious of an odd constriction of my diaphragm as
I glimpsed it.
The shape was amorphous. It was of the height and breadth of a man, but
it more resembled a white stone pillar man a human form, split at the
bottom to present an imitation of a man's lower limbs. Stiff, stubby
appendages like arms protruded at shoulder height, but they were not
arms; humans arms were never so rigid.
As I stared, blinking to cure what I thought must be a failure of my
vision, the shape disappeared. It must have moved around the corner of
the path. A faint moaning sigh wafted back to me. It might have been
the sigh of the wind; but I felt no movement of air.
I retreated to my bed, but I did not sleep well the rest of the night.
The first pale streaks of dawn found me wide awake, and I was glad to
arise and dress. I had managed to convince myself that what I saw was a
large animal of some kind, raised
on its back legs as a cat or panther will rise; so the full horror of
the night did not strike me until I stepped out onto the ledge, which
was now illumined by the rising sun. As
I did so, something crackled
under my foot.
Sunrise in Egypt is a glorious spectacle. The sun, behind the cliffs at
my back, shone fully upon the western mountains; but I had no eye for
the beauties of nature then. The sound and feel of the substance my
foot had crushed was horribly familiar. With reluctance I bent to pick
it up, though my fingers shrank from the touch of it.
I held a small fragment of brown flaking cloth, so dry that it crackled
like paper when my fingers contracted. I had seen such cloth before. It
was the rotting bandage which had once wrapped an ancient mummy.
6
I STOOD on the ledge for some time, trying to think sensibly. Emersonhad spent some hours with the mummy. Fragments of the fragile cloth,
caught on the fabric of his garments, might have been brushed off when
he sat down at dinner the night before. But as soon as the idea entered
my mind, common
sense dismissed it. There was a regular trail of the
stuff leading down the ledge as far as I could see. If Emerson's
clothes had been so untidy I would have noticed. Further, Emerson's
chair was some six feet away from the door of our chamber. He had never
approached our door last night; and the largest heap of fragments was
there, as if it had been deposited by a creature who stood for a long
time on our threshold.
I don't know what instinct moved me to action—fear for Evelyn's nerves,
perhaps, or concern for the superstitions of the workers. At any rate,
I dashed inside, snatched up a cloth, and swept the horrible fragments
off the ledge. Evelyn was still sleeping; and from below, the fragrance
of coffee reached my nostrils. Michael was on duty early.
I was not the only early riser. As I stood by the campfire sipping my
tea, Emerson came down the path. He gave me a surly nod and paused for
a moment, as if daring me to order him back to bed. I said nothing; and
after a while he went on and disappeared into the cave where his
precious mummy had been
deposited.
He had not been within for more than a few seconds when the sweet
morning air was rent by a hideous cry. I dropped my cup, splashing my
foot with hot tea; before I could do more, Emerson burst out of the
cave. His inflamed eyes went straight to me. He raised both clenched
fists high in the air.
"My mummy! You have stolen my mummy! By Gad, Peabody, this time you
have gone too far! I've watched you; don't think I have been unwitting
of your machinations! My pavement, my expedition, my brother's loyalty,
even my poor, helpless carcass have fallen victim to your meddling; but
this—this is too much! You disapprove of my wwk, you want to keep me
feeble and helpless in bed, so you steal my mummy! Where is it? Produce
it at once, Peabody, or— "
His shouts aroused the rest of the camp. I saw Evelyn peering curiously
from the ledge above, clutching the collar of her dressing gown under
her chin. Walter bounded down the path, trying to stuff his flying
shirttails into his waistband and simultaneously finish doing up the
buttons.
"Radcliffe, Radcliffe, what are you doing? Can't you behave for five
minutes?"
"He is accusing me of stealing his mummy," I said. My own tones were
rather loud. "I will overlook his other ridiculous accusations, which
can only be the product of a disturbed brain—"
"Disturbed! Certainly I am disturbed! Of all the ills on earth, an
interfering female is the worst!"
By this time we were surrounded by a circle of staring faces; the
workers, coming in from the village, had been attracted by the uproar.
They could not understand Emerson's remarks, but the tone of anger was
quite comprehensible; their dark eyes were wide with alarm and
curiosity as they watched Emerson's extraordinary performance. Foremost
in the crowd stood Mohammed, the man who had led us to the tomb the day
before. There was the most peculiar expression on his face— a kind of
sly smirk. It interested me so much
that I failed to respond to Emerson's latest outburst, and turned away,
leaving him waving his fists at empty air. Mohammed saw me. Instantly
his mouth turned down and his eyes widened in a look of pious alarm
that
would have suited an angel.
Seeing the futility of communication with Emerson when he was in this
state, Walter turned to the cave where the mummy was kept. He was soon
out again; his expressive face told me the truth before he spoke.
