Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (5 page)

in our work area, but of course the situation was not so bad at Giza, where our loyal men kept watch over our concession and Mr. Reisner's American expedition had its permanent headquarters. The Giza cemeteries were so extensive that the area had been divided between several different expeditions. The Americans had got the lion's share. I do not complain of this, I simply mention the fact. Mr. Reisner was a fine excavator and a good friend. We had taken over one of the areas that had been assigned to the Austro-German group under Herr Professor Junker. It was a temporary arrangement; God willing, our German friends would return when the war was over. (Friends they were, and friends I would always consider them, despite the artificial definitions of governments.) I prayed that day would come soon, but I must confess it was a thrill to be working near the mightiest pyramid of Egypt. Every cultured reader must be familiar with the Great Pyramid, so I will not remind him of its remarkable features. Its builder was known to the Greeks as Cheops; Emerson preferred the more accurate rendering, from the Egyptian, of Khufu. In addition to the pyramid itself, there were a number of subsidiary structures-temples at the base of the pyramid and at the river, connected by a long causeway; three smaller pyramids meant for the burials of queens, and several cemeteries of private tombs, to the south and west. I have nothing against private tombs; some of the rock-cut variety have nice deep burial chambers and long passageways choked with rubble and full of bats. The mastabas unfortunately lack these attractive features. Their burial chambers consist of a perpendicular shaft with a single small room at the bottom. It was particularly frustrating to work at tombs like these when Egypt's greatest pyramid was within a stone's throw of our dig. However, my attempt to interest Emerson in investigating it was met with indignant rebuttal. "What do you expect to find? The damned place has been explored by dozens of people-thousands, if you include all the cursed tourists. Every foot of every corridor has been seen and mapped, and our contemptible predecessors even blasted their way into the relieving chambers over the King's Chamber." "I haven't been up there for years, Emerson. I would like to have another look." "Curse it, Peabody," Emerson shouted. "I cannot allow you to putter around in pyramids, especially in that part of that pyramid. How the devil you made it up the ladders in the first place, with all those petticoats and bustles and-" "It would be much easier now that I have taken to wearing trousers. It is very selfish of you to attempt to prevent me from doing it this season. I say 'attempt' because, as you know perfectly well-" "I do know." We were in Emerson's study, collecting his notebooks and the other supplies we would be using that day on the dig. He took me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. "We have put in only one season here, and already you are bored with mastabas. Too open, no deep dark underground passages. I don't even want to think about why you are so fascinated by such things. Supposing you give me your invaluable assistance in excavating a few mastabas. I am not an unreasonable man; four or five will satisfy me. Then ... then we will see." "That is very kind of you." "Are you being sarcastic, Peabody? Hmph. My dear, I am speaking not as your devoted husband but as your professional superior. Am I or am I not the director of this expedition?" "Yes, of course you are." "Then give me a kiss." "That is a very unprofessional request." "We aren't at the dig yet," said Emerson, folding me in his arms. Eventually the sound of voices outside the room made him leave off what he was doing. "Well, well, we had better get on," he said. "Is Sennia coming with us again today?" I had permitted Sennia and Gargery to join us the past two days. She was never happier than when she could play archaeologist, trying to copy an inscription or pretending to act as Ramses's clerk while he called out measurements and descriptions to her, or, when she became tired of sitting, scrambling around the plateau looking for potsherds and bones. Gargery, who insisted on accompanying her wherever she went, thoroughly disapproved of the bones, which he believed to be both morbid and unsanitary, but there was nothing he could do about it since the rest of us considered bones a perfectly legitimate subject of inquiry. We were soon on our way, since-as Ramses pointed out-they had been waiting for us for quite some time. The beautiful Arabian horses, which had been gifts to Ramses and David from our friend Sheikh Mohammed, had had offspring; there were now six of them, including Nefret's mare Moonlight and the splendid stallion Risha, patriarch of the little herd. We had hired a fat, placid donkey for Sennia and another for Gargery. This arrangement