The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (28 page)

*  *  *

That evening Emerson informed us we would begin work next day in the royal wadi, and that he
intended to remain there for several days and nights. The rest of us could do as we pleased, if we preferred to return to the dahabeeyah each evening, he would allow us to stop work early.
Cyrus looked at me. I smiled. Cyrus rolled his eyes heavenward and went off to make the necessary arrangements.

CHAPTER 11

"All is fair in love, war, and journalism."

I dreamed last night I returned to the royal wadi again. Moonlight transformed the ragged cliffs to icy silver sculptures of ruined palaces and crumbled colossi. The silence was absolute, unbroken even by
the sound of my footsteps as I glided on, disembodied as the spirit I felt myself to be. Shadows sharp-limned as ink stains reached out and then retreated as I moved on. Darkness filled the narrow
cleft toward which I drifted, and something moved to meet me— a shape of pale light, crowned with moonbeams and swathed in white linen. The deep-set eyes were sunk in shadow. The mouth was set
in a grimace of pain. I held out my arms in pity and appeal, but he paid no heed. He passed on into eternal night, condemned to oblivion by the gods he had tried to destroy. Forever will he wander and forever, no doubt, will I return in dreams to that haunted place which draws my spirit as it does his.

*  *  *

"You appear a trifle hollow-eyed this morning, Peabody," Emerson remarked. "Didn't you sleep well? Something on your conscience, perhaps."
We were alone on deck, waiting for the others to collect their gear. A considerable quantity of supplies would be required if we were to remain in the remote wadi for several days, Emerson had of course
left the complex arrangements to Cyrus, and had already complained about the delay.
Ignoring the provocation (for it was nothing less and certainly nothing more), I said, "I want to change that bandage before we go. You have got it wet."
He fussed and protested but I persisted, and at last he consented to follow me to my room. I left the
door ostentatiously ajar.
"Are you sure you are willing to abandon your luxurious quarters for a tent among the rocks?" Emerson inquired, with a contemptuous survey of the elegant room. "You have my permission to return to the dahabeeyah at night if you prefer. It is only a three-hour walk each— ouch!"
This ejaculation was wrung from him by my brisk removal of the sticking plaster. "I thought you angels
of mercy prided yourselves on the delicacy of your touch," Emerson went on, between his teeth.
"Not at all. We pride ourselves on our efficiency. Stop squirming or you will get a mouthful of antiseptic. It is not meant to be taken internally."
"It stings," Emerson grumbled.
"There is some localized infection. I expected that. The healing process is proceeding nicely, however." My voice was steady, I believe, though the sight of the ugly, inflamed wound made my heart contract. "As for returning to the dahabeeyah every night, that would of course be the most sensible procedure,"
I said, cutting strips of sticking plaster. "But if you are determined to perch in the wadi like a bird in the wilderness, the rest of us must— "
The voice of Cyrus calling my name interrupted me before Emerson could do so, as his expression indicated he fully intended. "There you are," said Cyrus, in the doorway. "I was looking for you."
"You have a positive genius for stating the obvious, Vandergelt," said Emerson. He pushed my hand away. "That will do. Collect your bottles and paint and jars and other female flapdoodle and let's be off."
Brushing rudely past Cyrus, he went out. I packed away my medical supplies and tucked the box into
my knapsack.
"Is that all you are taking?" Cyrus asked. "Someone can come back for anything you have forgotten,
of course."
"That will not be necessary. I have everything I need." I tucked my parasol under my arm.
The donkeys were being loaded when we crossed over to the riverbank. Emerson had gone on, the cat riding on his shoulder. I stopped to talk to Feisal, who was supervising the donkey men.
"They have been washed, Sitt Hakim," he assured me. He was referring to the donkeys, not the men, though their appearance certainly could have been improved by a little soap and water.
"Good." I took a handful of dates from my pocket and fed them to the donkeys. One of the lean pariah dogs slunk toward us, its tail between its legs. I tossed it the scraps of meat I had saved from breakfast.
