The Golden One (30 page)

Jumana was supposed to be helping Bertie and Cyrus finish the surveying, but Ramses wasn’t surprised to see her halfway up the hillside, squatting, her head bent, her hands busy. He let
out a shout that made Nefret jump and brought Jumana to her feet. She waved vigorously and started down.

‘She shouldn’t be doing that,’ he said in exasperation. ‘Look at her, grinning and cavorting. She knows she is violating orders.’

‘Don’t be too hard on her,’ Nefret said tolerantly. ‘Mother would be up there too. She’s found something.’

She was holding a small stela. It was not an unusual discovery; a good many of them had been found by earlier excavators, in or near the chapels of the tombs. She offered it to Ramses, raising
shining eyes to him.

‘You were told not to remove objects from their place,’ Ramses said severely. The way she was looking at him made him nervous.

‘I tagged the place,’ Jumana protested. ‘As you showed me. I made the measurements, I know exactly where it should go on the plan. There is no chapel there, Ramses, it must
have fallen from its place and tumbled down the hillside. See – isn’t it pretty?’

Mollified, and regretting his hard tone, he took the stone from her. The curved top and straight sides, the rows of hieroglyphs that praised the deities worshipped by the male and female
figures, were of a standard type, but the deities were somewhat unusual – two plump cats, facing each other across an offering table.

‘I’ve seen other stelae from Deir el Medina that depict cats,’ he said. ‘They were identified with several goddesses, including Amon’s wife Mut.’

‘Not with the Great Cat of Re?’ Jumana asked.

‘Not these.’ They were rather charming animals, fatter and less aloof than the usual lean Egyptian cat. He indicated the appropriate hieroglyphs. ‘ “Giving praise to the
good and peaceful cat.” Well, maybe they are at that. They aren’t named. But the Great Cat of Re wasn’t peaceful, was he.’

‘They’re delightful,’ Nefret said, nodding at Jumana. She got no response; Jumana was watching Ramses, breathless and expectant, waiting for a word of praise from him.

‘They are,’ he conceded. ‘Let’s take it to Bertie. Drawing it will be good practice for him.’

‘I would like to give it to the Little Bird,’ Jumana said, as they walked towards the shelter. ‘Her cat is getting fat, like these, and we could tell her one of them was the
Great Cat of Re.’

‘We will have to wait for the Antiquities Department to decide which pieces we may keep,’ Ramses said. Feeling he had been a trifle harsh, he added, ‘It was kind of you to
think of it, Jumana.’

They greeted Bertie and handed over the stela, and Ramses said, ‘It’s rather a charming piece. Why don’t you try your hand at making a copy, Bertie? Unless you’re busy
with something else.’

‘I will do it,’ Jumana said. ‘I can – ’

‘Yes, I know you can, but I need you elsewhere.’

Selim had set the men to work. He hailed Ramses, demanding his opinion of an unusual raised platform in the corner of the house they were excavating, and Ramses lost track of
the time. It wasn’t until Cyrus joined them and suggested they stop for luncheon that Ramses realized how late it was.

‘Where’re your ma and pa?’ Cyrus asked with a grin.

‘They haven’t come?’ He knew they hadn’t; his father always made his presence known. ‘They went to see Yusuf; he sent a message asking for them. But they ought to
be here by now.’

Nefret’s expressive face reflected his own uneasiness. ‘Were we right after all – about Yusuf and Jamil? I really didn’t believe it, you know.’

‘Neither did I,’ Ramses admitted. He ran his fingers through his hair.

‘Where is your hat?’ Nefret asked.

‘I don’t know. Never mind my damned hat. Confound it, they’ve no business wandering off without informing us. What are we going to do?’

‘Have lunch,’ Nefret said practically. ‘And wait a little longer.’

Cyrus demanded to know what was going on, and after they had set out the food, Ramses told all of them about the message. Cyrus was unconcerned. ‘They can take care of themselves.’
Selim scowled. ‘If Yusuf knew, and did not tell me – ’

‘That’s only a theory, Selim. We can’t be certain what Yusuf wanted. Maybe it was Mother’s notorious medical skills.’

‘He would be more likely to ask for hers than for mine,’ Nefret admitted. ‘The older men and women don’t believe in my newfangled notions. But it shouldn’t have
taken them this long, even if Yusuf asked Father to perform an exorcism.’

By the time they had finished the meal Ramses had come to a decision. ‘We had better try to find them. Assume the worst, as Mother says, and act on it.’

‘Where are you going to look?’ Cyrus asked. ‘You don’t know where they might be by now.’