had not been arrived at without arguments from both parties. Sennia demanded to know why Ramses could not take her with him on Risha. Gargery had declared he would prefer to walk. "Nonsense," said Emerson. "If you cannot keep up, Gargery, you will have to go back to England. You have ridden donkeyback before." Gargery's countenance lengthened. He had ridden donkeyback and he had hated it, but as Emerson remarked-chuckling at his rather clumsy play on words-he hadn't a leg to stand on. He left it to me to convince Sennia, which I did by pointing out that Gargery would have no one to keep him company if she went with Ramses, and that if she intended to take Horus along, he would have to ride in a basket fastened to her saddle. Horus did not like donkeys, or the basket, but he would have allowed himself to be dragged at the end of a rope rather than let Sennia go off without him. His grumbles and growls formed an unpleasant accompaniment to our conversation. Leaving the horses and the donkeys at Mena House, we proceeded on foot, with Sennia on Emerson's shoulder and Horus stalking along after them. Everyone we met stared and smiled at them: Emerson, tall and stalwart as some hero of legend, the big cat following like a faithful dog, the little girl laughing and chattering and waving at her friends-for by then every gaffir and guide at Giza knew her and adored her. They were always offering her little presents, and we had to keep a close eye on her to keep her from eating the questionable sweetmeats which were presented. She looked very picturesque in her "working clothes," as she proudly termed them. We had had a pith helmet made to her measure, and after some discussion I had agreed that boys' clothing would be more sensible than frocks. I had allowed her a voice in the selection of these garments (leaving several clerks in the Young Gentlemen's Department at Harrods in a state of shock) and I was not surprised when she favored tweeds and flannels similar to the ones Ramses wore. Except for the long black curls that escaped from under her hat she was a miniature version of her idol, even to the small boots we had had made especially for her. I had, as is my custom, arranged a little shelter to which we could retire during rest periods. While the others collected their tools, I sat Sennia down on a campstool and gave her the same lecture I delivered every day-for I had discovered, through painful experience, that constant repetition is the only hope of driving an idea into the head of a young person. She was easier to manage than Ramses had been (any child would have been easier than Ramses) because she lacked the streak of Machiavellian logic that had enabled him to squirm out of obeying my orders. "Remember, you are not to go off on your own, without Gargery or one of us. You are not to eat anything the gaffirs give you. You are not to talk with any of the tourists. Do not get in the way of the basket carriers. Do not stand on or cross the tracks; those heavy cars are difficult to stop once they have started moving." "Yes, Aunt Amelia," said Sennia. "Don't you worry, madam," said Gargery. "I will be following in her every footstep." "Quite right," Emerson remarked. "What are your plans for today, Little Bird?" "I am going to get more bones for Aunt Nefret." "Thank you," Nefret said gravely. She had already been presented with several baskets full of miscellaneous animal bones, all of them bleached white and none of them over ten years old. Sennia nodded graciously. "It is no trouble." I noticed that Gargery was limping as he followed Sennia's agile little form. Ah well, I thought; he will be back in trim before long, and that sunburn won't be nearly so painful after a few more days. He made her stop and look both ways before they crossed the rails that connected our dig with the distant dump heap. I lost track of them after that, since Emerson demanded my services. In fact I was not worried about her getting into a dangerous situation. Gargery followed close on her heels, and so did Horus; the beast's vile temper and uncanny resemblance to the hunting cats depicted in the ancient reliefs made even the guards and guides wary of approaching too close. My warning about talking with tourists had quite a different motive. The wretches were insatiably curious about us and our work. Sennia was such a quaint little figure in her boy's clothes that she was bound to attract attention, and she was too innocent to parry impertinent questions. We had begun work on a new mastaba, next to the ones we had excavated the previous year. (Most archaeologists, I daresay, would have ripped through the lot of them in one winter, but the distractions to which I have alluded had prevented us from putting in a full season, and our tentative plans of returning in the spring had been superseded by familial obligations.) Two days' digging had exposed the top of the walls of the chapel and the openings of several deep