The Golden One (25 page)

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Emerson abstractedly. ‘No sense in rushing off in all directions. What do you think, Ramses?’

He didn’t have to tell them what he thought, they were as familiar with the terrain as he was. There were hundreds of square metres of broken country, around and above and below, split by
crevices of all sizes and shapes. Locating one man in that wilderness would be hellishly difficult, especially if he had fallen and injured himself.

‘I don’t think he’d have gone over the gebel as Jumana did,’ Ramses answered. ‘He’d have come the way we came the other day; it’s the only route he
knows. He didn’t enter this arm of the wadi or we’d have seen him. Unless he arrived long before we did . . . Father, why don’t you sing out?’

Emerson obliged. Not even a bird answered. Jumana was dancing up and down with impatience, but Emerson’s monumental calm kept her quiet. After calling twice more, without result, he said,
‘He’d have heard that if he were within earshot. All right, we can go on.’

‘The Cemetery of the Monkeys,’ Ramses muttered. ‘Yes, that’s where he’d go. I could kick myself for making those clever remarks about missing queens. Which way? I
can climb up and go across, while you – ’

‘No,’ Emerson said without hesitating. ‘You were right, he’d have gone the way we did before.’ He hoisted the pack onto his shoulders and started down the rough
steps. ‘You next, Jumana. Watch your footing.’

Once down, they crossed the wide mouth of the wadi and started up the path that led into the next narrow finger. Jumana would have bounded ahead if Emerson had not kept hold of her. Every few
minutes he stopped and shouted Bertie’s name. They had gone some distance, with the walls rising higher on either side, before there was a reply, faint and muffled, but unmistakably the sound
of a human voice.

‘Thank God,’ Ramses said sincerely. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, ‘Bertie, is that you? Keep calling out!’

Bertie obeyed, but it took them a while to locate him. Sound echoed distractingly between the cliffs, and there wasn’t a sign of him, though they scanned the rock surface with binoculars
as well as the naked eye.

‘He’s up there somewhere,’ Emerson said, indicating a crevice that ran slantwise across the cliff face. ‘Yes – this is where he climbed.’ The marks where
booted feet had slipped and scraped were fresh, white against the weathered stone. He shouted again. The response was close now, and the words were distinct.

‘Foot’s caught. I can’t . . .’

‘All right, I’m coming,’ Ramses called. He slipped off the knapsack, removed his coat, and picked up one of the coils of rope. ‘No, Jumana, you stay here. Hang on to her,
Father.’

‘If she tries to follow you, I’ll tie her up with the rest of the rope,’ Emerson said coolly. ‘Be careful.’

Ramses nodded. It was an easy ascent, with lots of hand- and footholds, and a slight inward slope. The crevice narrowed and appeared to end about fifteen feet above him; he went on up, at an
angle, till he reached a point where the opening was wide enough for him to swing himself into it. The floor of the cleft was almost horizontal here, and several feet deep, like a small natural
platform.

‘Down here,’ Bertie said.

Ramses switched on his pocket torch and shone it down. All he could see was Bertie’s face. His body was jammed into the narrowest part of the crevice, like a cork in a bottle. ‘My
God,’ he said. ‘How did you do that?’

Bertie’s face was smeared with dust and sweat and streaked with blood, but he summoned up a rueful grin. ‘I slipped. It wasn’t at all difficult; I could do it again
anytime.’

Ramses laughed. It wasn’t going to be easy getting Bertie out, but it was a relief to find him alive and relatively undamaged, and cool as ice. ‘If I lower a rope, can you grab hold
of it?’

‘I’ve got one arm free,’ Bertie said, raising it in a flippant wave. ‘The other one’s stuck. And one of my boots is caught.’

‘Let’s try this.’ Ramses tied a loop in the end of the rope and let it down. Bertie slid his arm through the noose and Ramses pulled on the rope till the slipknot tightened.
‘Ready?’

‘Slacken the rope a bit so I can get hold of it. Here, wait a minute. Are you hanging on to something? If I come popping out of here you may lose your balance.’

There was nothing he could hang on to, no protuberance round which to tie the rope. He looped a section round his waist and knotted it. ‘I’m fine. Here we go.’