‘Yusuf,’ Ramses said shortly. ‘If he has any information, I’ll get it out of him.’

Selim rose. ‘Daoud and I will come with you.’

‘Damn this foot!’ Bertie burst out. ‘Look, it’s almost healed, I can keep up.’

‘Not this time.’ Ramses’s hand rested briefly on the other man’s shoulder. ‘We don’t need additional manpower – ’

‘No,’ said Daoud, folding his massive arms.

‘No,’ Ramses repeated, nodding in acknowledgment. ‘Cyrus, you had better stay here. Jumana, come with us.’

She stared at him, her eyes wide and dark. ‘You think I know something I have not told you? It is not true!’

‘I haven’t accused you of anything,’ Ramses said.

‘Do let’s go,’ Nefret exclaimed. ‘Why are we wasting time talking?’

They took the most direct route, past the temple and across the foothills, approaching the village from the south. Most of the inhabitants were enjoying their afternoon nap, but by the time they
reached Yusuf’s house a few wakeful souls had spotted them and run on ahead, so Yusuf was expecting them.

He was lying on the divan in the main room, covered with a blanket, though the day was warm. It was the first time Ramses had seen the old man since their arrival. The change in him was
distressing. The once plump jowls hung down in loose folds, and his thin hands gripped the edge of the coverlet. He shrank back as they all crowded into the room. Ramses didn’t blame him;
they made a threatening assemblage: he and Nefret, Daoud looming like a monolith, Selim’s face unyielding as walnut.

Nefret let out a little sound of pity and surprise, pushed past the others, and bent over the old man. ‘Salaam aleikhum, Uncle Yusuf. I regret we did not come before. We did not know you
were so ill.’

Her low voice, sweet with sympathy, reproached the others and reassured Yusuf. ‘I am better, Nur Misur,’ he croaked.

Ramses gestured Selim to remain silent. He couldn’t bully a pathetic specimen like Yusuf. Anyhow, Nefret’s methods were more likely to win him over. He looked around for Jumana. She
was behind Daoud, whose large form hid all of her but her little boots.

‘Was it the Sitt Hakim who made you better, Uncle Yusuf?’ Nefret asked. ‘What did she give you?’

‘The Sitt Hakim? She has not been here. No one has been here.’ Self-pity and resentment gave new life to his feeble voice. ‘None of you came to ask about me.’

‘We are sorry, Uncle,’ Nefret said. ‘But the Sitt Hakim did come, this morning. You sent her a message asking her to come.’

‘I sent no message,’ Yusuf said sullenly. ‘Why should I? You should have come without my asking.’

Selim moved slightly, and again Ramses motioned him to be quiet. Yusuf’s resentment – justifiable resentment, Ramses had to admit – was genuine. There was no reason for him to
lie, since he knew there were dozens of witnesses who would have seen the elder Emersons had they been there.

From the doorway a harsh voice said, ‘He speaks the truth, Brother of Demons. The Sitt has not been here.’

It was Yusuf’s eldest wife, her voice accusatory, her face crumpled into innumerable wrinkles by age and indignation. She shoved at Daoud. ‘Get out, Daoud, and take her with you, the
shameless creature. Why have you all come, like accusers, to trouble a sick old man?’

Daoud turned, in his ponderous fashion, and Jumana let out a little squeak. Her father’s eyes rested briefly on her and shifted away.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ramses said. ‘We are looking for my father and mother, who may be in trouble. It is true that Yusuf sent no message – that they did not come
here?’

‘It is true,’ the old woman snapped. ‘Ask anyone.’

‘Shall we go now?’ Daoud asked nervously. According to Selim, his giant uncle feared only two things: the displeasure of the Father of Curses, and an angry old woman.

‘We may as well,’ Ramses said.

Daoud was the first to go. Jumana followed, so closely she was treading on his heels. Ramses hesitated. He had meant to ask Yusuf about Jamil, but this disclosure had altered everything. His
parents must have been intercepted or distracted before they reached Yusuf, lured away by a false message. There was no time to waste; the afternoon was passing.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘I’ll come back,’ Nefret promised the old man. ‘As soon as I can.’

Yusuf did not reply. His eyes were closed.

The usual crowd had gathered outside. Selim, who had been talking with several of the men, turned to Ramses. ‘It is true, they did not come to this house. But Ahmed says Mahmud says his
cousin Mohammed saw them this morning. They left their horses with him and gave him money.’

‘Which Mohammed?’ Ramses demanded.

‘His house is at the bottom of the hill, near the tomb of Ramose.’