shafts that led to the burial chambers of the owner and his family. The roofing stones were gone-collapsed, I presumed, into the chamber below-and the whole upper part was filled with sand and debris. Since Emerson insisted upon sifting every square inch of this fill, emptying the chamber would take a long time. A long, boring time. Nefret took a few photographs, but there was nothing much for Ramses to do until and unless we uncovered reliefs and inscriptions. It was he who hailed us from his vantage point above the tomb. "Here comes Sennia at a dead trot. Looks as if she's found something. Prepare to be enthusiastic, Nefret." "Probably a camel bone this time," Nefret said. "It's time we stopped for a rest, Aunt-I mean, Mother. You've been crouching over that sifter for hours." She gave me a hand to help me rise-I am always a little stiff the first few days-it soon passes-and Ramses went to meet Sennia, who had outstripped Gargery by several yards. Swinging her up onto his shoulders, Ramses carried her to the shelter where Nefret and I had retired. "She's made an exciting discovery," he announced seriously. "But she won't show it to me." Sennia's clenched fist made a bulge in the front of her jacket. "He said it was for me," she explained. "But of course I will show it to you, all of you." "What's this?" Emerson demanded. She took her hand out of her coat, opened her fingers very carefully, and put the other hand under the object to support it. It covered both small palms-a piece of limestone, rounded at the top, approximately six inches long by four across. Several figures in low relief occupied the upper portion; several lines of hieroglyphs ran horizontally under them, ending in a ragged break. "Very nice," said Emerson, smiling. "Where did you find it, Sennia?" "There." She gestured. The stone went flying, and Ramses caught it deftly in mid-air. "One of the gaffirs gave it to her, I expect," he said, examining the lines of hieroglyphs. "Quite an attractive ... Hmmm." "What is it?" Emerson asked. "It appears to be genuine." We had all assumed the miniature stela was one of the fakes that are turned out by the hundreds to be sold to gullible tourists. The so-called guards often indulge in a spot of private excavation-and who can blame them, considering their pitifully small wages-but fond as they were of the child, none of them was likely to give her something they could sell. We crowded round. "What does it say?" I asked. Ramses blew sand out of the incised lines." 'Adoring Amon-Re, Lord of the Silent, who hears their prayers-'" "How can he hear their prayers if they don't talk?" Sennia asked. "True prayer comes from the heart, not from the lips," I explained, seizing the opportunity to instill a bit of religious instruction. "As it says in Scripture, the hypocrites pray on the street corners where they may be seen, but the true believer enters into his closet and speaks in secret to the Father-" "Quite," said Ramses, who, like myself, had been watching his father and had seen the signs of an imminent outburst. "In this case, Little Bird, the silent people are the poor and humble, who dare not address the powerful nobles who rule their lives. So they pray to Amon-Re, who is . . ." He looked again at the inscription." 'Protector of the poor, father of the orphan, husband of the widow-that I may see him in the course of every day, as is done for a righteous man; said by . . .' The rest is missing. The figures above represent Amon enthroned, with an offering table in front of him and a kneeling figure-that of the offerant, one presumes. A pity his name isn't given." Emerson snatched the object from him and subjected it to a close scrutiny. "Damned if I don't think you are right," he exclaimed. "Emerson," I murmured. "Er," said Emerson. "That is one of the words you are not to repeat, Sennia." "Damned, you mean?" said Sennia, in her high-pitched chirp. "I know." "Show me which of the men gave this to you." "He didn't give it to me, I found it," Sennia said indignantly. "He only told me where to dig." "Show us," Ramses said. "Please." "You really like it, then?" Sennia asked, beaming at Ramses. Children are not as dense as we think. She could tell the difference between the polite thanks she usually received and this concentrated interest. "It is important? Would you like it? I will give it to you, and look for more if you want me to." "No, Little Bird, you found it and it is yours. I will keep it for you if you like. Now show me where it was." We all went with them, for this little mystery had captured our imaginations. Holding Emerson's hand, Sennia led our caravan to a rubbish dump southwest of our line of tombs. Some of these mounds were twenty or thirty feet high, formed of the debris removed from various excavations. I remembered this one quite well; it had been the scene of a nasty accident the year before. "You didn't let her go up there, did you?" I demanded of Gargery, who had not been able to get a word in before. "No, madam, and I had the deuce of a time preventing her," said Gargery in injured
