The Ape Who Guards the Balance (35 page)

“There is something you must know, my son.”

“If it’s about Daoud, my father, don’t be concerned. No one is angry with him. Not very angry.”

“No, it is not that. You must keep it from Nur Misur if you can. There was another body found this morning in the Nile. It was like the other—torn and mangled. This body was a woman’s.”

•

Eleven

•

I
had not supposed that Emerson would be deterred from his work by such minor details as the arrival of his family, or the danger that hovered over us all, or the urgent necessity of planning what we were to do about both. I determined I would join him in the Valley as soon as was possible. Admittedly I was just a little curious about what was going on there, but my primary motive was the hope that I could persuade Emerson to return home early.

It would have been rude as well as risky to abandon our guests without a word, however, so I was forced to wait until the weary travelers had had their sleep out. Lia was the first to wake; her cry of surprise roused her mother, and when I went in I found them locked in a fond embrace.

When we met for a late breakfast, I was not surprised to find that the alleviation of Walter’s concern had been succeeded by extreme annoyance. This is the normal parental reaction. Lia’s response was normal too, for a person of her age. One night’s sleep had fully restored her, and although she expressed her regret for having worried them I did not suppose she meant a word of it. Her face glowed with happiness and excitement, whereas her parents looked ten years older.

The appearance of Sir Edward made Walter put an end to his lecture. He and Evelyn were well acquainted with the young man, and expressed their pleasure at seeing him again. He was easily persuaded to join us for coffee. “I wondered whether you had decided on your plans for the day, Mrs. Emerson,” he explained. “What would you like me to do?”

This reminder, tactful though it was, had a sobering effect. I explained that we had decided to wait until the others returned before discussing our plans, not only for that day, but for the immediate future. “So I may as well go on over to the Valley,” I said casually. “The rest of you stay here.”

The objections to this reasonable suggestion ranged from Lia’s outthrust lip and mutinous look to Walter’s indignant protest: “You certainly are not going off alone, Amelia.”

Sir Edward and Evelyn added their remonstrances, so it was decided that the best thing would be for all of us to go. Fatima packed an enormous lunch, and we were in good spirits when we set out. The secret of happiness is to enjoy the moment, without allowing unhappy memories or fear of the future to shadow the shining present. It was a shining day, with bright sunlight and clear air; we were on our way to one of the most romantic spots on earth, with loved ones to welcome us and wonderful sights to see. Lia’s excitement was so great she kept urging her little donkey to a quicker pace, and Walter forgot care in his interest in the new tomb. He was a scholar as well as a fond father, and he had excavated in Egypt for many years.

Sir Edward was on horseback, but since there were not enough horses for all of us I rode a donkey so that I could chat comfortably with Evelyn—as comfortably, that is, as the pace of a donkey permits. She had a professional reputation of her own, as an excellent painter of Egyptian scenes; but that day her interest in archaeology was overcome by her affectionate care, not only for her child, but for the rest of us.

“I really do not know what I am to do with you, Amelia! Why can’t you and Emerson have a single season of excavation without becoming involved with desperate criminals?”

“Now that is certainly an exaggeration, Evelyn. The 1901–02 season . . . No, that was the Cairo Museum swindle. Or was it that season that Ramses . . . Well, never mind.”

“It’s getting worse, Amelia.”

“Not really, my dear; it is pretty much the same sort of thing. The only difference is that the children are taking a more active role.”

I had never been certain how much Evelyn knew, or suspected, about my encounters with Sethos. There seemed no sense in keeping from her matters the children already knew, so I poured forth the entire story. Over the years I had developed a great respect for Evelyn’s acumen. She was surprised—I thought she would fall off her donkey when I described the seductive garments Sethos had once demanded I assume—but when I had finished, her first comment was practical and to the point.

“It seems to me, Amelia, that you are jumping to conclusions when you assume it is this person who is responsible for your present difficulties. You have no real evidence.”

“In fact I don’t believe he is,” I said. “It is Emerson who sees Sethos lurking everywhere. I think . . . But we are almost there. We will talk about it later.”

The Cook’s Tour people were leaving the Valley, and the donkey park was a maelstrom of braying and bustling. We left our steeds in the care of the attendant and walked the short distance to our tomb.

