The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (12 page)

It would require more than unsuitably clad, garrulous crowds to rob the eastern valley of its grandeur,
but to my mind the western valley is even more impressive. "Valley" is not really an appropriate word, suggesting as it does the green and fertile depression watered by a river or stream. These canyons, or "wadis," as the Arabs call them, are as rocky and bare as the desert itself. We followed a twisting path that led through fantastic rock formations into a cup or bowl, floored with fine white sand and enclosed by rugged limestone cliffs. The only color was that of the blue sky high above, no green growing thing, not even a weed or a blade of grass, refreshed the eye.
Yet there was once water to spare in this arid amphitheater. The wadis were cut through the soft limestone of the cliffs in prehistoric times, when the desert bloomed like the rose and floods cascaded down the Theban hills toward the river. They are still subject to rare but violent flash floods which
wash debris down the valleys and into the tombs.
A scorpion scuttled away from my foot, the insect, and a hawk hovering high above, were the only other living creatures in sight, though dark stains, clearly visible against the sun-whitened limestone, marked the nesting places of bats. The rock walls rose steep but not smooth, hundreds, nay thousands, of pockets and crevices, bays and caves turned the cliffs into a ragged fretwork of stone. The silence was absolute, for the sand muted even the sound of footsteps One had an eerie reluctance to break that silence.
I broke it, but not until after Abdullah and Daoud had gone off to investigate a promising crevice. Neither of them knew our real purpose that day. We had not taken our loyal men with us to Nubia— it would have been impossible to provide transport and supplies for a large group in that troubled region— and they knew no more of our activities the previous winter than was known to the general public. The chances of keeping a secret increase in inverse ratio to the number of people who are acquainted with
that secret.
"The place is certainly remote and private enough for our purposes," I said. "But is it a likely spot in which to find Cushite royal scepters?"
"Egyptology is full of unsolved mysteries," Emerson replied sententiously. "We will give our colleagues another, and let them debate endlessly as to how these remarkable objects could have found their way
to a crevice in the rock."
"Thieves' loot," I suggested, my imagination fired. "Hidden by an unscrupulous robber who did not want his associates to share in the proceeds, and who was prevented, by accident or arrest, from returning to get them."
"That will be the accepted explanation, no doubt. But where did the thieves find them? I can hear Petrie and Maspero arguing that question for the next twenty years."
His eyes sparkled with enjoyment. I felt he was beginning to like his trick a little too much. "It is a pity
we must do this," I said.
Emerson "wiped the grin off his face," as the expressive Americans phrase has it. "You don't suppose I enjoy it, do you?" He did not give me a chance to reply, but went on, "Truth is impossible in this case, nor does it always suffice to end foolish speculation. Don't forget the mummy in the royal tomb at Amarna. I gave Newberry the facts of that matter the other night, but I don't suppose for a moment that will end speculation. Mark my words, scholarly journals for years to come will repeat the rumor that Akhenaton's mummy was found at Amarna. And furthermore— "
"Yes, my dear," I said soothingly, for I recognized the symptoms of one who doth protest too much. Deceit was anathema to that clear, candid brain, but he was right, what else could he do? "What will be your theory?" I inquired.
"Another cache of royal mummies, my dear Peabody. Two have been located so far, as well as a collection of high priests from the later dynasties. However, we are still deficient in priestesses. Where
are the burials of the Gods' Wives of Amon— the Adorers of the God— who ruled in Thebes during the Twenty-Fifth and Twenty-Sixth Dynasties? Several of them were Cushite princesses." Emerson turned, shading his eyes with his hand, and surveyed the cliffs that enclosed the Valley like the splintered, broken sides of a gigantic bowl. "This is not an unlikely location for the original tombs."
"No late tombs have been found here," I objected "And aren't we postulating a reburial, a group of mummies hidden away after their tombs had been violated by thieves? The other caches were located near Deir el Bahri."
"The other reburials were done in the Twenty-First and Twenty-Second Dynasties," Emerson retorted. "The Cushites didn't turn up until much later. What do you keep raising objections for? We've got to do something with the cursed things, and unless you can suggest a better alternative . . ."
