The Golden One (26 page)

Ramses’s sober face relaxed into a grin and Emerson snarled wordlessly. ‘Where is the tomb, then?’ Cyrus demanded.

‘Like Ramses, I am not convinced there is one,’ I replied. ‘I can think of a number of reasons why Jamil might want to lead us on a wild-goose chase. “He only does it to
annoy, because he knows it teases.” Or he may want to lure us into a trap. It is wild country, and Bertie’s accident today is a grim reminder of what can happen if he catches one of us
alone.’

Jumana lifted her chin and stared defiantly at me. The rather pathetic collection of tools on her belt jingled as she shifted position. I wondered if she had also acquired a parasol.

‘He didn’t mean to hurt Bertie,’ she declared. ‘It was an accident.’

‘That’s right,’ Bertie said quickly.

‘Perhaps he didn’t intend to,’ I said. ‘But the result might have been disastrous. He’s been watching us – spying on us.’

‘Damnation!’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘Jumana – Bertie – all of you – don’t take any more chances, do you hear? Even if Jamil appears decked out in the Double
Crown and the full regalia of a pharaoh, blowing kisses, don’t follow him.’

‘Here!’ Cyrus exclaimed, his eyes brightening. ‘Do you think it’s a royal tomb he’s found?’

‘Good Gad, Vandergelt, is that all you can think of?’ Emerson gave him a rueful smile. ‘I thought of it, too, I admit. But there won’t be a king’s tomb in that
area. My point is that none of us must go into a remote area alone. It is too dangerous, as Bertie discovered today.’

‘Oh.’ Cyrus glanced apologetically at Bertie. ‘Sorry, son, I was forgetting about your foot. Guess I’d better get you home. I’ll go to the Castle and send the
carriage.’

‘I can ride,’ Bertie said, trying to push himself to his feet.

‘Take Risha,’ Ramses said, before any of us could voice an objection. ‘Jamad can go with you and bring him back. Here, let me give you a hand.’

‘Don’t put your weight on that foot,’ Nefret called, as they left the room, Bertie hopping and leaning on Ramses’s arm. Neither of them replied. Closing ranks, I thought.
Closing ranks!

‘A word of advice, if I may, Cyrus,’ I said.

He had been about to go after them. He stopped and turned to me. From his expression and that of my husband I suspected one of them was about to make a sarcastic comment, so I went on before
either could do so. ‘Don’t treat him like a child. He is a grown man and must make his own decisions. He did it for you, you know.’

‘I know.’ Cyrus tugged at his goatee. He turned a challenging look on Emerson. ‘So, old buddy, where are we going tomorrow?’

Emerson mumbled something.

‘Hey?’ said Cyrus, cupping his hand round his ear.

‘Not,’ I said, ‘to the Cemetery of the Monkeys. We will meet you at Deir el Medina tomorrow, Cyrus. All of us.’

As soon as Cyrus had taken his departure, Emerson fled to the bath chamber. He was well aware that this was only a temporary refuge; after arranging a few domestic matters, I
followed him. I had intended to sit on the edge of the bath but he was splashing the water all about, so I leaned against the wall instead. Emerson gave me a cheerful smile.

‘Did you have a pleasant day, my love?’ he inquired.

‘Quite pleasant. Emerson, why do you do this sort of thing? You know I will find out in the end.’

‘Certainly I know. I enjoy stirring you up, Peabody. And you enjoy ferreting out my evil schemes and scolding me.’ He got to his feet.

I always say there is nothing like a vigorous out-of-door life to keep a person in excellent physical condition. Emerson had changed very little since the days when I had first known him –
except of course for the absence of the beard that had hidden his firm chin and strong jaw. His stalwart form was as trim, the pull of muscle across his broad shoulders just as distracting.

‘I will not be distracted, Emerson,’ I informed him.

‘No?’ He stepped out of the bath and reached for me. He has very long arms.

After a time I said, ‘Turn round and let me dry your back.’

‘I can think of another way of – ’

‘No, Emerson! I am soaking wet already and we have a great deal to do if we are to get everything ready for tomorrow. I sent a message to Selim, inviting him to dinner.’

‘Good thought,’ said Emerson, sufficiently distracted by this reminder to release me. ‘I wonder what he will say about the latest development.’

Seated next to me – a delicate attention I always paid him when he condescended to favour us with his company – Selim listened in frowning silence to Emerson’s account of the
day’s adventure. Then he shook his head.

