Seeing a Large Cat (9 page)

Ramses gave his best friend a less than friendly look. "It is not that difficult."

"Then you can teach me," Nefret said.

"Er-yes. Don't let her run, Nefret. There are too many irrigation ditches and soft spots here. Can you hold her?"

"Ha!"

"Hmmm," I said, watching the pair ride off side by side. "He managed that rather well. I hope-"

But I was speaking to myself. Emerson had gone in pursuit, and David was mounting one of the hired animals. Leaving Abdullah to finish the loading, I followed the others across the green fields of the cultivation into the desert.

We had had the house built the year after our discovery of Tetisheri's tomb, when it became evident that we would be working in western Thebes for several seasons. It had always been Emerson's intention to build a permanent expedition house, with the Amelia serving as a residence only until we had made up our minds where we wanted to settle down. Pleasant as the boat was, it was not really commodious enough for five people, their books and papers, and a great many antiquities. In my opinion the house was not commodious enough either, and I intended, that season, to add a wing. I had always dreamed of a house with ample office and storage space.

Not that we were likely, in the near future, to require much storage space. I had not openly objected to Emerson's plans, for that never does any good. Subtle persuasion is the only way to get him to come round to my way of thinking.

The small tombs Emerson meant to investigate held no interest for me. Most of them had been visited by earlier archaeologists and were known to contain nothing of interest. Thanks to M. Maspero's petty-mindedness the rest of the Valley of the Kings was closed to us, but there were other sites in western Thebes-Drah Abu'l Naga, where we had discovered the tomb of Tetisheri, the cemetery of the nobles at Gurneh, and quite a number of nice temples-that would give my husband's talents greater scope. Once we had solved the mystery of tomb Twenty-A-which should not take long-I would tactfully persuade Emerson to work elsewhere.

We spent the rest of the morning unpacking and cleaning the house. Driven out of the sitting room by the strong stench of carbolic and Keating's powder, we retreated to the verandah and waited for luncheon to be served.

The verandah ran along the front of the house, which faced east; it offered a beautiful view, clear down the desert slope to the green fields and the river beyond. Comfortable chairs and sofas, small tables and bright rugs scattered across the tiled floor, gave the place a cozy look. The low wall bounding the terrace supported columns along which I had caused trellises to be built, in the hope of training pretty flowering vines that would frame the open arches. By the time we left Egypt at the end of the season, the vines were doing splendidly. By the time we arrived at the start of the next season, the vines were only withered stalks. Horticulture was not one of Abdullah's interests.

"I hope you did not leave any arsenic lying about," said Emerson, poking tobacco into his pipe.

"Now, Emerson, you know I do not employ arsenic to kill rats when the cats are with us, for fear of their being poisoned. They will rid us of resident rodents."

Anubis had already presented us with two unlucky mice and was presumably still at it, since he had not joined us on the verandah. Stretched out on the ledge next to Nefret, her head on the girl's lap, Sekhmet appeared to be smirking in her sleep.

"Not that one," said Ramses. "Does she ever do anything but sleep and eat and shed on people?"

Abdullah, who had appeared in the doorway, remarked, "Let us hope not. One demon cat is enough. Will you have the food brought here, Sitt Hakim?"

I said we would and invited him to join us. Abdullah looked down his nose at me. "I must make sure the men finish sweeping the desert, Sitt," he said. "How far from the house should they go?"

"Now, Abdullah, don't sulk," I said. "And don't try to be sarcastic."

"It is a waste of time," Emerson agreed. "You did well, Abdullah. I forgot to ask you last night: Were there any messages waiting for us?"

"Selim brought them here from Luxor," Abdullah said. "I will ask him where he put them." Then he reached into the breast of his robe. "There was also this, Emerson. I found it pinned to the door this morning when I came to clean-to finish cleaning the house."

He held it up so we could all read it. The lettering was large and clear.

"The curse of the gods fills tomb Twenty-A. Enter it at your peril!"

Emerson's eyes narrowed. "Hell and damnation!" he cried. "The bastard has followed us to Luxor!"

