The Golden One (12 page)

‘Disgusting,’ Katherine murmured.

‘Poetic justice,’ said Emerson with an evil grin. ‘Mohammed must be feeling hard done by. He may be persuaded to show me the location of the tomb. They can’t have done a
complete clearance.’

‘Oh, it’s been located,’ Cyrus said. ‘In the Wadi Gabbanat el-Qirud – the Cemetery of the Monkeys. I’ve been thinking I might spend a little time out there
looking for more tombs.’

‘You are supposed to be working at Medinet Habu,’ Emerson said with a severe look at his friend. ‘Not going off on wild-goose chases.’

‘It’s all very well for you to talk,’ Cyrus said indignantly. ‘You’ve had your big finds, but how about me? All those years in the Valley of the Kings and not a
durned tomb for my trouble! There’s got to be more of them in the southwest wadis. With Carter’s find that makes two tombs of royal females in those wadis. What I figure is that that
area could have been a kind of early queens’ cemetery.’

‘It is a strong possibility,’ Ramses agreed.

Cyrus’s eye brightened, but Emerson said firmly, ‘You’d be wasting your time, Vandergelt. Carter didn’t find that tomb of Hatshepsut’s, he trailed a group of the
locals who had discovered it. You had better stop chasing rainbows and get to work, as I intend to do. You have the firman for Medinet Habu, and you were damned lucky to get it. It is one of the
best-preserved temples on the West Bank.’

‘At least there are some tombs at Deir el Medina,’ Cyrus muttered.

‘Private tombs,’ Emerson pointed out. ‘And I will not be searching for more. I mean to finish excavating that settlement in its entirety. In archaeological terms it is far more
important than any cursed royal tomb. Town sites are rare, and we will gain valuable information about the daily life, occupations, and amusements of the working classes . . .’

There are few aspects of Egyptology that do not interest Emerson, but in this case he was bravely disguising a certain degree of disappointment and envy. He had always wanted to work at one of
the great temples like Medinet Habu. To be honest, I was not especially excited about the village either, but we would not have got even that site if the individual who had held the firman the
previous year had not been taken into police custody. According to Emerson, his excavation methods had been careless in the extreme, so there was a good chance we might come upon artifacts he had
overlooked or discarded as worthless.

And I just might have a look round for more of the private tombs. Some of them were beautifully decorated, and two had contained their original grave goods – not as rich as those of the
princesses, but full of interest.

Emerson concluded his speech by remarking, ‘I trust, Vandergelt, that you will concentrate on Medinet Habu. You cannot expect the Department of Antiquities to think well of you if you keep
wandering off on fanciful quests.’

When we took our departure, we were loaded down. There was room for Jumana on the seat with Ramses and Nefret, but her boxes and bundles took up quite a lot of space. Upon our arrival I showed
the girl her room. I had the distinct impression that she was not impressed by its amenities. They were certainly inferior to the ones she had enjoyed as Cyrus’s guest.

However, she expressed her appreciation very prettily. I then informed her that Emerson wanted a word with her.

‘What about?’ she asked.

‘I think you know what about, Jumana. For goodness’ sake, child, you look like a cornered rabbit. You aren’t afraid of him, surely.’

‘Not of him,’ Jumana murmured. ‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of, Sitt Hakim.’

‘I didn’t say you had. Come along.’

We had agreed in advance that Emerson and I would have a private chat with Jumana, so I was somewhat surprised to find the children with him in the sitting room.

‘We only waited to say good night,’ Nefret said, coming to give me a kiss.

‘I hope the house is satisfactory,’ I said, addressing Ramses, who had not yet given me his opinion. ‘And that you have everything you need for tonight.’

‘So long as there is a bed,’ said my son, and broke off with a grunt as Nefret elbowed him in the ribs.

‘I want to leave at daybreak,’ Emerson said self-consciously.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ramses.

‘Breakfast here at six,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Nefret.

Jumana’s wide eyes followed them as they went off, arm in arm, their heads close together. Or was it Ramses she watched with such wistful attention? She was of an age where girls fancy
themselves in love with unsuitable persons, and Ramses had every quality she could want in a prospective husband (aside from the inconvenient fact that he was already married). If Jamil knew or
suspected her attachment it would explain why he had selected Ramses as the object of his ire.

