Tomb of the Golden Bird (25 page)

"I presume that isn't meant for me," Sethos said. "Margaret and I will be taking our departure before long, but I expect you will endure that loss manfully." "He was talking to us," Charla said emphatically. "Come and play archery, Grandpapa." "Or chess," said David John. Caught between Scylla and Charybdis, Emerson decided on archery. He and Charla went off together, and while David John was setting up the chessboard I said to Sethos, "Now that you have retired, what are your plans?" "I am going to try my hand at writing thrillers. David John has promised to collaborate." David John, who had his eye on Sethos as an opponent, took the bait. "Would you like to see the ending I wrote for the book Grandmama would not let me finish reading?" "Nothing would please me more," Sethos declared with heartfelt sincerity. Anything was better than losing another game of chess to a five-year-old. David John ran off to get his manuscript. "Not that I mean to sound inhospitable," I said, "but have you settled on a date for your departure?" "That depends on you, Amelia." "I cannot imagine what you mean." "No? You've been watching the road and snatching at every message that has been delivered. I think I know what you're up to, and I wouldn't want to miss it." "Good Gad," I said, in some confusion. "Good Gad," Sethos exclaimed, taking the manuscript David John handed him and scanning the first page. I had indeed been waiting for a message. The delay was beginning to wear on me. What the devil could the man be waiting for? The long-expected letter arrived that afternoon, by messenger. We were on the veranda when I read it, and I was unable to repress a cry of triumph. "Aha! As I suspected!" Emerson was somewhat wroth when I explained. However, the prospect of action was sufficient to distract him from what he was pleased to term my confounded reticence. We made plans to leave shortly after dinner, taking the path that led over the plateau to the Valley of the Kings. The moon was bright, and we all knew every step of the way. Since Margaret did not, she was persuaded to remain at home. When we reached the top of the gebel above Deir el Bahri, I cautioned everyone to move quietly and refrain from speaking. We had not gone far before I heard the sounds I had expected: low-pitched voices and the ill-tempered grumble of several camels. Avoiding the dark forms that had gathered round the rim of the cliffs above the Valley, I summoned my allies to my side. "We cannot wait until they begin lifting the packing cases," I whispered. "We must stop them now, before damage is done to the artifacts." We had arrived in the nick of time, thanks to my informant. A burst of sound and a blaze of flame was followed by loud outcries from the wadi below. "Now!" I cried. Brandishing my parasol, I dashed at the group of villains. It was a brisk but brief encounter. Caught off-guard, the thieves had been on the point of descending into the wadi when we fell upon them. Realizing that my supporters had the situation well in hand, I went in pursuit of a man who was creeping away among the ridges of the uneven terrain. "It is no use, Sir Malcolm," I cried. "You are fairly caught. Stand up and face your punishment like a man." The arrival of Sethos put an end to any idea of resistance Sir Malcolm might have entertained. We escorted him back to what had been the scene of battle. The would-be thieves huddled on the ground, watched over by Ramses. Among them were Aguil and Deib ibn Simsah. "Any damage?" I called to Emerson, who had descended the cliff and was inspecting the tomb. "A largish hole some yards down the wadi. Well done, you fellows," Emerson added in Arabic. He came back up, climbing like a mountain goat. The thieves had proceeded along the lines Sethos had proposed. One group had fallen upon the guards in front of the tomb of Seti II, after setting off an explosion to distract them. The guards had been warned and were ready for them. We, atop the cliff, had taken care of the party waiting with ropes and camels to carry the loot away. Sir Malcolm seated himself on the ground. He had lost his wig; his head, bare as an egg, glimmered in the starlight. I stood over him with parasol raised, while his servant crouched at his feet. "Caught red-handed," Emerson exclaimed in satisfaction. "Doing what?" Sir Malcolm was not an easy man to intimidate. He had had time to catch his breath and invent an excuse. "I came here for the same reason you did, Professor. I suspected an attempt would be made to rob the tomb." "That's a lie!" Emerson cried. "Prove it." "I can," I said, holding Emerson back. "Mr. Gabra?" Sir Malcolm's servant rose to his feet. "May I present Lieutenant Gabra of the Luxor police," I said. "He is here with the permission of his chief, Inspector Aziz, and he was present, though unseen, during every conversation you held with Aguil and Deib. Being men of little wit and no morals, they were willing to go on working for you even though you were responsible for the death of their brother." Sir Malcolm's face was as white as his bald head. "His death was an accident," he cried. "The fool ignored my instructions." "Ah," I said in satisfaction. "You have admitted that much." Gabra spoke for the first time. He was still wearing his patched galabeeyah, but his bearing had changed, so that he now looked like the upstanding, competent man he really was. "That is what he told Deib and Aguil," he said. "The bomb was a practice run, as you say; Farhat was supposed to take it