"Poor dumb creatures," said Cyrus. "It's a waste of time feeding them, though, my dear,- there are too many of them, and all half-starved."
"One scrap of food is better than none," I replied. "At least that is my philosophy. But Cyrus, what is
all this baggage? We are setting up a temporary camp, not a luxury hotel."
"Lord only knows how long your bullheaded husband will want to stay in the wadi," Cyrus replied.
"You won't leave the place so long as he's there, so I figured we might as well be comfortable. I ordered up a few extra donkeys, in case you wanted to ride."
I declined this thoughtful offer, but Rene helped Bertha mount one of the little beasts and walked beside her as we set out. It took about an hour for our caravan to cross the plain, unless it is beaten, which I never permit, a donkey's pace is not much faster than that of a man. I kept a watchful eye on Emerson, some distance ahead. Abdullah and several of his sons were in close attendance, to Emerson's audible annoyance. Sound carries quite a distance in the desert.
Mounting into the foothills, we reached the entrance to the wadi, where Emerson was waiting. He was rolling his eyes and tapping his foot and exhibiting other ostentatious signs of impatience, but even he, I think, was glad to rest and catch his breath for a moment. We were high enough to see a stretch of the river sparkling in the morning sunlight beyond the soft green of cultivated fields and palm trees. It was with a sense of impending doom— and a corresponding stiffening of nerve and sinew—that I turned to contemplate the dark opening in the cliffs.
The reality was grim enough, though of course it looked nothing like the fantasy that was to haunt my dreams for years to come Sterile, bare and dead, not a blade of grass, not a trickle of moisture. The
rocky faces on either side were cracked, horizontally and vertically, like crumbling ruins, the sloping detritus below them and the pebbles and boulders littering the Valley floor were ominous evidence of constant rockfalls, and of the rare but violent flash floods that had helped to shape the wadi.
When we passed into the Valley, only the heights of the left-hand cliffs shone with sunlight. The Valley floor was still deep in shadow. Gradually the light crept down the cliffs and moved toward us as we followed a path winding among the tumbled rocks, until at last the full force of the sun struck down like
a blast from a furnace. The barren ground quivered with heat. The only sounds that broke the silence were the gasping breaths of men and donkeys, the crunch of rock under their feet, and the cheerful
jingle of the accouterments dangling from my belt.
Never had I been so grateful for my comfortable new trousers and neat knee-high boots. Even the bloomer-rationals I had worn on my first visit to Egypt, improvement though they were over trailing
skirts and bulky bustles, had not permitted such ease of movement. The only thing I envied the men was their ability to remove more clothing than I could properly do. Emerson, of course, had his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow before we had gone a mile, and as the sunlight enveloped our perspiring forms even Cyrus, with an apologetic glance at me, removed his linen jacket and loosened his cravat. The cotton robes the Egyptians wore were better suited to the climate than European clothing. I had wondered at first how they managed to scramble around so easily without tripping over their skirts, but I soon realized they had no compunction about tucking them up or stripping off the robes altogether when this was expedient.
After approximately three miles the rocky walls began to close in and narrower canyons opened up to
the right and left. Emerson stopped. "We will camp here."
"The royal tomb is farther on," Cyrus said, mopping his wet forehead. "Up that wadi to the north—"
"There is not enough level space for your confounded tents in the royal wadi itself. Furthermore, the other tombs I mentioned are nearby. There is at least one in that small valley to the south."
Cyrus made no further objection. The word "tombs" had the same effect on him that the mention of "pyramids" has on me. From Emerson's ironical expression I suspected he knew what I anticipated
would be the case: that the other tombs would be even more ruined and empty of objects than the abandoned sepulcher of Akhenaton. However, hope springs eternal, as the saying goes, and I
sympathized with Cyrus's feelings. It is much more sensible to be an optimist instead of a pessimist,
for if one is doomed to disappointment, why experience it in advance?
We left the men to set up camp— no easy task on ground so littered with debris— and went on another hundred yards to where the royal wadi led northward A few minutes' walking brought us to the spot.
