The Hippopotamus Pool (13 page)

After luncheon we rode back with Howard to Deir el Bahri, and lingered for a while admiring the temple and discussing the astonishing career of its builder, Queen Hatshepsut, who had proclaimed herself pharaoh. When I first beheld the site, only a few unimpressive fragments of the structure were visible amid huge heaps of piled-up sand and rock and the tower of the Coptic monastery which had given the place its name. (Deir el Bahri means "Monastery of the North.") Several seasons of work by the Egypt

Exploration Fund had stripped away the covering, including the monastery, and exposed one of the most beautiful and unusual temples in Egypt— colonnades rising in successive steps toward the frowning cliffs that framed them, ramps leading toward the rock-cut sanctuary.

"In my opinion," I said, as we stood before a series of reliefs depicting the queen's birth, "Hatshepsut ought to be adopted by the women's suffrage movement as its patron saint or symbol. Coolly and efficiently, without civil war, she supplanted her nephew Thutmose III and proclaimed herself a man and a pharaoh! She was the first—"

Ramses cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Mother—"

I raised my voice. ".. . the greatest of those remarkable Eighteenth Dynasty queens who were directly descended from Tetisheri herself. At that time, as all reputable scholars agree, the right to rule passed through the female line, from mother to daughter. Unless he married the heiress princess, the king could not legitimately claim the throne."

"Hence the prevalence of brother-sister marriages in the royal family," Nefret said. "It makes perfectly good sense when you think of it in those terms."

"Hmph," said Ramses critically.

Nefret laughed. "Why, Ramses, I had no idea you were such a romantic. Love doesn't enter into royal marriages, my boy, not even in your civilized European societies."

I don't know whether it was the laugh, the patronizing "my boy" or the horrid accusation of being a romantic that incensed Ramses most. His face darkened. "Confound it, I am not—"

"That will be enough of that," I said sharply. "Nefret is correct; and according to Egyptian religious dogma the princess had special sanctity because her father was not the king, but the god Amon himself, as these reliefs we are inspecting indicate. Here you see Hatshepsut's mother— um—er—greeting Amon, who has come to her to—er ..."

Pipe between his teeth, Emerson grunted, "Amon bears a striking resemblance to the queen's husband, Thutmose II, don't you think?"

"No doubt the god embodied himself in the king," I admitted.

"It would have been damned difficult for him to do the job without a body," said Emerson.

I decided we had gone as far as we ought with that subject. Nefret was trying not to laugh, and Gertrude looked shocked.

"Here," I said, moving the party on with a few little nudges, "we see the delivery of the great obelisks for the queen's temple at Karnak. They were made for her by Senmut, one of the most talented of her officials, who was Steward of Amon—"

"And her lover," said Nefret.

"Good Gad," I exclaimed. "Who told you that?"

"Ramses," was the demure reply.

"I don't know where he got that idea." I hurried on before Ramses could tell me where he got that idea. "The queen would never have taken a lowborn lover. Her dignity and pride would have prevented it, and the nobility of her kingdom would have resented it bitterly."

"The same objections have been made to the rumors about Her Gracious Majesty Victoria and a certain groom," Emerson agreed.

When Emerson is in one of
those
moods it is impossible to keep him quiet. Abandoning the career of the great queen Hatshepsut, I turned to Howard. "You were responsible for copying these paintings, I believe? Have you any recent sketches to show us?"

Fortunately he had. After we had admired them we left him to his work.

I rather expected Emerson would drag us back to Drah Abu'l Naga, but evidently he had abandoned the idea of serious work for that day; we went in the other direction, in order to visit the Ramesseum and the temple of Medinet Habu. There were not many tourists, since most of them prefer to "do" the West Bank in the morning, but there were enough to annoy Emerson, and both places teemed with ragged children demanding baksheesh, self-appointed "guides," and sellers of dubious antiquities. Needless to say, none of them approached
us.

Miss Marmaduke made a good show of enjoying herself. She stuck close to Emerson, for which I could not entirely blame her; not only was he a mine of information but his presence kept her from being harassed by the hovering beggars. Since she was incapable of doing it efficiently I had to keep an eye on Ramses, who kept wandering off.