I have almost given up trying to keep Emerson from using bad language. I have not entirely given up trying to keep the children from doing it, but there are times when I fear I am losing the battle. It is natural that they should imitate one they admire so much, and since I am a firm believer in women's rights I can hardly single out Nefret for scoldings. Whatever is permitted to a man should be permitted to a woman-even swearing.

Our house was near the small village of Gurneh, conveniently close to the quarters of Abdullah and our other men and a mere twenty-minute walk from the Valley of the Kings. The location had another advantage in that it enabled us to keep an eye on the goings and comings of the Gurnawis. Some of them were among the most expert tomb robbers in Egypt.

When Emerson announced that we would go over to the Valley immediately after luncheon I did not demur. There was still a great deal to be done around the house, but how could I content myself with dull domestic duties when archaeological fever burned all the brighter after a six months' absence?

The direct path to the Valley leads up and over the cliffs behind the temple of Deir el Bahri. We were all in excellent spirits as we mounted the steep slope; Emerson's handsome countenance wore an anticipatory smile, and he considerately slowed his steps to match mine, allowing the children to precede us. Below lay the beautiful temple of Queen Hatshepsut, its colonnades shining in the sunlight. The air was very warm and very still. The only color was the blue of the sky overhead; white dust and sun-bleached rock stretched out ahead.

When we reached the top of the plateau Emerson stopped and drew me to his side. I was not sorry to rest for a minute; after a summer in damp rainy England it always takes me a few days to become accustomed to the dry Egyptian climate.

After a moment Emerson looked down at me and smiled. "Well, Peabody?"

It was not difficult to find a way of summarizing my sentiments. With considerable emotion I said, "I am the most fortunate of women, my dear Emerson."

"Damn right," said Emerson. "Hurry along now, we are wasting time. Oh-by the by, Peabody-"

"Yes?"

"You are the light of my life and the joy of my existence."

"Damn right," I said.

Emerson burst out laughing and took my arm.

The path we followed curved across the surface of the plateau, skirting the southwestern end of the deep canyon, or wadi, in which the kings of the empire were buried. There are two Valleys of the Kings, but me eastern valley contains the greater number of royal tombs, and it is the one tourists and guidebooks refer to when they speak of it without a qualifying adjective. From above, the Valley resembles a complex leaf like that of an oak or maple, with branches extending in all directions. The cliffs that enclose it are almost vertical; even the nimble-footed Egyptians cannot scale them except in a few areas where paths as ancient as the tombs themselves descend in sinuous curves into the Valley.

The young people were waiting for us at the top of one such path, and we paused to admire the view. Some individuals might have found it stark and forbidding; no flow of water to refresh the eye, no tree nor flower nor blade of grass. Groups of tourists, foreshortened into limbless lumps from above, moved lethargically along the Valley floor. Most had already left for the East Bank and the comfort of their hotels, but there were enough of them to inspire a mutter of "Cursed tourists!" from Emerson.

"Where are we going first?" Nefret asked.

Hands on his hips, Emerson surveyed the scene. I suspected he was up to something, and my suspicions were confirmed when he said casually, "Carter is still working at the Hatshepsut tomb, isn't he?"

"So he said at dinner the other evening," Ramses replied. "The passage appears to be endless; he had dug down almost two hundred meters last season, with no end in sight. He hopes to reach the burial chamber this month, but I doubt he will; the fill is almost as hard as cement. The men were using pickaxes, and the heat was intense."

I did not ask how he knew. He might have got the information from Howard, but it was more likely he had been into the confounded place himself. I had neglected to forbid him to do so since it had not occurred to me that he might.

"Suppose we have a look," Emerson said. "The tomb is so remote and undistinguished that none of the cursed tourists will be there."

He was the first to begin the descent, but Nefret was close on his heels. Ramses had learned through painful experience that Nefret would haughtily reject any offer of assistance from him, so he let her go on and offered me his hand. I did not need it, but I took it anyhow.

"What is the number of Hatshepsut's tomb?" I asked.

"Twenty."

"Aha," I exclaimed. "I knew it! Your father is not interested in Hatshepsut's tomb; he is looking for tomb Twenty-A, which must be in the same area. Good Gad, Ramses, watch what you are doing."