After a moment Cyrus spoke in a soft, contemplative voice. "There is something about the place . . . What was he really like, that strange, enigmatic figure? What did he really believe?"
I knew by Emerson's expression that he was not unmoved, but when he replied his voice was harshly practical. "More to the point are the mysteries of the tomb itself. Akhenaton was interred there, I would stake my reputation upon it. Fragments of his burial equipment, including the sarcophagus, have been found. That massive, hard stone object was smashed to bits, few of the pieces are larger than five centimeters across. No tomb robber would expend such effort. The vandals must have been enemies of the king, driven by hatred and the desire for revenge. Did they also destroy his mummy, or had it been transferred to a safer place, along with the rest of his burial equipment, when the city was abandoned?
"The second of his daughters died young, before there was time to prepare a separate tomb for her. Fragments of another sarcophagus which must have been hers have also been found here. I don't doubt she was buried in the rooms which were decorated with the scenes of her parents mourning over her body.
"But what of Nefertiti? There is only one sarcophagus emplacement in the burial chamber. The separate suite of rooms leading off from the entrance corridor may have been meant for her burial, but it was never completed and not a fragment of her funerary equipment has turned up in or near the tomb."
"What about the jewelry Mond bought in 1883?" Cyrus asked. "There was a ring with her name— "
"That," said Emerson dogmatically, "was part— a very minute part— of her husband's rich equipment. Those bits and pieces were pocketed— I speak figuratively, of course— by one of those who transferred the mummy of Akhenaton to another tomb or by the vandals who destroyed the sarcophagus. The former hypothesis seems most likely The sarcophagus was too heavy to be moved, but the coffined body and
the equipment buried with it—jars of oil and food clothing furniture, ornaments—were taken away. The jewelry acquired by Mond was purchased from local villagers. The ancient thief hid his loot somewhere
in the wadi, meaning to come back for it later, but he never did The cache was undoubtedly discovered by modern thieves."
"Then you believe her tomb— " Cyrus began.
"May yet be found," Emerson said. "But the royal tomb should be our first enterprise. I want the place completely cleared out down to bare rock. The fill in the shaft will have to be removed and sifted Floors and ceilings and walls should be probed to make certain no hidden doorways exist Where the devil is --
hell and damnation, Abdullah, will you stop treading on my heels?"
"I follow to be ready when the Father of Curses commands" said Abdullah.
"I command you not to walk so close behind, then. Go fetch Ali and four— no, five— of the others I
want only trained men to work here You know what to look for, Abdullah."
"We start now?" Abdullah inquired, rolling his eyes heavenward High above, the cloudless sky
shimmered with heat
"It is almost midday," I said, before Emerson could reply "And the trip has been long and arduous.
We will rest and eat before starting work, Abdullah."
"As for you," said Emerson, fixing me with a critical blue stare "you can take your treasure-hunting
friend Vandergelt back to the main wadi and start looking for other tombs."
"We haven't the manpower," Cyrus objected. "There are tons of rock and sand to be shifted."
"Get workers from the village."
"for pity's sake, Emerson," I exclaimed. "Are you out of your mind?"
"You keep telling me," Emerson replied mildly.
"We dare not admit strangers to our group," I insisted "Some of the men of Haggi Qandil were hiding in the cliffs when Mohammed attacked you, ready to carry you off if his plan succeeded Most of them are honest, I believe, but a few. . ."
"Hire the honest ones, then," said Emerson impatiently "Why the devil can t you use a little initiative instead of depending on my advice for everything?"

*  *  *

Naturally I paid no attention to Emerson's attempt to divide our forces. "If you want to concentrate on
the royal tomb, then let us concentrate," I said firmly. "In addition to the tasks you mentioned this morning, we ought to make a more accurate plan of the entire tomb and copy the remaining reliefs. Bouriant's copies are invaluable because they show sections that have now disappeared, but they are
not entirely accurate, and— "
"Damn it, woman, don't lecture me!" Emerson bellowed. He fumbled at his chin. Finding no beard on which to tug, he rubbed the member in question until it turned pink. "I intended, of course, to do all the things you gratuitously suggested. Since you anticipated me, you may have the pleasure of copying the reliefs."