By the time we started back, the sun was sinking westward and I decided it was too late for tea. We had an early dinner instead. Gertrude drooped over her plate, and confessed, when I courteously inquired, that she was very tired. "My fatigue is mental as well as physical, Mrs. Emerson. There has been so much to absorb! The Professor's wonderful explanations of Egyptian religion have given me a great deal to think about. If you will excuse me, I will go straight to bed."

"You will soon become accustomed to our pace," Emerson said, but the corners of his mouth quirked in a way I knew well. Had he deliberately set out to tire Gertrude? The ruse had not succeeded with Ramses and Nefret; both were bright-eyed and full of conversation, and when Emerson suggested they retire, Ramses protested.

"It is only nine o'clock, Father. I want—"

Emerson drew him aside. He thought he was speaking softly, but Emerson's best attempt at a whisper is audible ten feet away. "Your mother and

I have an appointment in Luxor, Ramses. No, you cannot accompany us; I need you to stand guard. I know I can depend on you."

Ramses began, "What—"

"For once, my son, do not argue. I will explain later."

After Ramses had departed I said, "Another mysterious appointment, Emerson? I warn you, you
will
have a revolution on your hands if you persist in your high-handed methods. Have I not earned your confidence? Do I not deserve your trust? Will you—"

"Yes, yes, my dear. Only make haste, it is getting late."

I had only time to snatch up a parasol as Emerson led me from the room.

Our small boat was waiting, and so too were Abdullah and Daoud. Once we were on board, Daoud pushed off and then took his place at the tiller.

Moonlight cast a silvery path along the dark expanse of water, and the lights of the town seemed reflected a thousandfold in the starry vault of heaven. Emerson's arm stole round my waist.

The setting was romantic in the extreme. I was not. Emerson had taken Abdullah and Daoud into his confidence while keeping me in the dark, and what is more, they were only a few feet away. I sat stiff as a statue until Emerson's arm tightened to such a degree that the breath left my lungs in an explosive gasp.

"Peabody, will you please stop grunting and squirming?" Emerson hissed. "Abdullah will think I am—er—forcing my attentions on you. I don't want him to overhear."

My well-known sense of humor conquered my annoyance, for really, it was an amusing idea—that Emerson would force his attentions on me (or that Abdullah would disapprove if he did). Physical resistance would have been undignified, so I yielded to his embrace.

"Where are we going?" I demanded.

"To the antiquities shop of Ali Murad."

"You have made an appointment?"

"Certainly not. We will drop down on him like a pair of thunderbolts."

"An apt image," I agreed. "What are you hoping to find, Emerson?"

"Well, now." Emerson released me and took out his pipe. He had given up any pretense of whispering—it is not something he is very good at anyhow—and I noticed that Abdullah was leaning in our direction, listening as hard as he could. So he too was in the dark as to Emerson's real purpose.

"One of the local thieves has found that tomb, Peabody," Emerson said. "It is the only possible explanation for recent events. The ring our midnight visitor showed us must have come from Tetisheri's burial, unless you are credulous enough to believe it has been handed down from generation to generation since the second millennium before Christ. If thieves are atwork in the tomb, other objects must have been taken too. They would end up in the antiquities markets in Luxor."

"That is why you went to see Abd el Hamed in Gurneh!"

"Precisely. He is related to every tomb robber in the village. They bring their stolen goods to him and he passes them on to the antiquities dealers. I meant to drop in on him without warning and have a look round, but by the time we finished dealing with the boy, the element of surprise had been lost."

He paused to swear. He was having trouble getting his pipe lit in the stiff breeze.

"It is a logical theory," I admitted. "But I see one difficulty, Emerson. No—two. If the tomb has been located, it will soon be too late, if it is not already too late, to save it. The Gurnawis are master thieves. And—my second point—if Mr. Shelmadine was involved with the people who found the tomb, why would he offer to show it to us?"