‘I am surprised, Emerson, that you should have been so thoughtless,’ he said severely. ‘The temples and the workmen’s village are more important than searching for tombs
in that dangerous place. And you, Ramses, ought not have let him go.’

Emerson had become accustomed to Selim’s occasional criticisms, but having his own words quoted back at him silenced him momentarily. Ramses said meekly, ‘You are absolutely right,
Selim, but when the Father of Curses speaks, the whole world obeys.’

‘Huh,’ said Selim, just as Abdullah might have done. A thought occurred to him, and he said in a milder voice, ‘Well, perhaps it was meant to be. Had you not gone there, Mr
Bertie and that foolish girl might have come to harm.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Emerson agreed, as Jumana glared at her cousin.

‘As for Jamil,’ Selim continued, returning Jumana’s glare with interest, ‘he has caused us enough trouble and kept us from our work. Leave him to me.’

Even Emerson was silenced by that flat demand, which had been delivered with a dignity and authority as great as Abdullah’s had been. Selim was becoming more and more like his father, his
handsome, strongly defined features framed by a neatly trimmed beard and moustache. Perhaps it is not surprising that I should have dreamed of Abdullah that night.

He was waiting for me in the place we both loved best, the top of the cliff above Deir el Bahri, where the path went on to the Valley of the Kings; and the sun was rising over the eastern
mountains. As I mounted the last steep slope, I wondered why I was beginning to find the ascent as difficult as I would have done in waking life. If it was a touch of realism, it was one I could
have done without. I was extremely short of breath when Abdullah gave me his hand and assisted me to attain the summit.

‘They are all well in England,’ he said. ‘My next grandchild grows strong in the womb of her mother.’

‘A girl this time?’ I panted.

Abdullah nodded. ‘Sit down, Sitt, and rest. Yes, it is a girl; that is already determined.’

‘Er – speaking of grandchildren, Abdullah . . .’

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. As always in these dreams, he was youthfully handsome, without a single grey thread in his beard; his laughter was as merry as Selim’s.

‘What about them, Sitt?’

‘You aren’t going to tell me, are you?’

‘There is a time for all things, Sitt Hakim. When that time comes you will be among the first to know. How could it be otherwise?’

Annoyed as I was at his teasing, I could not help smiling a little. He had said ‘when’, not ‘if’! That was hopeful. ‘I expect I will,’ I said. ‘How
could it be otherwise?’

‘There are other things I will tell you: The boy who is in France is safe still, but David is troubled because he feels he should be here with you. Do not let him come. The underwater
boats will sink many ships this winter. You are wise to stay in Egypt until that danger is over.’

Having recovered my breath, I rose from the extremely lumpy rock on which I had been sitting and stood beside him, watching the slow spread of sunlight across the landscape. Below us the columns
of Hatshepsut’s temple were ivory-pale in the morning shadows.

‘I know better than to press you when you are determined to keep silent,’ I grumbled. ‘But you haven’t said anything about our current plans. Where is that cursed boy,
Abdullah, and what are we going to do about him?’

‘It is a matter of shame to me that Jamil is a member of my family.’ Abdullah’s face was as stern as a bronze mask. ‘He will be punished, Sitt, but not by you. Leave him
to me. Do not take foolish chances, here or elsewhere.’

‘Where else would I be? If you are referring to the submarine menace, we have already decided . . . Curse it, Abdullah, you are trying to get me off the track again. Where is the
confounded tomb?’

‘It would be tangling the web of the future to tell you that,’ Abdullah said dreamily. ‘Now, Sitt, do not swear. It will come right in the end, though not, perhaps, as you
expect.’

He took my hand and held it for a moment. Then he turned away.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘Please.’

‘No more questions, Sitt. I have told you all I am allowed.’

‘I only wondered how you liked your new tomb.’

Abdullah turned back to face me. ‘It is well enough.’

‘Is that all you can say? David designed the structure, you know, and Selim got the men to work as soon as you asked me for it.’

‘I should not have had to ask,’ said Abdullah, sounding as sulky as Sennia.

It was so like him – so human – so like a man! Laughing, I threw my arms around him in an impetuous embrace. It was the first time I had ever done so, and for the first time he held
me close – only for a moment, before he gently loosened my hands and stepped back.

‘Is there anything else you would like?’ I asked.