I felt certain I knew what had motivated this suggestion. He was getting even with me for the beard.
The inner chambers of the tomb were as hot as the pits of the infernal regions.
"Certainly," I said calmly. "What method had you in mind? Dry squeezes or tracings?"
"Both," said Emerson, his lips curving in an expression that hardly deserved to be called a smile. "I want every scratch on those walls recorded. One technique may show details the other missed. After you
have compared the two and made a master drawing, you will take it back into the tomb and check it against the wall itself. You may have Rene to assist you. Begin in room E and make sure you cover
every inch of every wall."
Room E was the burial chamber—the deepest, most remote, hottest part of the tomb.
"Certainly," I said again. Emerson went off, smirking. While he was haranguing the men on how he wanted them to proceed, I took Abdullah aside.
"I don't know what he is up to, Abdullah, but he has just ordered me into the deepest and most distant part of the tomb, where I can't keep an eye on him. He has not said what he means to do, but I fear
the worst. I rely on you, my friend. Watch him! Don't let him wander off alone."
"Have no fear, Sitt. Since the last time he eluded us I have made sure someone watches over him even when he sleeps, or seems to sleep He will not escape us again."
"Excellent. I trust you as I would myself."
I was turning away when the old man said hesitatingly, "Sitt Hakim . . ."
"Yes, Abdullah?"
"I would not have you think your safety is a lesser matter to us."
"You need not tell me that, old friend," I said warmly. "You and I understand one another's hearts, I think. We both know that the Father of Curses is in greater need of protection than I, he is the bravest
of men, but he does take foolish chances." Adjusting my belt, I added, "I can take care of myself."
Abdullah's bearded lips quivered. "Yes, Sitt. But I hope I do not offend if I say that as you trust in me, I trust in the rich American who is also your friend. He will not let harm come to you if he can prevent it."
"Mr Vandergelt is a true friend," I said. "We are fortunate to have such loyal friends— and you chief among them, Abdullah."
The courtesies and the dictates of affection having been satisfied, Abdullah set off in pursuit of Emerson and I found Rene and instructed him to gather our equipment.
Cyrus of course offered to assist me, but I could see he was not interested in such painstaking, plodding work— nor had he the training for it. When I assured him I would get on very well without him he did
not insist. He already had his eye on a pile of debris across the wadi, near the place where other explorers, including Emerson, had found evidence of a possible tomb opening, and I could see he was itching to
start digging.
Rene and I carried our rolls of paper and pencils down the long shafts and stairs, over the half-filled
shaft (which had been bridged by planks) and down a short ramp into the burial chamber.
It was about thirty feet on either side (10.36 by 10.40 meters, to be precise) with two square pillars and
a raised plinth that had once supported the sarcophagus. The floor was covered with hardened mud set solid as plaster. The surfaces of walls and pillars had been decorated with painted reliefs modeled on a layer of plaster which had been applied to the rock surface. Here, where the heretic's own body had rested, the full fury of his enemies had been expended. Most of the plaster was gone. However, some
of the figures had been roughly delineated on the underlying rock before the plaster was applied, and these rude outlines still survived.
"We will start with the back wall," I said to Rene. "I at the right-hand corner, you at the left. Watch me first, I am sure you are familiar with the technique, but I have my own methods."
The process of dry squeezing consists of pressing a thin sheet of paper over the carvings with the fingertips. Wet squeezes would of course give a more precise copy, but they often damaged the
crumbling reliefs and removed the last traces of any remaining paint. The technique of rubbing should be self-explanatory, soft pencils and a steady, even pressure were necessary. It was hard on the arm and hand muscles to maintain this, especially when working on a perpendicular surface.