Emerson gave up trying to light his pipe. Stuffing it into his pocket he replied, "Your viewpoint is unduly pessimistic, Peabody. At the very worst we can locate the tomb itself, and it is unlikely that the contents have been completely removed. The local thieves of Gurneh do not—cannot—work with the efficiency and openness of a legitimate archaeological team; not only must they operate in secret, but they dare not flood the market with objects whose source would eventually be questioned. Remember the Abd er Rasul brothers. They had been taking papyri and ushebtis from the royal mummy cache for almost ten years before they were caught, and there was still a good deal left."

"Yes," I breathed, my imagination fired. "But my second point—"

"I knew you were going to bring that up," Emerson said. "Leave it for the moment, Peabody; we have arrived."

Declining the offer of a carriage, we set out on foot. There were a good many people still abroad, for visitors preferred to rest during the heat of the afternoon and resume activities after the temperature had dropped, and during Ramadan the shops remained open long into the night. Ali Murad's house, which was also his place of business, was near the temple of Karnak. One of his employees stood outside the open door, inviting passersby to enter by catching hold of their sleeves and tugging at them. When he recognized Emerson his eyes opened very wide and he darted toward the door.

"No need to announce us," Emerson said genially, intercepting the fellow and ushering me in. "Ah, there you are, Ali Murad. I trust business is good?"

It appeared to be excellent. There were half a dozen customers in the small room and Murad himself was in obsequious attendance upon themost prosperous-looking pair—Americans, I deduced, from their peculiar accents.

Ali Murad was a Turk, with great curling mustaches; a red fez perched on his head and rings covered his hands. His control was better than that of his hireling; only a fleeting grimace betrayed his surprise and alarm.

"Emerson Effendi," he said smoothly. "And his lady. You honor my poor house. If you will be seated and take coffee with me—"

"I am sure Abdullah would be delighted to accept the invitation," Emerson said, taking me by the arm. "This way, Peabody."

He moved with catlike quickness, reaching the curtained doorway at the back of the shop before Ali Murad could intercept him. Abdullah was close on our heels.

I had visited the shop before, but had never gone beyond the front room. Obviously Emerson had. The doorway led into a small odorous vestibule. Before the curtain fell back into place, cutting off most of the light, I saw a floor of cracked tiles and a pile of rags and papers under a flight of narrow stairs. Without pausing, Emerson headed up the stairs, towing me after him. Abdullah had not followed us. I deduced that he had been instructed to prevent anyone else from following us. Indignant cries from the shop supported this assumption.

At the top of the stairs Emerson paused long enough to light the candle he took from his pocket. The house was larger than it had appeared from the street; a regular rabbit's warren of corridors and rooms filled the upper floor. Emerson kept hold of my hand and I kept tight hold of my parasol. People may jeer all they like about my parasols—Emerson often does— but there is no more useful article to be had, and mine were specially made, with heavy steel shafts and tips rather more pointed than is customary.

The upper floor was not unoccupied. I heard soft, unpleasantly suggestive sounds from behind some of the closed doors. I could also hear the sounds of footsteps in rapid pursuit of us. Either Ali Murad had got past Abdullah or the latter had been instructed only to delay him.

Finally Emerson stopped and held up his candle. I spun round, ready to defend him, for Murad had caught us up. When he saw my parasol he stopped and cried out, raising his ringed hands.

"Don't be such a bloody coward, Murad," Emerson said. "You don't suppose a lady like Mrs. Emerson would attack a man in his own house, do you? This is the right room, I believe. I hope you have the key; I would regret having to kick the door down."

Watching Emerson like a man in the presence of a savage dog, Murad made one final attempt at dignity. "You break the law, Emerson Effendi. You defy the Star Spangled Banner. I will summon the police."

Emerson laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall.

Cursing under his breath, Ali Murad unlocked the door. The windows of the room were covered with heavy wooden shutters; from the quantity of dust that shrouded them I concluded they had not been opened for a long time. There was no need for light. Potential customers were never brought here, the merchandise from this special storeroom was carried down to them.

A few tables and a few shelves, cluttered with small objects, constituted the furnishings. Ali Murad's housekeeping left a great deal to be desired. The artifacts had not been arranged in any particular order; ushebtis lay next to vessels of stone and pottery, and on top of ostraca. The floor had not been swept for heaven knows how long; the litter covering it would probably repay an excavation in itself.