to a safe distance and set it off, to prove he knew how. He did not know how." "Negligent manslaughter," I said musingly. "You cannot charge me with that," Sir Malcolm muttered. Despitethe cool of the night, sweat was running down his face. "Farhat was an arrogant fool." "Perhaps I cannot," I admitted with regret. "But there is enough evidence to charge you with an attempt to steal the treasures of Tutankhamon. Take him away with the others, Lieutenant, and congratulations on a job well done." "He'll talk or bribe his way out of it," Sethos said. Half-reclining in an easy chair, legs stretched out, he raised his glass in a general salute. "I fear so," said Emerson. "He's a rich titled Englishman and Gabra is, in the eyes of the idiot administration, 'only' a native." "Do you mean I can't print this?" Margaret asked. "He would sue you for every penny you own," said her husband lazily. "I can't afford it." "We may take satisfaction in the fact that Sir Malcolm has been thoroughly humiliated," I said. "The word will get round. I doubt he will have the temerity to show his face in Egypt soon again." "If he does, I will give him the thrashing he deserves," grunted Emerson. He turned his scowl on his brother. "Speaking of thrashings, I am inclined to give you one. Why did you tell us that rigmarole?" "I had to tell you something," said Sethos, stroking his mustache like a stage villain. Emerson snarled. "Do not try my temper, I beg. I am willing to accept that you were acting under orders and that you had been misled about the nature of the conspiracy, but if you thought the code was a fake, why did you let Ramses waste days trying to decipher it? Why bring it here at all?" "That was only an excuse," I said. "He came to us because he was ill and alone and afraid." My words fell like stones into a sudden silence. Margaret caught her breath, and Emerson's sapphirine eyes softened. Sethos bowed his head and looked down at his clasped hands, a slight flush staining his cheeks. "Why be ashamed to admit it?" I demanded. "Anyone would do the same—yes, Emerson, even you." "But I wouldn't admit it either," Emerson muttered. "Leave the man alone, Peabody." "One more thing," I said, taking out my list. The paper was somewhat worn with frequent handling, and almost all the items were crossed out. "The man in the suk." "What man?" Ramses asked. "Had you forgotten? I had not. The nice man who gave Charla money the day she eloped with Ali. You," I said, pointing at my brother-in-law, "were there, watching the hotel—watching for a sight of us. Your family." Sethos raised his head and threw up his hands. "You've won, Amelia. My humiliation is complete. Yes, I felt a contemptible need to see you, to know all was well with you. When Charla came dancing out with that useless suffragi I followed them." "Giving her enough money to make herself sick with sweets was one of your little jokes, I suppose," Ramses said. There was no accusation in his voice, only a touch of amusement. "I knew she wouldn't be sick. I did it because . . . because I wanted to." Like his humiliation, my revenge was complete. He was finally, thoroughly reformed! I decided he had suffered enough, so I changed the subject. "What are your plans?" I asked. "Back to England and Home, accompanied by Beauty," said Sethos, with a nod at his wife, who rolled her eyes and grinned. "I will humble myself to my daughter and learn to know my grandson. We will be leaving shortly. Contain your grief, I beg." "And I," said Margaret, "will see to it that he does as he has promised. But I'll be back in time to see Carter open the burial chamber. I am determined to get a story out of this, somehow!" "The house seems very empty with everyone gone," Emerson said with a sigh. It was a perfect opening, but neither Ramses nor Nefret had the courage to take advantage of it. As usual, the chore was left up to me. "I have been looking in the newspaper," I said. "There are several nice houses to let in Roda and Maadi." Emerson sat up with a start. "What?" "You have decided, haven't you?" I prodded Ramses. "Yes. Father, we—" "Then you had better get at the task of finding the right house. You will want to be settled in before April." Ramses ran his hand through his tumbled curls. "You know. You knew!" "Of course. I am very happy for you, my dears." "What—" Emerson is always a little slow to catch on, but this was something he had been yearning for. "What? Nefret is ...You are . . ." "Yes, Father." Nefret knelt by his chair and took his hand. "Please say that you are happy too." His face working, Emerson carried her hand to his lips. The child was a girl. I had spoken with Abdullah about it the previous night. "Well, Peabody," said Emerson, "I hope you are pleased with yourself." I was, rather. We had retired to our room after several celebratory whiskey and sodas (Nefret had a nice glass of warm milk) and fond good nights. I sat down at the dressing table and began taking the pins out of my hair. Emerson, already shirtless, sat down in a chair and removed his right shoe. "You are, aren't you?" Emerson demanded. "I can see your face. You are smirking. When did you know? Why didn't you tell me?" "I have known for some time. There are certain indications . . . But it was their little secret, Emerson." "That has never stopped you before." I turned my head to look at him. Slowly and carefully Emerson removed his other shoe, weighed it in his hand, and threw it, with perfect aim, at a rather ugly lamp. "Why, Emerson," I exclaimed. "What is the matter?"