‘No.’ The corners of his mouth twitched, and he said, ‘It is a very fine tomb, Sitt. Fine enough for a pasha.’

I did not follow him. I never had. Something held me back; perhaps it was the sure knowledge that I would see him again, or the comfort I always gained from speaking with him, even when he was
at his most irritatingly vague.

‘Good-bye for now,’ I called. ‘Maassalameh, my friend.’

I had, of course, arrived at the logical solution to our dilemma – or, to be more accurate, Emerson and Cyrus’s impractical plan. I had said nothing to Emerson, for
in my opinion he did not deserve my confidence after playing such a trick on me. He was therefore in a state of happy ignorance when we got to Deir el Medina, where we found Cyrus and Abu and their
crew awaiting us. Bertie was not there; as I had expected she would, Katherine wanted to keep him under her wing for a few days. Sennia had gone off to her lessons with less fuss than usual, since
she looked forward to ‘taking care of Bertie’.

We all gathered round Emerson, and a sizable audience we were: Selim and Daoud, Cyrus and Abu, Jumana, Nefret, Ramses, and of course the Great Cat of Re, who had climbed up onto Ramses’s
shoulder and was staring at Emerson with round green eyes. I waited until Emerson had drawn a deep breath and opened his mouth before I spoke.

‘The solution to our problem is obvious.’

Caught off-balance, figuratively speaking, Emerson forgot what he had been about to say. ‘I . . . Curse it, Peabody, what are you talking about? What problem? We have no problem. We
– ’

‘Several problems, I should have said. First, the distinct possibility that your plan will enrage M. Daressy and result in our being forbidden to work in Egypt. Second, the fact that
although Bertie has become a competent supervisor, he knows nothing of hieratic and cannot cope with the inscribed materials we have been finding. Third, Ramses’s desire to continue working
here. Are you so indifferent to the feelings of your son, Emerson, that you will ride roughshod over them? I had not supposed you would be so unkind.’

I managed to get through this entire speech without interruption, since I had learned the trick of pausing for breath, not at the end of sentences, but at random intervals the listeners did not
expect. Emerson would not have been reluctant to interrupt at any interval; but as he explained later, my tone of voice warned him he had better not. And by the time I had finished, the alteration
of his expression assured me that the last point, at least, had made the desired impression.

He turned to his son, his handsome features sober. ‘Do you feel that strongly about it, Ramses? You know I would never . . . Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘He did tell you,’ I said in exasperation. ‘You didn’t listen.’

‘It’s all right, Father,’ Ramses said quickly. ‘Perhaps I didn’t express myself clearly enough.’

‘Clearly enough for
me
to understand,’ I said with a sniff. ‘Never mind. My solution is very simple. Cyrus and we are both shorthanded. I suggest we combine forces and
focus on one site – this one – dividing the responsibility. Cyrus can have the tombs; we will take the village. M. Daressy can have no objection to our expanding our
workforce.’

Cyrus, who had listened in gloomy silence to what he expected would be the failure of his hopes, immediately cheered up. ‘You mean it?’ he exclaimed.

‘Certainly,’ I replied, returning his smile. ‘Naturally we will assist one another should anything of particular interest turn up which would demand additional
manpower.’

Emerson had been thoroughly humbled. He loved his son dearly – though I do not believe he had ever actually said so – and was ready to accept any penance I proposed – until I
added that last sentence. It livened him up considerably. He turned on me with a shout.

‘Confound it, Amelia! I see through you. You are bored with sifting rubbish. You are after those tombs yourself.’

‘I have just now proposed handing that part of our concession over to Cyrus, Emerson,’ I reminded him. ‘Do you agree?’

‘Oh.’ Emerson rubbed his chin. ‘Well . . .’

‘It’s a durned good idea,’ Cyrus declared. ‘Just what I’d have expected you to come up with, Amelia. What do you say, old pal? Shake on it?’

Instead of taking Cyrus’s outstretched hand, Emerson turned to his son. ‘Is that acceptable to you, Ramses? Be honest.’

‘I think it is an excellent plan, Father. Honestly,’ he added.

‘In that case . . .’ Emerson seized Cyrus’s hand in a firm grip. ‘It is agreed.’

‘Perhaps we should sign a written agreement,’ I suggested. ‘In case M. Daressy inquires.’

‘No, ma’am, that won’t be necessary,’ Cyrus declared. ‘Emerson’s word is good enough for me.’