‘By the by,’ said I to Emerson, ‘you didn’t tell Cyrus about the artifacts I bought in Cairo. I had expected you would want to show them off.’

‘Quite the contrary,’ said Emerson to me. ‘He’d go haring off to Cairo looking for more of the cursed things. He should be thinking of his excavations.’

He fell silent, concentrating on his pipe. Now that the moment had come, he was regretting having offered to question Jumana; he was afraid she would cry. Emerson is a hopeless coward with
women.

He did not know this one. Before either of us could speak, Jumana sat up straight and raised her chin defiantly. ‘I was very silly,’ she declared. ‘Jamil can’t do
anything . . . can he?’

‘No,’ said Emerson. ‘Except, perhaps, to you.’

‘He wouldn’t hurt me.’

I was pleased to see she had recovered her nerve – timid women are a confounded nuisance – but her confidence was somewhat alarming.

‘He won’t get the chance,’ I said. ‘Listen to me, Jumana. You were right to warn Ramses about Jamil, but you are wrong if you believe he is harmless. I want your word
that you will go nowhere alone and that if Jamil attempts to communicate with you, you will inform us immediately.’

‘What will you do to him if you find him?’

For once, Emerson was too quick for me. ‘Lock him up. You must see that we cannot allow him to hang about threatening people and . . . Why are you glaring at me, Peabody?’

‘I am not glaring, Emerson,’ I said, forcing my features into a smile. ‘It is just that I believe I can explain our intentions more accurately than you. Jumana, if Jamil would
come to us and express repentance, we will do all we can to help him.’

‘You would?’

‘Yes,’ I said firmly. She still loved the wretched boy and probably believed she could redeem him. This is a common delusion of women.

After all, I had not been specific. In my opinion the best way to help Jamil would be to put him in a cell – a nice, clean, comfortable cell, naturally – and let him consider the
advantages of an honest life.

I had expected Emerson would want to go straight to the site next morning. I had no objection to his doing so; there was a great deal to do round the house, and Emerson was more of a hindrance
than a help, always grumbling and complaining. However, when we sat down to breakfast I saw that he and Ramses were dressed for rough terrain, in old tweeds and stout boots. It did not require much
thought to deduce where they meant to go. I ought to have known! My hypocritical husband’s lecture to Cyrus had been meant to deter the latter from doing precisely what Emerson intended to do
that day. The southwest wadis are remote and difficult of access.

I attempted to catch Emerson’s eyes but failed; he was looking at the sugar bowl, the coffeepot, the salt cellar – anything but me. ‘Emerson,’ I said loudly, ‘I
trust you had the courtesy to inform Fatima last night that we would want a packed luncheon?’

‘Luncheon? We?’ Emerson’s heavy black brows drew together. ‘See here, Peabody – ’

‘I will tell her now,’ I said with a sigh. ‘Fortunately she always has a full larder. Are we taking Selim and Daoud with us?’

‘Yes. No. Oh, curse it,’ said Emerson.

‘What about Jumana?’ I persisted.

‘No,’ said Emerson firmly.

‘I don’t believe we ought to leave her alone.’

‘She won’t be alone. There are a dozen people . . . Damnation. You don’t think she would creep out to meet that young swine? She gave me her word – ’

‘No, she did not. I don’t trust her out of my sight. She’s been climbing over those hills since she was a child, she can keep up as well as the rest of us.’

‘If you are going to make a full-scale expedition of this – ’

‘You would have gone off without so much as a water bottle,’ I retorted. ‘I will change my boots and get my parasol, and have a few words with Fatima.’

Emerson made one last, and as he ought to have known, futile attempt to head me off. ‘But, Peabody, I thought you meant to spend the day here. There is a great deal to do, unpacking and
– ’

‘Yes, my dear, there is. Obviously it will have to wait. I won’t be long.’

I had my few words with Fatima and sent one of the maids to tell Jumana she was wanted in the sitting room. It took me a while to find my boots, which were buried under a heap of Emerson’s
clothes. The most important part of my costume was ready at hand. Though my working attire of trousers and tweed coat is well equipped with pockets, I have never abandoned my invaluable belt of
tools. Over the years I had refined and added to these accoutrements: a pistol and knife, a coil of rope, a small flask of brandy, candles and matches in a waterproof box, and other useful items.
On an expedition such as this, one could not take too many precautions. I hung a small first-aid kit and a brush from two of the empty hooks, and returned to the breakfast room, where I found that
Jumana had joined the others.