Emerson rose to his feet. "This entire season," he said, in a voice like a distant rumble of thunder, "you have deceived me, worked behind my back, left me out of your confidence. I have had enough, Peabody! I will endure no more!" "But, Emerson—" "Not another word!" Emerson shouted. He crossed the room in a single bound and snatched me up into his arms. "Well!" I said, when I had got my breath back. "I have been waiting months for you to do that. Have you concluded that I am not breakable?" "I have concluded," said Emerson, carrying me toward the bed, "that you are immortal. Age cannot wither . . . nor time decay your infinite variety." "Poetry, Emerson!" I cried. "Shakespeare," said Emerson proudly. "I know another poem, Peabody." "May I hear it?" " 'It little profits that an idle king . . . matched with an aging wife I put the pillow over his face. After a short interval he broke off to say breathlessly, "You did not allow me to finish, Peabody. How does it go? ' 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.' Shall we get the Amelia back on the river and go sailing again? 'Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows?'" " 'It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,'" I went on dreamily. "And see the great Abdullah, whom we knew." "You are making a dreadful hash of Tennyson, Emerson." "It's the thought that counts, Peabody. 'One equal temper of heroic hearts,' that's what we are. We will strive and seek and find, and never yield." Afterword Apparently Mrs. Emerson felt that the quotation from one of her favorite poets served as a fitting conclusion to this volume of her journals—or perhaps she believed other writers would describe subsequent happenings which did not affect her family directly. Many thousands of words have been written about the events surrounding the discovery of Tutankhamon's tomb. The accounts differ in a number of ways, some significant, some not. One would suppose that the most accurate would be that of Howard Carter himself; yet, as recent investigation has proved, he was not entirely candid. Some of the so-called eyewitness accounts were written after the event and are therefore contaminated by inaccurate memory. The editor feels she owes it to the Reader to point out certain of these discrepancies. The well-known story, that Carnarvon told Carter in the summer of 1922 that he had decided not to finance any further excavations in the Valley, and that he was persuaded into one more season by Carter's offer to pay for the work himself, rests on hearsay—the statement of Charles Breasted, son of the famous American Egyptologist. CharlesBreasted claimed that he heard the story from Carter. Carter himself never mentioned it. The ill-conceived intervention of Emerson makes even better sense, and it is understandable that neither Carter nor Carnarvon would admit it. The day-by-day events leading up to the great moment when Carter gazed into the gold-filled outer room of the tomb have been well documented, and agree in general with Mrs. Emerson's description. What Carter actually said on that momentous occasion, in response to Carnarvon's eager question, is in some doubt. "Wonderful things" has become the official version, recorded by Carter himself. According to an account written by Carnarvon a few days afterward, Carter said, "There are some marvelous things here." In my opinion Mrs. Emerson's version—that at first Carter was too thunderstruck to speak at all— makes better sense in psychological terms. The most damaging accusation made against Carter and Carnarvon is that they entered and explored the tomb in secret, before the official opening. Other evidence, aside from Mrs. Emerson's own account, gives credence to this charge. According to her, the illicit entry took place on the evening of the twenty-sixth of November, and not, as some have suggested, a day or two later. Her version seems more reasonable to me. The excavators' appetite had been whetted by what they saw through the small aperture, and as Mrs. Emerson admits, only men of iron could have waited any longer. Furthermore, the chief inspector, Rex Engelbach, was due to visit the tomb the following day, and any disturbance that occurred afterward might have been noted by him. The accusation that objects were removed from the tomb by Carter and Carnarvon is unproven; however, the private collections of both men contained articles that may well have belonged to the young king. The interested Reader may find the evidence pro and con in the numerous volumes on the tomb. The encounter with an irate Emerson explains Carnarvon's subsequent animosity against the Emerson family, and his refusal to let them participate. The burial chamber was not officially opened until February 17 of the next year. The Emersons are not mentioned in the list of notables ------------------------------------ This document was converted by AportisDoc Converter(tm) from Aportis Technologies Corp. Visit www.aportis.com for eBook readers, free eBooks and conversion tools.