The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (23 page)

Royal pyramids are, as a rule, surrounded by the tombs of private persons who (one must suppose) believed that proximity to the king's remains would assist their survival in the next world.

The mastaba tombs consisted of two parts: a superstructure of mud-brick shaped like the mastaba bench that gave them their names, rectangular in shape with sloping sides; and a substructure sunk deep into the underlying rock, where the actual burial rested. Some of the larger mastabas around the Giza pyramids are beautifully decorated and inscribed. Mr. Reisner had of course kept these for himself. I do not blame him; I simply state the fact.

There were cemeteries of private tombs around our pyramid. Mr. Reisner had excavated a few of these the previous year, finding that they ranged widely in date, from the crude grave pits of the earliest dynasty to equally poor burials of a period two thousand years later. He had therefore left them to us. He was, of course, perfectly within his rights to do so.

Reisner had not published these tombs, so the results of his (somewhat cursory) excavations had to be extracted (by detailed and ruthless interrogation) from Jack and Geoffrey.

The two young men put up with Emerson's bullying for two reasons. Firstly, because no one dares disagree with Emerson. Physically, professionally and vocally, he dominates any group. Secondly, because I endeavored to make the encounters as pleasant as possible in other ways, interrupting Emerson's lectures with my little jokes and encouraging others to speak.

The last of these encounters took place one evening in our charming courtyard. I had issued invitations as if it were to be an ordinary social occasion, but Jack and Geoffrey must have known what they would be in for. They came anyhow. The presence of Nefret, smiling and silently sympathetic, was no doubt a factor. Ramses was present. He was neither silent nor sympathetic. I had also invited Maude, since I supposed she would come whether I did or not.

The only other guest was Karl von Bork. He had taken to hanging about rather like one of the stray dogs Nefret insisted on feeding. I could hardly turn him away; he was an old friend and I knew he was lonely for Mary and the children. He was always bringing me little gifts from the bazaar in Giza village—a gracefully curved pot or a silver bracelet or a scrap of bright embroidery.

His customary loquacity seemed to have deserted him that evening. To be sure, it would have been difficult for him to get a word in, since Emerson immediately began quizzing Jack and Geoffrey.

Geoffrey was more helpful than Jack, who spent part of the time trying to fend off Emerson's criticisms of Reisner and the rest of it gazing sentimentally at Nefret.

"I did regret we were unable to do more in the area west of the pyramid," Geoffrey said in his quiet, well-bred voice. "The tombs were all early dynastic and some had not been plundered. One, which contained some rather pleasant bits of ivory and carnelian jewelry, was that of a woman. Beside her lay the tiny bones of a newborn child. It is that sort of thing, isn't it, that brings the past to life."

"Hmph," said Emerson, waving away this touch of sentimentality. "So you suggest proceeding with that cemetery on the west?"

"It is entirely up to you, sir, of course."

"No, it is up to Ramses," said Emerson. "Mrs. Emerson has been nagging me about the interior of the pyramid and I will probably have to spend some time on that project since—"

"Really, Emerson," I exclaimed. "How dare you accuse me of nagging? I never nag. I simply pointed out that it behooves us to excavate all the way down to the bottom of the shaft in order to ascertain whether there is an entrance to a lower passageway."

"I hardly think so," said Jack Reynolds with a superior smile. "The shaft can't be much deeper."

"So far," said Emerson mildly, "we have gone down another five meters, without reaching bedrock."

"What? Oh. Well, now. Er—have you found anything?"

"Bits and pieces," said Emerson. "Bits and pieces."

That was all we had found, in fact—bits and pieces of the ubiquitous pottery, fragments of basketry and scraps of wood— but Emerson's portentous tone and mysterious looks suggested something much more interesting. Having aroused the curiosity of our visitors, he proceeded to change the subject.

"I am leaving the cemeteries to Ramses for the moment. I believe he plans to begin in the area to the north. And now it is getting late." Emerson rose and tapped the ashes from his pipe. "Time for everyone to go home."

The two young men sprang to their feet like soldiers who have been given an order. Maude followed suit, pouting. Nefret exchanged glances with Ramses, cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.

"There's no need to leave so soon. We'll just retire—er—go up to our sitting room where we won't disturb you, Professor."

"What? Where? Oh." Emerson exchanged glances with
me,
coughed, and shuffled his feet. "Oh. Yes."

Karl was the only one to decline the invitation. He was some years older than the others, and I think he felt his age that night, for even his mustaches drooped as he bowed over my hand and Nefret's in his formal German fashion. We said good night and I led Emerson away.

"When did that happen?" he inquired.

"The sitting room? Now, Emerson, you know we agreed that Ramses and Nefret are entitled to more independence."

"Yes, but—"

"Nefret asked some time ago if they might not have a place of their own where they can entertain their friends. She furnished it herself and very attractive it is."

"Certainly. But—"

"This is the twentieth century, Emerson. Old-fashioned notions about chaperonage are passing away, and a good thing, too. Surely you trust Nefret to behave like a lady at all times."

"Of course! But—"

"We have no hold on her except that of affection, my dear. Or on Ramses, come to that. It is sometimes necessary to slacken the reins a trifle if one wishes to keep a high-spirited young creature under control."

Emerson's furrowed brow smoothed out. "Peabody, you do talk the most infernal nonsense at times."

"Your decision to give Ramses a nice mastaba of his own is the same sort of thing, Emerson. We want to keep him happy and contented so he won't go wandering off again, to Saint Petersburg or Capetown or Lhasa."

"Why would he want to go ... Oh. I happen to want the cemetery excavated anyhow, Peabody, but you're right; we do want the lad to be happy with us. I have a feeling, however, that it may take more than a nice mastaba to content him."

