Lion in the Valley (12 page)

Midway
in this speech Emerson had pulled the blanket over his head and was pretending
to snore. I knew I still had his attention, however, for the part of his body
that adjoined my own was as rigid as a board.

"Was
that perhaps the Master Criminal's intent?" I went on thoughtfully.
"To insert a confederate into our confidence? And the return of the
communion vessels is another enigma. Why should he give up his loot? I tell
you, Emerson, the subtle machinations of that great criminal brain—"

Emerson
sat up with a roar whose reverberations echoed through the quiet night. As if
in answer came the queer, coughing cry of a jackal prowling the desert waste.

"Hush,
Emerson," I implored. "You will waken the entire village—not to
mention Ramses. What the devil is the matter with you? I was speaking of the
Master Criminal—"

"I
heard you." Emerson lowered his voice. The blanket had fallen away, baring
his body to the waist and
exposing more of my own than was strictly
proper. Mesmerized by the ripple of muscle on Emerson's broad chest as he
struggled for breath, I did not replace it. Emerson went on in a hissing
whisper, "Great mind, did you say? How can you ramble on about that—that—
that creature at a time like this? And in such terms— terms almost of respect!
Devil take it, Amelia, one might suppose you think I am incapable of dealing
with that scoundrel! Curse it! If you believe I am not man enough—"

"My
dear Emerson—"

"Be
quiet, Peabody. If you have any doubts as to my fortitude, I will prove you
wrong."

And
he did so, with such determination and zeal that when, at a later time, he
requested my assessment of the situation, I was able to reply with utter
sincerity that his arguments had been entirely convincing.

I
woke at dawn, as is my habit in Egypt, whatever distractions the night may
bring. Our lofty perch presented me with an unexampled view of the glorious
sunrise and I lay in sleepy content for a time, watching the soft shades of
gold and rose strengthen in the eastern sky. Emerson's regular expiration
ruffled the hair on my brow. After a time a sense of vague uneasiness
penetrated the pleasant laziness of my mind, and I raised my head. Fortunately
I raised no other part of my body, for the first thing I saw was the face of
Ramses, apparently detached from the rest of him, solemnly regarding me. It was
an uncanny apparition and I was somewhat startled until it occurred to me that
everything except his head was out of sight on the stairs leading to the roof.

"What
are you doing there?" I whispered.

"I
came to see if you and Papa were awake. Since I
see that you are, I
have brought you a cup of tea. I tried to bring two cups, but unfortunately
dropped one, the stairs being extremely steep and my—"

I
put my finger to my lips and pointed at Emerson, who was twitching restlessly.

Ramses'
neck and narrow shoulders rose up out of the stairwell, and I saw that he was
indeed holding a cup. Whether or not it contained tea was yet to be seen. I
rather doubted that it did. I started to sit up and then remembered that in the
extreme fatigue following the ultimate conclusion of my discussion with
Emerson, I had neglected something.

I
dismissed Ramses and groped for my clothes. Assuming those garments under cover
of the blanket without rousing Emerson was no easy task. By the time I was
finished I quite agreed with my husband that we might do well to transfer our
sleeping quarters to the place he had suggested. Ramses was even more unnerving
when he was not present than when he was, because one never knew when he would
turn up.

There
was approximately an eighth of a cup of tea in the bottom of the cup. The rest
had been spilled on the steps, as I discovered when I started to descend them.

However,
it had been a kindly thought, and I thanked Ramses when I found him busily
burning toast over the camp stove. "Where is Mr. Nemo?" I asked.

"Outside.
I offered to prepare a light repast for him, but he said he didn't want any
cursed tea and toast, and—"

I
went out the door, leaving Ramses still talking. Nemo was squatting on the
mastaba bench. He had resumed his filthy turban and once again resembled an
Egyptian of the lowest type. I never could have mistaken him for one of our
men, for they prided themselves on the elegance of their attire, and their
habits
were as fastidious as circumstances allowed. They had
finished their morning repast and there was a busy flutter of
blue-and-white-striped cotton round the cookfire. Abdullah, looking like one of
the nobler Biblical patriarchs in the snowy white he preferred, called a
greeting and I replied in kind, adding that Emerson would soon be ready to
leave for the site.