His foot must have slipped. He caught himself at once and steadied me with a hand almost as hard as that of his father. "I beg your pardon, Mother. You took me by surprise. I thought you knew. There is no such tomb."

"What? But the tombs are numbered."

"Yes, in numerical sequence. Mr. Wilkinson, later Sir Gardiner, numbered the tombs known to him eighty years ago; the last of his were numbers Twenty and Twenty-one. M. Lefebure added to the list-"

"Ramses," I said, trying not to grind my teeth. "Please get to the point."

"I am endeavoring to do so, Mother. Er-to summarize, then. Other tombs have been located and numbered since, in the order of their discovery. I believe the latest one is Forty-five, found last year by Mr. Carter. There are no A's or B's or other sub-categories."

I dug in my heels. "Stop a moment. Are you telling me there is no tomb with the number Twenty-A?"

"No, Mother. Er-yes, Mother, that is what I am telling you. I assumed you and Father had discussed the matter. He is certainly aware of the fact."

"Is he indeed?" I pondered the underhanded behavior of Emerson. Had he deliberately refrained from setting me straight so that I could dig myself even deeper into the pit of ignorance? Well! Thanks to Ramses I could now avoid that embarrassment-if I could think how to wriggle out of it. I wondered why Howard Carter had not corrected me when I mentioned the number to him.

A more urgent question found utterance. "Why should anyone warn us away from an imaginary tomb? If it does not exist, we cannot investigate it."

"Quite true," said Ramses. "However, it is possible that the individual in question meant to indicate-"

"Peabody!" Emerson was far below, but his voice would have been audible on the other side of the Valley. "What are you stopping for?"

"Coming, my dear," I called, and hastened to do so. Ramses kept trying to catch hold of me as I scrambled down the slope, but I managed to elude him. In fact, I was feeling rather kindly toward the lad just then. Not only had he warned me about the pitfall ahead, but he had given me a clue as to how I could avoid it.

The descent ends near tomb Sixteen, which is that of Ramses I. Mr. Wilkinson had numbered them in the simplest and most straightforward manner possible; with a pot of paint in one hand and a brush in the other, he had walked from one end of the Valley to the other, stopping at each entrance long enough to paint the numeral on the rock above or beside it. I had seen the numbers so often that I had not taken particular notice of them.

When I reached the Valley floor I found Emerson conversing with Ahmed Girigar, the reis of the Egyptian watchmen, or gafflrs. In theory their duties were to guard the tombs from vandals, thieves, and unauthorized visitors. In practice their primary activity consisted of squeezing baksheesh out of the tourists whom they admitted to the tombs. Since Howard had assumed his post as inspector for Upper Egypt, he had done a great deal to improve conditions in the Valley, erecting iron gates in front of the more important tombs, clearing a few paths through the sharp stones and heavy boulders that litter the Valley floor, and hiring watchmen. How useful the gaffirs were was questionable; they were local men and, like all the locals, very poor. Few of them, I suppose, would have refused a visitor anything if the price were high enough, and some peddled stolen antiquities on the side.

However, Reis Ahmed was well regarded by Howard and by Emerson. "He is honest if you make it worth his while," was Emerson's assessment, which was no more cynical than his assessments of most people.

Ramses lingered to exchange compliments with Reis Ahmed ("Tall and handsome like your honored father, pleasing the women . . ."), and the rest of us went on. I was grateful for my stout boots, but I envied, even as I deplored, Emerson's unprofessionally comfortable attire. Heat beat down from above and rose from below, reflected from a surface that shimmered so white it dazzled the eyes. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down my face, and my hand, enclosed from wrist to fingertips in Emerson's very large, very warm grasp, felt like a soggy wool mitten. On the rough rocky wall to our right I saw one of Mr. Wilkinson's numbers. It was the number Nineteen; as I recalled from my reading, it marked the tomb of a Ramesside prince with a polysyllabic name. Belzoni had discovered the tomb in 1817, but the entrance was now almost entirely blocked with debris.

"Stop," I ordered, drawing Emerson aside into a patch of shade. "I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"For one thing, your failure to confide to me your true purpose. You have no intention of visiting Howard. He won't be there; like all sensible excavators, he stops work during the hottest part of the day, and it is extremely rude to explore other people's tombs without their-"