Emerson, who objects to my being hung all round with sharp-edged or blunt objects, gave me a sour look but refrained from comment. I turned to Nefret.

‘Are you coming, my dear, or would you prefer to stay here and get your new quarters in order? I purchased goods for draperies – a very pretty blue, shot with silver – but I
haven’t done anything about servants, since I assumed you would wish to select them yourself. One of Yusuf’s brother’s cousins has already come round asking – ’

‘Yes, Mother, you mentioned that. I am coming, of course. Do you suppose I would allow my poor helpless husband to go off without me to protect him?’

Jumana gave her a startled look, and Ramses’s lips parted in a grin. He must have told Nefret of the plan the night before. She certainly had him well in hand – better than I had
Emerson!

Fatima bustled in with two heavily laden baskets, and we went to the stable, where we found Daoud chatting with the stableman and Selim chatting with the horses. He was a fine rider, and he had
been in charge of the splendid Arabians while we were away. Risha and Asfur had been gifts to Ramses and David from a Bedouin friend. Their progeny, which included Nefret’s mare Moonlight,
had increased over the years.

‘Are we taking the horses?’ I inquired. I knew the answer even before Emerson shook his head. He had told Selim and Daoud to meet him in the stable so I wouldn’t see them!
Neither appeared surprised to see me, however. Selim greeted me with a knowing smile. He and Daoud both carried coils of rope. I had a feeling we would need ropes before the day was over, if the
paths Emerson meant to take were too rough for the horses.

I have clambered over the Theban mountains many a time, by day and by night. The exercise is delightful during the time of full moon, when the rugged surface is a symphony of silver and shadow.
The first part of the trek was familiar to me, and not difficult – up the slope behind Deir el Bahri to the top of the plateau and the path that led from the workmen’s village to the
Valley of the Kings. How often had I stood there gazing out upon the panorama of temples and villages, desert and sown, with the waters of the Nile sparkling in the sunlight! It was a hallowed
spot; for as our dear departed reis Abdullah grew older, I would often pretend fatigue after the climb so that he could stop and catch his breath. I dreamed of him from time to time, and it was
always in this setting that I saw him.

Difficult as it is to believe of such a barren, rocky region, the wadis of the Western Desert were cut by water pouring down the cliffs of the high plateau to the plain below. I believe I can
best make the Reader come to an understanding of this particular terrain, which is nothing at all like the sand deserts of the Sahara, by comparing the plateau to a plum cake which has been set
down on a flattish platter (the Nile Valley). Imagine that some monstrous being has thrust taloned claws into the soft top and sides of this confection and withdrawn them, leaving ragged fissures
and tumbled lumps.

(When Emerson happened to read this particular section of my narrative, he remarked that in his opinion no rational person could make such an absurd comparison. In my opinion, it is a valid
figure of speech, and very descriptive.)

Paths wind to and fro across the slopes and over the gebel; some are fairly easy, others are more suitable for goats. These latter were the ones we followed, for whenever there was a choice
between an easier, roundabout route, or a steeper, direct path, Emerson chose the second. I had to trust to his leadership, since I had never come this way, but various landmarks gave me a general
sense of where we were. Above rose the great pyramid-shaped peak known as the Qurn; beyond, below, and behind it were ravines of all sizes, including the great Valleys of the Kings and the Queens.
As we went on, scrambling up stony slopes and over projecting ridges, the scenery became wilder and more spectacular, but even in that remote region there were signs of the presence of man, both
ancient and modern: a scrap of newspaper that might have wrapped someone’s lunch, the tumbled stones of crude huts, scraps of broken pottery and animal bones.

After an hour of strenuous walking I persuaded Emerson to stop for a brief rest and a sip of water. The view was breathtaking but monotonous – tumbled stone and bare ground, with the blue
of the sky above the only colour.

‘Emerson, are you sure you know where you are going?’ I inquired, mopping my perspiring face.