Nemo
had not moved or spoken. "You had better eat something," I said.

"I
am well enough as I am."

I
would have continued the discussion, but a hand gripped me and drew me back
into the house. It was Emerson, fully dressed and alert; in his other hand he
held a piece of scorched bread, which he was chewing.

"Leave
him alone," he said, after swallowing the nasty morsel and making a face.
"He is obviously regretting his bargain and struggling with the desire to
succumb to the temptation of the drug. He must fight it out by himself."

"If
that is the case, Emerson, his need for nourishment is all the greater. The use
of opium and hashish when carried to excess—"

"He
has not carried it to excess." Emerson handed me the toasting fork. I took
the hint, and the fork; as I busied myself with the preparation of a fresh slice
of bread, Emerson went on, "In fact, I am certain he is not physically
addicted to either opium or hashish. He indulges as some men drink to excess,
in order to forget his troubles, and because drugs seem to the young and
foolish a romantic form of escape from reality. His physical condition makes it
clear that he has not indulged long or often. Those who do so exhibit a
characteristic leaden pallor and skeletal thinness, along with lethargy and
disinclination towards exertion. All varieties of exertion," he added,
with one of those masculine grins.

"Humph,"
I said. "Well, I wouldn't know about that, Emerson, but he certainly
exerted himself on the night he rescued Ramses."

"He
was probably under the influence of opium at that time," Emerson said
coolly. "Used moderately, it acts as a stimulant."

"You
seem to know a great deal about it." I glanced around the room and was
relieved to see that Ramses had taken himself off. "Emerson—have you
ever..."

"Oh
yes. Only as an experiment," Emerson added. "I don't enjoy the
sensation or the side effects. When used in moderation, however, opium appears
to be no more harmful than tobacco or alcohol."

"I
believe I have heard that that is the case; also that addiction happens chiefly
in individuals of weak willpower who would just as easily become the victims of
intoxicating drinks and who are practically moral imbeciles, often addicted to
other forms of depravity."

Emerson
had devoured the toast as rapidly as I produced it. Now he drained his third
cup of tea and sprang up from his chair. "I don't mean to criticize,
Peabody, but you are taking a confounded long time over breakfast. We have work
to do, you know."

At
Emerson's request, Abdullah had already hired the necessary number of workers.
Emerson hates this task, as he abhors all duties that keep him from the actual
digging. When we opened the gates we found a sizable group waiting for us,
squatting patiently on the ground. Some were men who had worked for us at
Mazghunah the year before; their somber indigo robes and turbans, the mark of
the Copts, or Christian Egyptians, stood out in sharp contrast to the paler,
washed-out blue and white stripes of the Moslem garb. Around the outskirts of
the
mass of adults, the children ran back and forth with the splendid
energy of youth, playing games and crying out in shrill high voices.

While
Emerson greeted and inspected the men Abdullah had selected, I set out my
medical supplies on a folding table and attended to the sufferers who awaited
my coming, dispensing sulphate of copper for the ever-present ophthalmia, and
ipecacuanha for bowel complaints. Emerson concluded his business first and
stamped up and down until I finished, without, however, complaining of the
delay; for beneath his gruff exterior Emerson has the kindest heart in the
world and is never unmoved by the suffering of the less fortunate. The moment
the last patient was dismissed, however, he seized me by the hand and set out
for the dig, calling the men to follow.

"Makes
one feel like a general, doesn't it, Peabody?" he said, in high good
humor.

I
glanced back at the ragged crowd straggling after us. "More like a leader
of one of the madder crusades. Where is Nemo?"