He’d had to put the torch back in his pocket to use both hands for the rope. He couldn’t see Bertie now, but he could hear his hard, difficult breathing. There was resistance at
first, and a gasp of pain from the man below, but Ramses didn’t dare stop, he could feel upward movement. He transferred his grip farther along the rope and heaved.

‘That’s done it,’ Bertie gasped. ‘Both hands out . . .’

‘Good,’ Ramses said, recovering his balance. He’d almost fallen over, the release of resistance had been so sudden. Bertie’s hands came into view. He was trying to pull
himself up. His knuckles and the back of one hand were scraped raw.

Ramses helped him up onto the relatively level section and then leaned out. His father’s requests for information and reassurance were reaching an ear-splitting pitch. They harmonized with
Jumana’s piercing soprano.

‘It’s all right. We’re coming down,’ Ramses called.

‘Thanks,’ Bertie said.

‘What for?’

Bertie had unfastened the slipknot. He dug in his pocket for a handkerchief and passed it over his filthy face. ‘Well, for pulling me out. And for not saying something like
“I’m about to lower the poor idiot down.” ’

‘You aren’t that. But I am going to lower you, unless you have violent objections.’

‘No. I’ve played the bloody fool once today, I won’t do it again. How did you know I was here?’

He wanted a little more time. Holding the end of the rope, Ramses decided he had better break it to him at once. ‘Jumana. She noticed you were missing and figured you’d come this
way. Father and I heard her calling you, and we joined forces.’

‘Oh.’ He added bitterly, ‘Kind of her to rush to my rescue.’

‘This could have happened to anyone,’ Ramses said. ‘All right, let’s get it over.’

‘Wait a minute. I don’t want you to think I’m a complete fool. I wouldn’t have risked climbing alone – I know I’m not much good at it – if I
hadn’t seen him. Just about here, leaning out and looking down at me. He didn’t push me,’ Bertie added quickly, reading Ramses’s expression. ‘I wouldn’t want her
to think that.’

‘The hell with what she thinks,’ Ramses said angrily. ‘Damn it, Bertie, you don’t climb a rock face when there’s someone up above who doesn’t like you. I
wouldn’t have risked it.’

‘Yes, you would – if you’d seen what I saw. He was laughing, Ramses, and waving some object. I couldn’t see it clearly, but it glittered. Like gold.’

Chapter Six

I cannot recall ever seeing Cyrus Vandergelt so angry. Even Emerson sat in silence, without attempting to interrupt, while our old friend paced up and down uttering incoherent
American ejaculations.

Nefret and I arrived at the house shortly after the others. From what I could make out, amid his cries of fury, Cyrus had met the other four on the homeward path. He had been searching for
Bertie and Jumana for hours, after discovering that both had left Deir el Medina, and was at Medinet Habu, still in quest of them, when they appeared, with Ramses and Emerson supporting Bertie.
Whether Cyrus had harboured the same suspicions that would have occurred to his wife upon finding two young persons of opposite genders unaccountably missing from their designated places, he never
said.

Relief was immediately succeeded by outrage, as is usually the case. When Cyrus found out where they had been, a good deal of the outrage was directed at Emerson. At the latter’s
suggestion they had brought Bertie straight to our house, and it was obvious from their appearance that none of them had had the time, or perhaps the inclination, to make themselves tidy. Their
dusty, sweat-stained garments were sufficient proof of a somewhat arduous day, but a quick yet comprehensive survey assured me that Bertie appeared to be the only casualty. He had his foot up on a
hassock and Kadija was smearing it with her famous green ointment. Fatima ran in and out with plates of food – her invariable solution for all disasters; Gargery demanded to know what had
happened – Jumana tried to tell him; and Cyrus raved. It was very busy and loud.

Nefret went to Ramses. He shook his head, smiling, in response to her unvoiced concern. I removed my hat, put it neatly on a table, and proceeded to bring order out of chaos.

‘Cyrus!’ I said, rather emphatically.

‘Of all the consarned, low-down . . .’ He stopped and stared at me. ‘Amelia. Where’ve you been? Why weren’t you here? Do you know what underhanded, contemptible
stunt this bunch of crooks played on us?’