‘Oh, that Mohammed. All right, let’s find him.’

They led the horses; the slope on this side was steep. Mohammed, who was stretched out in the shade peacefully sleeping, did not wake until Ramses shook him. ‘Ah,’ he said, rubbing
his eyes, ‘you have come for the horses. I took good care of them, you see.’

They were in the courtyard of an ancient tomb, shaded and well supplied with water. Ramses handed over baksheesh. ‘Yes, you did. When did the Father of Curses and the Sitt Hakim leave the
horses?’

‘Many hours ago.’ Mohammed yawned.

‘They’d have come straight here,’ Nefret interposed, knowing, as did Ramses, that Mohammed’s notions of time were vague.

‘Probably. It’s been at least six hours, then. Where did they go, Mohammed?’

‘That way.’ A gesture indicated the direction – not up the hill, towards Yusuf’s house, but northward.

‘On foot?’

‘How could they ride when they left the horses with me?’

Selim lost patience. ‘Don’t try to be clever, Mohammed, because you are not. Why did they leave the horses and go on foot? What did they say to each other?’

‘How should I know? They spoke in English, very fast.’ Another gigantic yawn concluded the speech.

A younger man, his beard just beginning to show, plucked at Selim’s sleeve. ‘My father only thinks of baksheesh and sleep, Selim, but I can tell you what happened. The Father of
Curses took his galabeeyah, and the Sitt took mine. It was because they saw someone. She said “Look there”, and he looked and swore and then they took our clothes and went hurrying
away, behind the tombs and around the hill.’

‘Your clothes?’ Nefret repeated.

‘Our galabeeyahs, my father’s and mine. The Father of Curses paid well; but when the Sitt Hakim has finished with mine, I would like to have it back. I have only – ’

‘Did you see the person they were following?’ Ramses interrupted.

‘Oh, yes.’ The boy pointed. ‘It was she.’

Jumana froze, her eyes focusing on the pointing finger. ‘He lies,’ she gasped.

‘I do not lie. She wore the same clothing, boots and coat and a skirt, that blew out as she ran. Not trousers, as men wear. What other woman would wear such garments?’

‘Several of us,’ Nefret said, catching hold of Jumana, who appeared ready to fly at her accuser. ‘We know it wasn’t you, Jumana, you couldn’t have got from here to
Deir el Medina before we arrived.’

Ramses rewarded the observant youth extravagantly and went after Selim, who was already running along the path the boy had indicated. It turned and rose, and there before them lay the length of
the desert plain, covered with hillocks and hills, houses and villages and ruins – almost two miles long from Medinet Habu to the slopes of Drah abu’l Naga on the north. The sun was low
over the western cliffs.

‘Wait,’ Ramses called. Selim stopped, and the others came up to him.

‘What can we do?’ the reis asked, for the hopelessness of pursuit was evident to him as well. ‘It was hours ago that they were here. Even if one saw them – ’

‘He wouldn’t be here either,’ Ramses cut in. ‘Or remember them. Father and his damned disguises!’

‘The Father of Curses,’ said Daoud, his calm unshaken, ‘cannot be mistaken for any other man.’

‘That’s true,’ Nefret agreed. ‘Not to mention Mother trotting along holding up the skirts of somebody else’s galabeeyah. Ramses – Selim – let’s
just keep calm, shall we? We will spread the word, asking anyone who may have seen them to report to us; but that may take a while. Perhaps we can deduce where they might have gone.’ She
turned to Jumana. ‘You know whom they were following, don’t you?’

The girl’s eyes fell. ‘Jamil?’

‘It couldn’t have been anyone else,’ Nefret said. ‘He’s taller than you, but otherwise the resemblance between you is strong. Somehow he got hold of clothes like
yours. He must have sent the message. I don’t believe your father knew anything about it.’

If it was meant as consolation, Jumana remained indifferent. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why would Jamil do this?’

‘Not to lead them to his tomb,’ Ramses said. He was too worried now to be considerate of her feelings. ‘Face the facts, Jumana. He meant to do them harm – and he must
have succeeded, God knows how, or they would have been back before this. Can you think of anything – anything at all – that might help us to find them?’

‘How could Jamil harm the Father of Curses?’ She flinched back from Ramses and her eyes filled with tears. ‘No – wait – don’t be angry. I am trying to think,
trying to help. And I think there are only a few things he could do. He is not very strong, Jamil, or very brave; the Father of Curses could break him in two with one hand, and the Sitt Hakim is as
fierce as a man. He would lead them to some place where he can play a dangerous trick on them with no danger to himself.’