Hot
on the trail of Ramses." Emerson grinned. "I fancy the boy won't find
it as easy to elude or corrupt him as he did Selim. I look forward to
accomplishing a great deal of useful work this season, Peabody. Without
interruption, Peabody!"

I
knew the poor dear man was deluding himself, but I did not voice my doubts
aloud. It was hard to think of murder, abduction, and assault on such a
morning. The air was fresh and cool and the purity of the atmosphere
strengthened every sense. Sounds carried farther, vision seemed magnified, and
the surface of the skin tingled to the slightest touch. I drew in deep breaths
of the salubrious air, and although Emerson set a rapid pace, I had no
difficulty in matching it.

Our
march was accompanied by the musical jingle of the accouterments dangling from
my belt, all of them objects I find essential on a dig, such as matches in a
waterproof box, small flasks of water and brandy, writing implements, a pocket
knife, and so on. Emerson was not too fond of my carrying these things, for he
complained that their sharp edges were an impediment to the impulsive embraces
to which he was prone; but upon at least one occasion my chatelaine, as I
jestingly called it, had been instrumental in saving our lives. His opinions
had not altered, but he now kept them to himself.

Ever
since my first season in Egypt, when I had sometimes found myself
uncomfortably, not to say dangerously, encumbered to the absurd attire fashion
forces upon the helpless female form, I had been refining and improving my
working costume. Though I have never received credit for my innovations from
the couturier establishments of Paris—and probably never shall, for envy is a
characteristic of such people—I am convinced my bold ideas have had their
effect on persons such as Worth and Lanvin. Only this past year I had come upon
an ensemble known as a bicycle dress which incorporated many of my inventions,
and which was the latest
Paris
mode. I had therefore caused several versions of
this costume to be made for myself, not in the impractical
brown velveteen of the original, but in serge and lightweight flannel. The
darker colors that are more suitable in England and in Europe, matching as they
do the natural shades of nasty French mud and good healthy English dirt, are
not appropriate for Egypt, so I had indulged myself in cheerful shades that
would not show sand and dust. In honor of our first day, I had assumed the
gayest of the collection. The wide Turkish trousers, gathered in at the knee,
were so full that when I remained upright and motionless, the division was
obliterated. Stout boots and gaiters completed the nether portion of the
costume. A short double-breasted jacket was buttoned over a white shirtwaist,
collar, and tie, and a broad leather belt adorned with the aforementioned
accouterments (and of course a pistol in a matching leather holster) supported
the trousers. The fabric was a brilliant crimson, Emerson's favorite shade.
Though some might have considered it too flamboyant for an archaeological
expedition, I felt it added a colorful touch.

Though
concern about my personal appearance has never been a matter of paramount
importance to me, I will candidly admit that my spirits rise when I know I look
my best. I fancy there is nothing wrong with that. It displays a proper
self-respect without which no individual, man or woman, can achieve great
things. I was conscious that morning of looking my best. Add to that the
glorious promise of the pyramids, pale gold in the morning light, and the
presence of the man at my side, towing me along with hearty precipitation, and
I knew there was not a woman in the universe happier than I.

I
realized that I would not be able to penetrate the interior of the pyramid that
day. Indeed, that pleasure would be an amusement of my leisure hours instead of
a duty, since Emerson had determined to begin with the remains of the
subsidiary structures alongside the major monument.

Of
these there were an
embarras de richesse,
so to speak. To the north
stood a tumbled pile of stone that had once been a tomb of the same shape,
though considerably smaller. We also expected to find next to the pyramid the
remains of the funerary temple. From this building a long roofed causeway had
led across the desert to the edge of the cultivation. In addition, the land
near
the royal tomb was filled with burials of courtiers and family members, just as
people of the Christian era had caused their graves to be placed near the tomb
of a celebrated saint, in the hope, one presumes, that the sanctity of the
primary corpse would seep over onto the less worthy. Superstition, alas, is a
basic human weakness, and not restricted to pagans.