"The mummy is gone," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Only
scraps of the wrappings remain.
Why would anyone steal such a poor
specimen?"
"These people would steal their grandmothers and sell them if there
were a market for decrepit old ladies," Emerson growled.
I had observed that his fits of rage, though violent, were soon over.
Afterward he seemed greatly refreshed by the outburst and would, in
fact, deny that he had ever lost his temper. He now spoke to me as if
he had never made his outrageous accusations. "What about breakfast,
Peabody?" I was meditating
a suitably crushing retort when Walter spoke
again.
"It is really incomprehensible. The men could have made off with the
mummy when they first found it. And what has become of the bandages you
removed?"
"That, at least, is easily explained," Emerson answered. "I could not
unwrap the bandages. The perfumed resins in which the body was soaked
had glued the wrappings into a solid mass. I had to make an incision
and open the thorax. As you know, Walter, the body cavities often
contain amulets and scraps of— Peabody! Miss Peabody, what is the
matter?"
His voice faded into a dim insect buzzing, and the sunlight darkened. A
ghastly vision had flashed upon my mind. If the moon had been higher—
if
I had seen the nocturnal visitor more distinctly— would I have beheld
the violated body, gaping
wide?
I am happy to say that this was the first and last time I succumbed to
superstition. When I opened my eyes I realized that Emerson was
supporting me, his alarmed face close to mine. I straightened, and saw
a dark flush mantle his cheeks as I pushed his arms away.
"A momentary weakness," I said. "I think— I think perhaps I will sit
down.
Walter quickly offered his arm, and I did not disdain it.
"You are wearing yourself out, Miss Peabody," he said warmly. "We
cannot allow such sacrifices. Today you must rest; I insist upon it."
"Hmmm," said Emerson. His eyes expressed neither concern nor
appreciation, but rather speculation as they examined my face.
As the day wore on I could not help recalling Evelyn's remark of the
previous evening. I had discounted her mention of nervousness then; now
I could not deny that the atmosphere was uneasy. I myself was unable to
settle down to anything. After working on the pavement for a time I
went to the site where Walter and Abdullah were directing the workers.
There were more than fifty people at work. The men were removing the
sand that had covered the foundations of temples and houses, shoveling
it into baskets which were then carried away by children, boys and
girls both. It was necessary to dump the sand some distance away, lest
it cover future excavations. The work was tedious, except when the men
reached the floor level, where abandoned objects might be found; yet
all the workers, children and adults alike, usually worked cheerfully
and willingly. They are very musical people, the Egyptians, although
their wailing, yodeling singing sounds odd to European ears; but today
no brisk chorus speeded the work. The children who carried the baskets
were slow and unsmiling.
I joined Abdullah, the foreman, where he stood on a little rise of sand
watching the diggers. "They do not sing today," I said. "Why not,
Abdullah?" Not a muscle moved in the dignified brown face; but I sensed
an inner struggle.
"They are ignorant people," he said, after a time. "They fear many
things."
"What things?"
"Afreets, demons— all strange things. They fear ghosts of the dead. The
mummy— they ask where it
has gone."
That was all he could, or would, say. I went back to my pavement in
some perturbation of spirit. I could hardly sneer at the ignorance of
the natives when I had experienced equally wild thoughts.
The reader may well ask why I had not spoken of my adventure. I asked
myself the same question; but
I knew the answer, and it did not reflect
creditably on my character. I was afraid of being laughed at. I could
almost hear Emerson's great guffaws echoing out across the valley when
I told him of seeing his
lost mummy out for a midnight stroll. And yet
I felt I ought to speak. I knew I had not seen an animated mummy. My
brain knew it, if my nervous system did not. I spent the rest of the
day brushing tapioca
and water over my lovely pavement and carrying on
a vigorous internal debate — common sense against vanity.
When we gathered on the ledge for our customary evening meeting, I
could see that the others were also distraught. Walter looked very
tired; he dropped into a chair with a sigh and let his head fall back.
"What a wretched day! We seem to have accomplished nothing."
"I shall come down tomorrow," said Emerson. He looked at me. "With
Peabody's permission or without it." Walter sat upright.
"Radcliffe, why do you address Miss Peabody so disrespectfully? After
all she has done for us..."
It was unusual for Walter to speak so sharply—another indication, if I
had needed one, of the strained atmosphere.
"Oh, I don't mind," I said calmly. "Sticks and stones may break my
bones, you know. As for your returning to work tomorrow..."
I looked Emerson up and down. The clinical appraisal annoyed him, as I
had known it would; he squirmed like a guilty schoolboy, and exclaimed.
"What is your diagnosis, Sitt Hakim?"