I will not elaborate on the working conditions. Imagine the hottest, dustiest, deadest, driest climate your mind can conceive, and double it, that will give some idea of what Rene and I endured that afternoon. I was determined to stick to it till I dropped and Rene was determined not to be outdone by a mere woman (though of course he knew better than to voice this sentiment aloud). For his sake rather than my own I decreed occasional breaks for rest, air, and refreshment. Copious consumption of water was essential to ward off dehydration. Each time we emerged my eyes sought Emerson. Each time he was in a different place— remeasuring a room Charlie had already measured, and telling him he had done it wrong, criticizing Abdullah for overlooking a scrap of pottery in a crack in the floor, or hectoring the small work force he had assigned to Cyrus. He left me and Rene strictly alone most of the afternoon, when he finally came thumping down the passage, it was to tell us to stop for the day.
A faint moan came from Rene. I said, "As soon as I finish this sheet of paper."
Emerson picked up one of the rubbings I had completed and held it near the lamp. "Hmph," he said,
and thumped off.
The valley was sunk in blue shadows when we emerged. Rene collapsed on the ledge, gasping. I handed him my canteen, the water was hot enough to have been used for tea, but it gave him strength enough
to go on. I had to help him descend the slope, however.
"What luck?" I inquired of Cyrus, who was waiting below.
"Not much. Emerson insists we piqk through every confounded square inch of sand. At this rate it will take two weeks to reach bedrock. So far we have found a diorite maul, the kind the ancients used to break rock, and four pieces of pottery." Cyrus wiped the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve and then blinked at me. "But my poor dear girl— you look as if you have spent the day in a steam bath. You must be exhausted."
"Not at all. A nice hot cup of tea and a nice warm cup of water with which to bathe my face, and I will
be fully restored."
"We can do better than that," Cyrus said, taking my arm. "Come and see what my fellows have done."
What they had accomplished was little short of a miracle. The area was quite unsuitable for a camp. The central space was so narrow the tents and shelters had to be arranged in a long line instead of clustering together. To clear the ground entirely of rock would have taken weeks, but the men had rolled away many of the larger boulders and prepared relatively flat surfaces on which tents could be erected. Rugs and matting softened the pebbly ground, and folding cots offered promise of comfortable rest. Even the wood and dried camel dung for a fire had to be brought with us, for there was not so much as a twig to
be gathered. Several fires burned bright in the dusk, and lanterns hung near the tents. Water jars, bowls and towels had been arranged outside each of them.
"No wonder you wanted so many donkeys," I said to Cyrus as, with glances admiring on my part and modestly proud on his, we surveyed the scene. "You sent them back after they were unloaded?"
"Figured I might as well. In rough terrain like this a man can scramble around as fast as a donkey can move." He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "I hope Emerson isn't going to throw a fit when he finds out I ordered some of my own men to stay. They don't know much about excavating, but they
have sharp eyes and suspicious natures."
"Let him throw a fit if he likes. I approve, and I believe I can still bully— persuade, I mean— Emerson to accept the inevitable. How did you manage to convince your crewmen to take on the duties of guards?"
"Money is a great persuader, my dear. We'll speak no more of that, have a look at your quarters and
see if I have forgotten anything you need or want."
The only fault I could find was that there was an excess of unnecessary luxuries, including soft cushions and a pretty china tea set. "It won't do, Cyrus," I said, smiling. "Emerson will wax sarcastic when he
sees those ruffled pillows."
"Let him," was the sulky reply.
"More to the point," I continued, "there is not room for a second cot. Bertha will have to share my tent, Cyrus. No"— for he was on the verge of objecting— "there is no alternative, I fear. Far be it from me
to cast aspersions on the character of any young gentleman, but I cannot allow the slightest breath of scandal to tarnish an expedition of which I am a part. Gossip of that sort, true or false, would hinder
the advancement of females in the profession, and that advancement, as you know, is a matter of great concern to me. Furthermore— "
"I take your point," said Cyrus with a sigh "If that's what you want, Amelia, that's how it's going to be."
Cyrus's cook was among those who had consented to stay with us. I could only assume Cyrus had
bribed him extravagantly, for good chefs can easily find employment and do not have to endure conditions like the ones under which he labored.