In such stimulating if morally questionable debate we passed the next hours, inspecting the contours of
the base of the cliffs, scrambling over rocky slopes. The heat was intense, and we consumed quantities
of the cold tea Daoud carried with him. Anubis refused even the water we had also brought, but managed to knock Abdullah's cup out of his hand and deluge his skirts with tea. The cat went off after that to explore on his own, or, more likely, to hunt.
Emerson had brought along copies of the plans of the Valley made by earlier scholars. He enjoyed
himself very much finding errors in srsg' Abdullah and Daoud searched for signs of unknown tombs.
Like most treasure hunts, it was both endlessly enticing and relatively hopeless, for the rock was as riddled with holes as a sieve. Some individuals have, or develop, a seemingly uncanny instinct for such things, Belzoni, the flamboyant Italian strongman who had been one of the first to work in the Valley
of the Kings, had an extraordinary talent for locating hidden tomb entrances. He had been a hydraulics engineer and was one of the first to realize that the floods, which were more common in his day than now, could leave evidence of subsidence and displacement. Abdullah and Daoud were not engineers, but they were descendants of the master tomb robbers of Gurnah, who have located more tombs than all archaeologists combined. Any hollow among the rocks might indicate a tomb entrance— or it might indicate only a natural hollow. We probed several such hollows and investigated a heap of stones like
the one Belzoni had mentioned in his description of the discovery of the tomb of King Ay, in this very valley— all without result, which was what we had expected.
"Shall we have another look at Ay's tomb?" Emerson asked, indicating the opening that gaped forlornly above.
"The sight would only depress me It was in wretched condition last time we visited it, and I am sure it
has deteriorated even more But that can be said of every tomb and every monument in Egypt. It is difficult to decide where to concentrate our efforts, there is so much to be done." Not until sunset stretched glowing fingers across the sky did we turn our steps back toward the house. (It rejoiced, I must add, in the resounding name of "House of the Doors of the Kings," but this appellation appeared only on Cyrus's notepaper. Europeans referred to it as "Vandergelt's place," and Egyptians as "The Castle of the Amerikani.")
The main valley was deserted, tourists and guides had left for the landing where boats would carry them across to their hotels on the east bank. Shadows thickened. Emerson quickened his pace. I heard a rattle of pebbles, and a strangled Arabic oath from Abdullah, trotting behind us; it included the word for "cat," so I deduced that Anubis had caused him to stumble. The animal's tawny-gray fur blended so well with the twilight that he was almost invisible.
He must have gone ahead after that, for he was waiting for us on the doorstep. "You see," I exclaimed. "My method was effective after all."
"Hmph," said Emerson. He had jeered at me when I rubbed the cat's paws with butter during luncheon
in the time-honored and traditional method of training it to stay in a new home. He had also pointed out
that Vandergelt might not thank us if we turned Anubis into a permanent resident. I replied that we would deal with that difficulty when and if it arose.
I had requested that dinner be served early, since I hoped to persuade Emerson into a moonlit stroll— without Abdullah and Daoud. However, when I proposed it he declined. We retired to the library, therefore— Vandergelt had one of the finest collections of Egyptological works in the country— and Emerson took out his pipe.
"Peabody," he said. "Will you come here?"
He had seated himself on the sofa, a large structure in the Turkish style, with a quantity of soft pillows.
I had chosen a straight-backed chair and taken up a book.
"No, thank you, Emerson, I prefer this chair."
Emerson rose. Picking up the chair, with me in it, he carried it to the end of the sofa and set it down
with a thud. "I bow to your wishes, my dear Peabody."
"Oh, Emerson," I began, and then, as he loomed over me, fists on his hips and lips curving, I could not but smile. I got up and took my place on the sofa.
"That is better," said Emerson, joining me and putting his arm around my shoulders. "Much more friendly. Besides, I don't want to be overheard."
The cat jumped up onto the other end of the sofa and sat down. Its wide green eyes regarded us unwinkingly. "Anubis is listening," I said.
"Be serious, Peabody. I want you to promise me something. I do not order you, I ask you."
"Certainly, my dear Emerson. What is it?"
"Give me your solemn word that you will not go wandering around the cliffs, or anywhere else, alone.