Truthfully, I was not pleased with his appearance. He had lost
considerable flesh. The bones in his face were too prominent, and his
eyes were still sunken in their sockets.
"I disapprove," I said. "You are not strong enough yet to be out in the
sun. Have you taken your medicine today?"
Emerson's reply was not suitable for the pages of a respectable book.
Walter sprang to his feet with a hot reproof. Only the appearance of
Michael, with the first course of our dinner, prevented an argument. We
went early to bed. I could see that Emerson fully intended to return to
the excavations next day, so he needed his sleep, and after my
disturbed night I too was weary.
Yet I did not sleep well. I had disturbing dreams. I awoke from one
such dream in the late hours of the night, and as my sleep-fogged eyes
focused, I saw a slim white form standing by the doorway. My heart gave
such a leap I thought it would choke me. When I recognized Evelyn, I
almost fainted with relief.
She turned, hearing my gasp.
"Amelia," she whispered.
"What is it? Why are you awake at this hour? Good Gad, child, you
almost frightened me to death!"
She looked ghostly as she glided toward me, her bare feet making no
sound, her white nightdress floating out behind her. I lighted a lamp;
Evelyn's face was as pale as her gown. She sank down on the edge of my
bed, and I saw that she was shivering.
"I heard a sound," she said. "Such an eerie sound, Amelia, like a long,
desolate sigh. I don't know how long it had been
going on. It woke me; I am surprised it didn't waken you too."
"I heard it, and it became part of my dream," I answered. "I dreamed of
death, and someone weeping over a grave... Then what happened?"
"I didn't want to wake you; you had worked so hard today. But the sound
went on and on, until I thought I should the; it was so dreary, so
unutterably sad. I had to know what was making it. So I went and drew
the curtain aside and looked out." She paused, and went even paler.
"Go
on," I urged. "You need not fear my skepticism, Evelyn. I have reasons,
which you will hear in due course, for believing the wildest possible
tale."
"You cannot mean that you too— "
"Tell me what you saw."
"A tall, pale form, featureless and stark. It stood in shadow, but...
Amelia, it had no face! There was no sign of nose or mouth or eyes,
only a flat, white oval; no hair, only a smooth-fitting covering. The
limbs were stiff— "
"Enough of this equivocation," I cried impatiently. "What you saw
resembled... was like... seemed to
be... in short — a Mummy!" Evelyn
stared at me.
"You saw it too! You must have done, or you could not accept this so
readily. When? How?"
"One might add, 'why?'" I said wryly. "Yes, I saw such a form last
night. This morning I found scraps
of rotted wrappings on the ledge
outside our chamber."
"And you said nothing of this to Walter— or to
me?"
"It sounded too ridiculous," I admitted, "particularly after I
learned that the mummy we discovered had mysteriously disappeared in
the night."
"Ridiculous, Amelia? I wish I could think so. What are we to do?"
"I will have the courage to speak now that I have you to support me.
But I shudder to think what Emerson will say. I can hear him now: "A
walking mummy, Peabody? Quite so! No wonder the
poor fellow wants exercise, after lying stiff for two thousand years!"
"Nevertheless, we must speak."
"Yes. In the morning. That will be time enough for my humiliation."
But the morning brought a new sensation, and new troubles.
I was up betimes. Emerson, another early riser, was already pacing
about near the cook tent. A pith helmet, set at a defiant angle,
proclaimed his intentions for the day. I glanced at it, and at his
haggard face, and sniffed meaningfully; but I made no comment.
Breakfast was prepared; we returned to our table on the ledge, where
Evelyn and Walter joined us; and the meal was almost finished when
Emerson exploded.
"Where are the men? Good God, they should have been here an hour ago!"
Walter withdrew his watch from his pocket and glanced at it.
"Half an hour. It appears they are late this morning."
"Do you see any signs of activity in the direction of the village?"
Emerson demanded, shading his eyes and peering out across the sand. "I
tell you, Walter, something is amiss. Find Abdullah."
The foreman, who slept in a tent nearby, was nowhere to be found.
Finally we made out a small white figure crossing me sand. It was
Abdullah; he had apparently been to the village in search of his tardy
work force. We were all at the bottom of the path waiting when he came
up to us. He spread out his hands in an eloquent gesture and looked at
Emerson.
"They will not come."
"What do you mean, they won't come?" Emerson demanded.
"They will not work today."
"Is there some holiday, perhaps?" Evelyn asked. "Some Moslem holy day?"
"No," Emerson answered. "Abdullah would not make such an error, even if
I did. I would think the men are holding out for higher pay, but... Sit
down, Abdullah, and tell me. Come, come, my friend, let's not stand on
ceremony. Sit down, I say, and talk."
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