tones. "Madam, the fellow who helped her find the thing was just one of the guards; he never offered to touch her even and he was very polite, madam, at least I think he was, from what I could understand. He was smiling and bowing all the while, madam. You said I was not to be rude to those chaps when they were only-" "Yes, yes, Gargery, that's all right. No harm was done. It is just rather strange." "He wanted to give her a little present," Gargery insisted. "And the fun of finding it herself." "You believe he put it there?" "He must have done, madam. It was low to the ground, where she could reach it without climbing, and buried only a few inches deep. Just there, madam." We had reached the bottom of the mound, and Sennia too was pointing. "There are lots of things sticking out," she explained. "Mostly bits of stone and boring pottery." The statement was correct. Most excavators do not sift their fill. Emerson studied the side of the mound thoughtfully. "Quite right," he said. "This is more interesting, isn't it?" "It has writing on it," said Sennia. "So I knew it was important. Is it important?" "Yes," said Ramses. "And rather unusual. I've seen similar votive stelae, but most of them came from the Theban area. Do you think you could find the kind gentleman who gave-who showed you where to dig?" We did not find the kind gentleman, though Emerson spent a good half hour trying. The description given by Sennia and Gargery would have fitted most of the guards-turbaned, bearded, wearing a galabeeyah and sandals. FROM MANUSCRIPT H It was not until the Friday following their arrival that Nefret was able to move their belongings to the Amelia. Fatima had had the dahabeeyah in spotless condition, all ready for them, but somehow it was never quite convenient to make the move. She had refused a number of well-meant offers to make their rooms at the house more comfortable, and, once she had carried her point, more well-meant offers to help her arrange furniture, hang pictures, and shelve books on the dahabeeyah. She wanted to do it herself, to transform the quarters which had belonged to various members of the family in turn into their quarters, their home. Though it was the day of rest for the workers, Ramses had gone off to Giza with his father that morning. Just like a man-they hated the fuss and confusion of moving. She had scolded him a little, for the fun of it-he knew she was teasing, and she loved seeing his austere features relax into a smile and his eyes reflect her laughter-but she was happy to be alone. For a while. Straightening, she rubbed her aching back and contemplated the piles of books littering the floor and the tables in the saloon. It was a large room in the bow of the boat, with a curved divan under the windows, and it would be quite charming once she had the cushions re-covered and the new curtains hung and the new rugs on the floor, and the books in their proper places on the shelves. He ought to have been back by now. He had promised he would leave early, but getting away from Emerson when he had put you to work wasn't easy, at least not for Emerson's son. She had learned how to handle him, but she sometimes wondered if Ramses would ever be able to say no to his father and stick to it. She moved restlessly round the room, glancing out the window and moving a few more books, and then her eyes came to rest on the portrait of her mother-in-law that hung over the bookshelf. It wasn't the first time that day those painted eyes had held hers. David had done a wonderful job; his affection for his subject and his whimsical sense of humor made the portrait come alive. She stood looking squarely at the observer, parasol in hand, booted feet planted firmly on the sand. Behind her was a melange of pyramids, camels, minarets, and the Theban cliffs-all of her beloved Egypt-framing her. The direct, steely gaze, and the little half-smile on her lips were Aunt Amelia to the life. Nefret loved the painting. She wondered how long she could stand having it there, staring at her, hour after hour and day after day. Kneeling on the divan, she looked out the window. The Amelia was moored at the public dock not far from the house. The last steamer must be about to leave; the dock swarmed with tourists, all drooping and dusty and bedeviled by the dragomen who were herding them toward the ferry. Her eyes searched the crowd. How could he delay, when he knew she'd be waiting? Once she had wished she could fall in love-head over heels, insanely, madly, passionately. She'd got her wish. Being away from him for more than a few hours left her feeling empty and half alive. She lay down and closed her eyes, picturing him in her mind, recalling the things he had said the night before. "What's your hurry? I want privacy as much as you do, but another day or two here-" "Is a day or two too