If you receive a message asking for your help, or offering to show you where a valuable antiquity is hidden— "
"Why, Emerson, you make me sound like some silly Gothic heroine instead of the sensible, rational woman you know me to be. When have I ever done such a thing?"
Emerson's lips parted and indignation furrowed his noble brow, but experience had taught him that contradicting my statements led only to further argument, not to the agreement he wanted. "Let me put it this way. You have an unnerving self-confidence, Peabody, when armed with your parasol you consider yourself capable of defeating any number of adversaries. Have I your word?"
"If you will give me yours, to the same effect." Emerson's brows drew together. I went on, "You have
an unnerving self-confidence, Emerson, you consider yourself capable— "
Laughing, Emerson stopped my speech in a manner I find particularly pleasant. It was a rather short embrace, however, the unwinking stare of the cat seemed to disturb him, for he glanced uneasily at it before speaking again.
"The cases are hardly the same, Peabody, but I am willing to take some precautions. I hope you do not suppose I declined your invitation to walk in the moonlight because the idea was unpleasant to me? No. We are not going out at night until this matter is settled."
"What matter?"
"Oh, come, Peabody. You are usually the first to find ominous portents and harbingers of disaster in the accidents that befall us. At the time we first discussed the situation, the evidence was inconclusive, but
it is beginning to mount up. The search of our room, three attempts at assault or abduction in less than
a week— "
"Three? I can only think of two."
Emerson removed his arm and leaned forward, reaching for his pipe. "The incident at Meidum had
certain interesting features."
At first I could not think what he meant. Then I laughed "That foolish young German shooting at a gazelle? I told you, Emerson, the bullet came nowhere near me. Consider, as well, that only a madman would try to murder me in broad daylight with witnesses all around Success would have been tantamount to suicide for the killer, that hasty temper of yours would have moved you to exact retribution on the spot. Oh, it is too absurd."
"I am rather inclined to regard the young man as a guardian angel," Emerson said slowly. "What became of the workman who promised you an unknown tomb, Peabody? We never saw him again."
"He was frightened."
"Bah. It seems to be you, my dear, these unknown individuals are after."
"The three men who attacked you in the garden— "
"I told you, they were uncommonly gentle," Emerson said impatiently "That attack may have been designed to make sure I was out of the way when my double made off with you. There must be some underlying motive for all these events, and I can't think of anything we have done recently to inspire the interest of the criminal element— except find Willy Forth's lost city of gold."
"Surely you are jumping to unwarranted conclusions, Emerson. You or I might be able to weave together vague hints and scattered clues, and arrive at the correct conclusion: that Willoughby Forth's fantasies were true, and that we had located his treasure hoard. But who else is capable of such brilliant reasoning?"
Slowly Emerson's head turned, exactly as Bastet's head turns when she is planning to jump on some unconscious victim. He looked straight into my eyes.
"No, Emerson," I exclaimed. "It cannot be. We have not seen or heard from him for years."
"Only a man," said Emerson, "who has far-flung sources of information covering the world— like a spider's web, I believe you once said, who is familiar with the world of archaeology, its practitioners, its history and its legends, who has good cause to hate one of us and even better cause to— "
"My abductor was not the Master Criminal, Emerson. I could hardly be mistaken, after all, I was in intimate if unwilling proximity to the fellow for quite some time."*
It was not, I admit, the most tactful thing I could have said. Emerson's response consisted of a string of expletives, including several that were unfamiliar to me. It took me considerable time and effort to calm him. My efforts succeeded so well that I was forced to remind him, after an interval, that the windows were uncurtained and that the servants had not gone to bed.
"Let us set them an example, then," said Emerson, drawing me to my feet. As we proceeded up the stairs he said thoughtfully, "Perhaps you are right, Peabody. I am still inclined to see the dread hand— another of your literary phrases, is it not?— the dread hand of Sethos everywhere. I may be mistaken as to the identity of our opponent, but my theory as to the motive behind these attentions is unshaken. It would take an archaeologist or a keen student of archaeology to put those clues together."
"I am sure it was not Mr. Budge who tried carry me off, Emerson."
My little joke had the desired effect. With a smile, Emerson led me into our room and closed the door.