I was pouring tea by the fire when Charlie staggered into camp. The poor young American was a sight
to behold. His shirt was as wet as if he had stood under a waterfall, and his hair was dripping.
"So how did it go?" I inquired cheerfully. "You have been working on the plan of the tomb, I believe?"
"Part of the time," said Charlie, in a voice hoarse with fatigue and dust. "I believe I have by now
practiced every possible aspect of the archaeologist's trade. If the professor— "
He was interrupted by the professor himself, who had gone off to inspect the camp. He now came storming up to us, brandishing some object like a club. It was so dark that I did not identify the object until he got close to the fire.
"What the devil do you mean by this, Vandergelt?" he demanded, thrusting the rifle— for so it proved
to be— into Cyrus's face.
"For heaven's sake, Emerson, point it the other way," I exclaimed in some alarm.
"It is not loaded," said Emerson, pitching the weapon away. "But the ammunition is there, along with a half dozen other rifles. What the devil— "
"If you will give me a chance, I will answer you," said Cyrus coolly. "Nobody is forcing you to pack a six-shooter, but I'll be consarned if I am going to neglect such an obvious means of self-defense. These are Mauser Gewehrs, with 7.92-millimeter cartridges and a five-round magazine. A sharp shot, which
I am, can blow a man's head off at two hundred yards. And if I see a head I don't recognize, that's
what I intend to do, with your permission or without it."
Emerson's teeth gleamed in the firelight. "I'm sure your speech has made a great impression on the ladies, Vandergelt. It doesn't impress me, but then that was not your purpose, was it? I hope your eyesight is good. It would be a pity if you happened to shoot Abdullah or me by mistake."
Hearing Cyrus's teeth grinding, I hastened to intervene. "No more squabbling, if you please. Supper will be ready soon, go and wash."
"Yes, Mama," said Emerson. He has rather large, very white teeth, the reflection of the firelight off
their surfaces presented a horrifying picture.
Bertha glided off to assist the chef. When the group reassembled, tempers had improved somewhat— I refer primarily to the temper of Emerson— and the consumption of an excellent meal put everyone into
a more relaxed frame of mind. In relative affability we compared notes on the activities of the day and discussed plans for the morrow. The only discordant note was introduced by— whom else?— Emerson, who inquired why I was lounging around the fire instead of collating the copies I had made that day.
With perfect calm I replied, "It is impossible to do it properly under these conditions. The light is inadequate, there is not a flat surface large enough to spread the papers out— "
"Bah," said Emerson.
It was not long before yawns and lengthening silences interrupted speech, and I decreed that it was time to retire. It had been a long hard day for most of us.
Bertha was not pleased to learn that she was to share my tent. Not that she said so— she was a very
silent creature, at least with me— but she was very adept at conveying her feelings without the use of words. Removing only her outer robe and veil, she rolled herself in a blanket and within a few minutes her regular breathing indicated that she had fallen asleep. I had intended to ask her a few questions, but
I was unusually tired myself. I felt my eyelids droop . . .
How long it took me to realize that my drowsiness was unnatural I cannot say. I am particularly resistant to drugs and hypnosis,  it is not so much physical immunity as something in my character, I believe.
For an indeterminate time I lay in a semi-stupor, dozing off and waking, hearing the low voices of the workmen and the clatter of cooking pots gradually fade into silence. It was well past midnight, I think, when the sleepless sentinel within my brain finally made itself heard. "This is no natural repose," it cried. "Arouse yourself and act!"
It was easier said (or thought) than done. My limbs felt as limp as boneless tentacles. But the remedy
was close at hand. I had employed it before in a similar situation, and thanks to the rearrangement of
the tent made necessary by the addition of Bertha's cot, all my equipment was nearby. I had only to stretch out my hand.
My fingers were as clumsy as an animal's paws, but at last I managed to open the box of medical
supplies and extract my smelling salts. A good whiff of them not only cleared my head, it left the distinct impression that the top of that appendage had been blown off. I sat up and put my feet on the floor. I