‘I am beginning to get an idea. Sit down and stop shouting, Cyrus. Fatima, will you please bring the tea tray? Thank you. Let us now have a coherent narrative, from . . .’ Jumana was
waving her hand in the air and bobbing up and down, like an eager student volunteering to recite. I observed that the jangling noise accompanying her movements came from several articles attached
to her belt. I was somewhat flattered but not inclined to encourage her; she looked a little too pleased with herself.

‘Emerson,’ I said. Jumana subsided, pouting.

I had to shush Cyrus more than once during the course of Emerson’s tale, but the genial beverage, which I forced upon everyone present, had its usual soothing effect – even on me. I
was extremely put out by Emerson’s duplicity. However, I confined my expressions of chagrin to a few reproachful looks, which Emerson pretended not to see.

‘All’s well that ends well, eh, Peabody?’ he inquired.

‘Hmmm,’ I said. ‘Nefret?’

She was conferring with Kadija. ‘No broken bones,’ she announced. ‘He was lucky. But he’ll have to stay off that foot for a few days.’

‘Lucky!’ Cyrus burst out. ‘He had no business going off like that. He – ’

‘Is not the only person present who has ever been guilty of reckless behaviour,’ I interrupted.

Ramses gave me a wide, unself-conscious grin, and then sobered. ‘We’d have found him eventually, Cyrus, even without Jumana.’

The girl must have been even more annoying than usual that day, or he would not have minimized her effort. We would certainly have looked for Bertie, but we might not have found him in time. It
might well be said that the young man owed her his life.

‘Who bandaged his hand?’ Nefret asked.

‘I wish everyone would stop talking about me in the third person,’ Bertie said stiffly. ‘Jumana – ’

‘Yes, I did it!’ She jumped up, jangling. ‘You see, I have my belt of tools, too, like the Sitt Hakim! I washed his hand and bandaged it and I took care of him. He was very
stupid to go there alone.’

Bertie turned red, but he didn’t have a chance to defend himself; he had not yet learned that in our circle it is necessary to shout in order to be heard. Emerson did it for him. Men
always close ranks when women criticize one of them.

‘And so were you, Jumana.’ Emerson slammed his cup down in the saucer. ‘Any man or woman, even the most experienced, could suffer an accident in that terrain, and die of
exposure before he was found. No, young lady, don’t talk back to me! Why didn’t you tell Vandergelt where you were going?’

Jumana bowed her head. ‘I wanted to find him myself,’ she murmured.

‘I see.’ Emerson’s voice softened, and Bertie’s face went even redder. Men are such innocents; they had taken her statement as a declaration of affectionate interest. I,
who had once pointed out to Jumana that wealthy and powerful Cyrus Vandergelt would think well of anyone who looked after his adopted son, suspected that self-interest had been her primary
motive.

‘Enough of recriminations,’ I said. ‘We must – ’

‘I’m not finished recriminating,’ Cyrus declared. ‘Not by a damned sight. Excuse my language, ladies, but I’ve got a few words to say to my old pal here. Emerson,
you deliberately and with malice aforethought pawned Deir el Medina off on me so you could do what I would have done if you hadn’t told me not to do it! And by the Almighty, there is a tomb
out there! We’ve got proof now.’

Emerson looked sheepish and drank out of his cracked cup. Tea dribbled down the front of his shirt, but I cannot say its condition was appreciably worsened thereby.

‘If we had found anything of interest, I would have let you in on it, Vandergelt,’ he mumbled. ‘I only wanted to – er – save you time and effort.’

‘Oh. All right, then,’ Cyrus said, mollified. ‘But now we know there is a tomb – ’

‘I’m afraid not, Cyrus,’ Ramses said. ‘Jamil may not be the most intelligent opponent we’ve ever faced, but he isn’t stupid enough to give away the location
of the tomb – if there is one.’

‘The gold Bertie saw – ’ Cyrus began.

‘He said it glittered like gold,’ Ramses interrupted impatiently. ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you that the boy has been deliberately leading us astray?’

‘It had occurred to me, of course,’ I said.