Selim was the first to greet us; he explained that Emerson and the children were with Davis Effendi. I had been afraid they would be. Walter was keen on seeing the new tomb, and I was keen on finding out what mischief Emerson had been up to, so we lingered only long enough to say good morning to Abdullah and the others. At first Daoud was nowhere to be seen. Apparently someone—most probably Selim—had explained to him that Lia’s parents might be a trifle put out with him. He finally emerged from the tomb looking like a very large, very anxious child. Walter shook his hand and Evelyn thanked him, and Lia gave him an affectionate hug, and he immediately cheered up. Once that was settled, I told Selim to take the baskets to our lunch tomb and we went on down the path.

Our family was there, and to judge by the look of it, so was half the town of Luxor. Davis had brought his usual party. I waved to Mrs. Andrews, who was sitting on a rug fanning herself with such vigor that the feathers on her hat fluttered, and went directly to Emerson. I did not at all like the look of him.

“Hallo, Peabody,” he said gloomily.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Disaster, doom and destruction. There would have been a death too,” he added, “if Nefret hadn’t kept me away from Weigall. You won’t believe this, Peabody—”

“You ought not remain here if it annoys you so much, Emerson. What good can you do?”

“Some, I think,” was the response. “They all know my views on the ethics of excavation, and Weigall pretends to share them. My very presence may have a sobering effect.”

At that point Mr. Davis poppped up out of the stairwell, followed by several other men. He did not look as if he were sobered by Emerson’s presence. Exultation and excitement had turned his face a frightening shade of red. “It’s her!” he shouted. “Aha—there you are, Mrs. Emerson. Has your husband told you? It’s Queen Tiyi! What a discovery!”

“Not
the
Queen Tiyi!” I exclaimed.

“Yes, yes! The wife of Amenhotep the Third, the mother of Khuenaten, the daughter of Yuya and Thuya, whose tomb I found last year, the—”

“Yes, Mr. Davis, I know who she was. Are you certain?”

“No question about it. Her name is on the shrine. It was made for her by her son, Khuenaten. She’s there, in her coffin, in the burial chamber!”

“You’ve been into the burial chamber?” I inquired, with an involuntary glance at Emerson. “
You
crawled along that ten-inch-wide plank?”

“Of course.” Davis beamed. “Couldn’t keep me out. There’s life in the old man yet, Mrs. Emerson.”

I had a feeling there wouldn’t be life in him much longer if he went on at this rate. If Emerson didn’t massacre him, he would have a stroke; he was hopping with excitement and panting like a grampus. I urged him to sit down and rest. Visibly touched at my concern, he assured me he was about to go to lunch.

“You’ll want to have a look,” he said generously. “And the Professor. Later, eh?”

Emerson had not moved or spoken. He was beyond outrage, I believe, and had passed into a kind of coma of disgust. I poked him gently with my parasol.

“Come to luncheon, Emerson. Walter and Evelyn and Lia are here.”

“Who?”

Realizing I was not going to get any sense out of him for a while, I called to the children, and we led Emerson back to our rest tomb, where the others were waiting. Evelyn and Walter were mightily intrigued by the news that the tomb had belonged to Queen Tiyi, the mother of Akhenaton; they had first met at Amarna, the city of the heretic pharaoh (whom Davis referred to by the old reading of Khuenaten).

“I say,” Walter exclaimed. “I would like to have a look. Do you suppose Mr. Davis would allow me to go into the burial chamber?”

This had the effect of arousing Emerson. “Why not? He’s let a dozen people in already, most of them driven only by idle curiosity. I dare not think of the damage they have done.”

“Haven’t you seen the place?” I asked, shooing a fly away from my cucumber sandwich.

“No. I had some foolish notion that abstaining might shame others into emulating me. I sent Ramses instead.”

It occurred to me then that Ramses had been unusually silent. His back against the wall and his knees drawn up—for his legs were so long people tended to trip over them if he extended them at full length—he was staring at his untouched sandwich. I poked him.

“Well?” I said. “Tell us about it, Ramses.”