The children began work on our north cemetery next day. Daoud and several of our other trained men were with them, and Emerson had taken on thirty unskilled workmen and the like number of basket carriers. According to Jack, their group had excavated a large mastaba in this area the previous February. There was no trace of it now; drifting sand had filled the hollow again. If I hadn't seen the same thing so often before, I would not have believed how quickly the feeble efforts of man can be expunged by the hand of nature. I was a little surprised that Mr. Reisner had not continued excavating in this area, since his mastaba had produced fragments of handsome hard-stone vessels inscribed with the name of a hitherto unknown king. However, this was paltry stuff compared to the elegantly decorated tombs he was finding at Giza. One would not expect him to give something of
that
sort to another excavator.

I went first to the little shelter I had caused to be set up nearby. I always make it a point to arrange a rug and a few chairs and a table and other modest comforts in a shady place so that we can retire to it for refreshment and occasional rest periods. Unnecessary discomfort is inefficient as well as foolish. Usually I was able to find an empty tomb or cave, but here the terrain was so flat I had to content myself with an awning of canvas. Removing my coat and discarding my parasol, I rolled my sleeves to the elbow and loosened my collar. It is always warm inside pyramids.

Going in search of Emerson I found him with Ramses and Nefret, their heads bent over one of the plans. "Here, then," Emerson was saying, as he jabbed at the paper with the stem of his pipe. "Make sure you—"

"Emerson!" I said rather loudly.

Emerson jumped, dropped his pipe and said a bad word. "What do you want?" he demanded.

"You. You said I could go inside today. If you do not care to accompany me I will take Selim, but I thought it only fair to inform you that I am about—"

"Oh, damnation," said Emerson. "I am coming. I only wanted to—"

I turned on my heel and marched off. Selim, who had been watching with a grin, fell in step with me. We had not gone two yards before Emerson caught us up. He was wiping the dust off his pipe with his shirttail.

"Peabody," he began, in a voice like thunder.

"Leave Ramses alone, Emerson."

"I only wanted to—"

"Is he competent to do the job?"

"Curse it, I trained him myself!"

"Then let him do it."

We stamped along side by side in silence. Then Emerson said, "Have I mentioned recently that you are the light of my life and the joy of my existence?"

"And have I mentioned that you are the most remarkable man of my acquaintance?"

Emerson chuckled. "We will elaborate on those statements at a later time, my dear. At the present time I can best demonstrate my affection by taking you into your pyramid."

However, when we reached the shaft we met an unexpected and ominous check.

Our men had been pulling the filled baskets up by hand, an increasingly onerous task as the shaft deepened, until Selim had employed his engineering talents in constructing a more efficient apparatus. A framework of stout beams supported a series of pulleys and a roller onto which the rope could be wound by means of a handle. Attached to the end of the rope was a sort of box, open on top, which served as a container for filled baskets or for people. A foot lever pushed something or other that would stop the rope unwinding too suddenly. Selim would have explained it all to me— indeed, I had a hard time
stopping
him from explaining it all to me. I had assured him I had complete confidence in him and that I would take his word for it that the device was entirely safe.

It was no longer there. With an emphatic swearword Emerson knelt on the edge of the chasm and looked down. Then he looked up. He pronounced another even more emphatic swearword. "Damnation! Clear out, everyone. Get back."

"What has happened?" I demanded. I thought I knew, though, and Emerson's reply confirmed my suspicion.

"Rockfall," said Emerson, towing me along the inclined passage. "How the devil it could have happened I don't know; when I examined the upper part of the shaft the other day, the fill looked to be fairly stable. No one is going down there again until I have made certain there is no danger."

A shudder ran through me when I remembered that day. Emerson's head had been within a foot of the lowest level of stones. If one had fallen then...

We made our way back to the surface and retired to my shady shelter, where I dampened a cloth and removed the worst of the dust from my face and hands. Emerson's ablutions were quicker and more comprehensive: removing his shirt, he poured a jar of water over his head and shoulders and shook himself vigorously.

"That's better," he remarked. "Now then, Peabody, I will leave you to write up those notes while they are fresh in your mind."

"Where are you off to? Don't go out in the sun without your hat. And your shirt."

"It is too warm," said Emerson, retreating in haste.

My admonitions were purely formal. I knew he would pay no attention. Keeping a hat on Emerson's head is a task beyond even my powers, and I have never been able to break him of his habit of removing articles of clothing while he works. An ordinary man would have suffered from sunstroke, heat prostration and sunburn, but Emerson is not an ordinary man. After a week in Egypt he is tanned to an even, handsome shade of brown and he never seems in the least inconvenienced by the heat.

As for where he was going, I knew the answer, so after I had finished tidying myself I went after him.

Ramses was not wearing a hat or a shirt either. He and Emerson stood at the edge of a trench looking down. The cutting was approximately two feet wide and four feet deep, and Nefret was at the bottom of it. I could not see what else was there, since her crouching body hid the bottom of the trench. I took some comfort in the fact that she was wearing her pith helmet.

"What a nice neat deep trench," I said. "Er—should Nefret be down in it?"

"She thought she saw a skull," Ramses said. "You know how she is about bones. However, your point is well taken, Mother. Nefret, there isn't room to work down there. Come up and we'll widen the trench."

Nefret straightened. She held a brush in one hand, and I now made out a distinctive rounded shape half-buried in the earth at her feet. The trench was deeper than I had thought; the top of her head was an inch or so below the upper surface. She raised her hands. "Right you are."

Ramses leaned over and took hold of her arms just above the elbows, braced his feet, and swung her up onto solid ground.

Emerson squatted and squinted at the side of the trench. "Cut stone," he muttered. "How long—"

"A little over three meters. I will of course make precise measurements once we have cleared the entire enclosure. So far we have located three of the four corners and I decided to do a trial trench on this side in order to—"