long! Oh, I know I'm being unreasonable and unfair; it's because they're so fond of us that they want us with them. But the only time we can be alone together is at night; if we steal away during the day they know why, and Sennia is apt to come looking for you, the way she did yesterday-I thought I'd have a heart attack when she started knocking on the door and calling your name." He was laughing soundlessly, his breath stirring her hair. "The moment was certainly not well chosen. Mother would say I had it coming. I can recall at least one occasion when I interrupted them under similar circumstances. It was the only time Father ever threatened to thrash me." "I don't blame him." "Neither do I ... now. My only excuse is that I was too young to comprehend the situation." "How old were you?" "Ten." The rhythm of his breathing changed and the arms that held her tightened. "A few days later I saw you for the first time. I was old enough to know one thing-that there would never be anyone else for me. Don't pretend you felt the same. It took me years just to get past the younger-brother role." They could talk about them now, the misunderstandings and heartaches that had kept them apart so long. Almost all of them. "Was it worth the wait?" "I'm not sure. Feel free to convince me." "As soon as you promise you will help me move first thing tomorrow." "Of course, if it means that much to you." Another man might have made a jesting reference to Lysistrata, who had refused her favors to her husband until he agreed to her demands. His ready understanding melted her completely. "It's just that . . . She watches me all the time. I can feel her eyes examining me. Kadija and Fatima do it too. They're wondering if I'm ..." That was the one heartache she still couldn't face, the word she couldn't say, the guilt that would not go away. If it hadn't been for her folly and pride, they would have the child they both wanted so much. She had promised she would never talk about it again, but she didn't have to. He knew. "How often do I have to say it?" he demanded, his voice rough with anger-not at her, but for her. "It wasn't your fault. For the love of God, Nefret, you're a doctor; you know things can go wrong for no apparent reason. There's no hurry, sweetheart. I'm too selfish to share you with anyone else just yet." She clung to him, too moved to respond, and he added, "Including Mother. Or Father. Or Sennia. Or Fatima and Kadija and Daoud and Selim and the rest. They do hover, don't they? Damn it, you're right. I can't give you my full attention when they're around." Not since their first night together had they made love with such urgency and tenderness. Nefret went over it in her mind, every word, every gesture. He found her there when he came in, her hands resting lightly on her waist. Later, while they were having tea on the upper deck, he said, "I assume we aren't dining with the family tonight." "You assume correctly. Mother and Father are dining at Shepheard's." "With whom?" "I don't believe they have an engagement with anyone in particular. It's Mother's annual reconnaissance, to catch up on the gossip and see who's in town. I declined their kind invitation to join them, but I thought we might go out-someplace where we needn't dress and where we're not likely to meet anyone we know. Bassam's, perhaps." It would have been impossible to find a place in Cairo where the Emerson family was not known, but he understood what she meant. Their Egyptian acquaintances were more courteous-or possibly more intimidated-than the gregarious, gossip-minded members of the Anglo-Egyptian community. The previous year he had been persona non grata with that community because of his outspoken pacifist sentiments. He kept telling himself he didn't care what they thought of him, but it had hurt a little to be cut dead and snubbed and insulted wherever he went. He shook off the ugly memories and smiled at his wife. "Bassam's it is." Bassam's was not mentioned in Baedeker. It didn't meet English standards of cleanliness, but then Ramses had always suspected the kitchens of the European-style restaurants wouldn't have passed a close inspection either. The menu, which existed only in Bassam's head and varied according to his whims, was primarily Egyptian. He was chef, headwaiter, proprietor, and, if necessary, bouncer. This situation seldom occurred, since no alcoholic beverages were served and drugs were not allowed, but now and then a drunken Tommy or hashish smoker wandered in by mistake. He spotted them instantly and came rushing to greet them, the sleeves of his robe tucked up to bare brawny arms, his apron a rainbow medley of spattered food. One could almost guess at the menu by studying Bassam's apron. Obviously that evening's dishes made copious use of tomatoes. After reproaching them for not having notified him in advance of their coming and asking why the elder Emersons were not with them, he showed them to a table in a prominent