“What? Oh, I beg your pardon, Mother. What do you want to know?”

“A complete description, please,” said Nefret. “I have not yet been allowed in. The ladies”—I cannot describe the contempt with which this word was pronounced—“must wait until after the gentlemen have had their turns.”

“There is only one room,” Ramses said obediently. “Another was begun, but never finished; it exists as a large niche, in which are four canopic jars with beautiful portrait heads. The walls of the chamber were plastered but not decorated. Leaning against the walls and lying on the floor are other parts of the shrine. The floor is several inches deep in debris of all kinds—part of the fill which slid down from the passageway, plaster fallen from the walls, and the remains of the funerary equipment—broken boxes, spilled beads, fragments of jars and so on. Against the wall is an anthropoid coffin of a type I have never before seen. The feather pattern that covers most of the lid is formed of glass and stone inlays set in gold. There had been a gold mask; only the upper portion, with inlaid eyes and brows, now remains. There is a uraeus on the forehead and a beard attached to the chin. The arms are crossed over the breast. One may assume that the hands once held the royal sceptres, since three thongs of the whip are still there, though the handle and the other sceptre are not—”

“Uraeus, beard and sceptres,” Emerson repeated slowly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson.

“Yes, sir,” said Ramses. After a long moment he added, “The coffin lid has unquestionably undergone modifications from its original state.”

“Ah,” said Emerson.

Wearying of these enigmatic exchanges I demanded, “Is there a mummy in the coffin, or could you tell?”

“There is,” said Ramses. “The coffin has been damaged, by damp and rock fragments that fell from the ceiling, and by the collapse of the funerary bed on which it lay. The lid shifted and split lengthwise, but it still covers most of the mummy except for the head, which had become separated from the body and is lying on the floor.”

Lia shivered with delighted horror. “Is it very disgusting?” she asked hopefully.

“Never mind that,” said her father. “No wall decorations, you say? A pity. But if the place is in the state you describe, it will keep Davis happily occupied for weeks.”

Ramses did not reply. He had gone back to scowling at his sandwich. Emerson pronounced several bad words, and Nefret said consolingly, “At least they have agreed not to do anything more until the photographer they sent for arrives.”

“Didn’t you offer them your services, or those of Sir Edward?” Walter asked. “He did a first-rate job with Tetisheri, under equally difficult conditions.”

Sir Edward smiled reminiscently. “I will never forget crawling up that ramp to the top of the sarcophagus every day, with camera, tripod, and plates strapped to my back. The Professor threatened to murder me if I fell off into his debris.”

“And I would have done, too,” said Emerson.

“I was well aware of that, sir. It made me a good deal unsteadier than I would otherwise have been.”

Emerson grimaced amiably at him. “You did do an excellent job,” he conceded. “Davis declined his offer, Walter. Cursed if I know why. He dislikes giving anyone else credit for anything.” He jumped to his feet. “He can’t prevent us from having a look, though. I may as well add my disturbance to the rest. Who will join me?”

Evelyn decided she would not add her disturbance, and suggested she take Lia on a tour of the major tombs. I knew what she was thinking. If they decided to return home, at least the child would have seen the most famous sites in the Valley. David offered to escort them, and I sent Daoud along too.

The rest of us had our turns in the burial chamber of the new tomb, but not until after all the men in Mr. Davis’s party, and three or four of the women, had been down and back. It was an astonishing and depressing sight—the broken, violated coffin, tumbled objects everywhere, and a great golden panel propped against the wall. Chunks of plaster had fallen from the walls or hung ready to fall. There had been damage in the past, from seepage and other causes; but every breath of air, every vibration disturbed the delicate objects again. As I crouched on hands and knees in the doorway, a section of gold-covered gesso fell from the panel and added itself to the pile of flakes already on the floor.

My conscience would not allow me to penetrate farther into the room. I crawled back along the narrow plank, pausing only long enough for another look at the gilded panel so dangerously close below. The queen was there, offering flowers to the Aton who was her son’s sole god; another figure, standing in front of her, had been cut away. It had almost certainly been that of Akhenaton. The heretic’s enemies, determined to destroy his memory and his soul, had penetrated into even this forgotten sepulchre.