position, where they could be seen not only by the other patrons but by passersby. "The lady cat, she is not with you?" he asked, dusting off a chair with his apron. "She had another engagement," Nefret said. Bassam nodded. The honorific had been his way of propitiating Seshat, who had sometimes dined with her owners. The Emersons' cats had acquired a certain reputation among Cairenes. Large and well-muscled and strikingly similar in appearance, they did not resemble the spoiled pets of the harems nor the lean, feral scavengers of the streets. Ramses found them somewhat uncanny himself. They had an excellent meal-with a lot of tomatoes-and relaxed over cups of Turkish coffee and a narghileh. The other patrons pretended not to notice Nefret's enjoyment of the water pipe, just as they had pretended not to notice her, the only woman present. Egyptians had become accustomed to Nefret's turning up in places where she wasn't supposed to be. Like her mother-in-law, who had been doing the same thing for years, she was in a special category, obviously a woman but commanding the same respect as a man. He couldn't have said what alerted him. It might have been a flicker of surreptitious movement at the door, where the curtain was tied back to admit air into the smoke-filled room. It might have been that odd sixth sense, the feeling that someone was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, but when he looked directly at the doorway, no one was there. Nefret passed him the stem of the pipe. "What's wrong?" she asked softly. "Nothing." Meeting her unblinking blue gaze, he acknowledged her right to a truthful answer. "Nothing I can put my finger on. Are you ready to go?" The night air, though laden with the ineffable stenches of Cairo, was cool and comparatively clear. Beyond the light from the doorway behind them, the street was a tunnel of darkness. They were only a quarter of a mile from the square where they could expect to find a cab, and he knew every twist and turn of the path, but a quarter of a mile is a long way in the dark when your skin is prickling. He reached into his pocket. "Take the torch, but don't switch it on yet." "Right." She smiled back at him. Her eyes were sparkling. Of all the people in the universe she was the last one he would have wanted with him if there was going to be trouble, but what an ally she was-quick and unafraid and unrestrained by silly notions of fair play. He didn't have to tell her not to hang on to his arm. She wasn't the clinging kind. Neither of them was carrying a weapon. He cursed himself for overconfidence, but who would have supposed they'd encounter trouble so soon? It was there, waiting in the dark; he could feel it like a knife blade pricking his skin. Nefret felt it too-or was it, she wondered, only her intense awareness of his mood? She let him lead the way; he knew the alleys of Cairo better than she, and if there was danger it could come from behind as well as before them. Her hand light on his shoulder, she stepped softly, every sense alert for a sound or movement. He heard it before she did. He turned on his heel and pushed her behind him, pinning her against the wall with an arm as hard as a steel bar. Cursing breathlessly, she switched on the torch. What she saw almost made her drop it. The face was that of a monster or a demon, the only visible features a pair of glittering eyes, inhuman and enormous as those of a magnified insect. The light shivered along the blade of a knife-it had to be a knife, though she could not see the hand that held it. She saw it descend, saw her husband's arm lift to block the blow-but he moved without his usual quickness and he made no other move to defend or attack. The sleeve of his coat darkened. Blood ran down his hand and dripped onto the ground. Nefret remained motionless and silent, though her vocal cords and every muscle in her body protested. It went against all her instincts to be a passive observer, but she was trying to control her impetuosity, which had led to considerable trouble in the past. Ramses could have easily stopped the attacker before he struck; she'd seen him do it with fighters much more skilled than this one appeared to be. After a few interminable seconds, the apparition let out a strange moaning cry and vanished. Ramses went after it. Gritting her teeth, Nefret remained where she was, turning the beam of the torch so that it framed the two figures. Ramses had the man in a firm grip. Only a man, after all; his dark clothing had made him virtually invisible, and the eerie eyes were glasses, reflecting the light of the torch. "It's all right," her husband said, and although he spoke English she knew he wasn't talking to her. "It's all right. You've done the job. Give me the knife." The scarf that had masked the lower part of the man's face had slipped, exposing a scanty beard and narrow jaw. He held up his hands. They were empty. He raised them to his face and began to cry.