The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog (21 page)

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For a stretch of almost forty miles along the Nile in Middle Egypt the cliffs of the high Eastern Desert
rise sheer from the water's edge except in a single spot where they curve back to form a semicircular
bay some six miles long by three miles deep. The barren, level plain seems even more forbidding than
do other abandoned sites, for this is a haunted place— the site of short-lived splendor, of a royal city
now vanished forever from the face of the earth.
Here, equidistant from the ancient capitals of Thebes to the south and Memphis to the north, the most enigmatic of Egyptian pharaohs, Akhenaton, built a new city and named it Akhetaton after his god Aton— "the only one, beside whom there is no other." By pharaoh's order the temples of other gods were closed even their names were obliterated from the monuments. His insistence on the uniqueness of his deity made him a heretic in ancient Egyptian terms— and in our terms the first monotheist in history.
The portraits of Akhenaton show a strange haggard face and an almost feminine body, with broad hips and fleshy torso. Yet he was not deficient in masculine attributes, as the existence of at least six children proves. Their mother was Akhenaton's queen Nefertiti— "lady of grace, sweet of hands, his beloved", and his romantic attachment to this lovely lady, whose very name meant "the beautiful woman has come," is shown in numerous reliefs and paintings. Tenderly he turns to embrace her,, gracefully she perches on his knee. These depictions of marital accord are unique in Egyptian art, and uncommon anywhere.
They had a particular attraction for me. I do not believe it is necessary for me to explain why that was so.
Some scholars view Akhenaton as morally perverse and physically deformed, and decry his religious reformation as nothing more than a cynical political maneuver. This is nonsense, of course. I do not apologize for preferring a more uplifting interpretation.
I trust the Reader has not skipped over the preceding paragraphs. The aim of literature is to improve
the understanding, not provide idle entertainment.
We were all at the rail on the day of our arrival, watching as the crewmen maneuvered the dahabeeyah
in toward the dock at the village of Haggi Qandil. The period of rest had done Emerson good, tanned
and bursting with energy, he was almost his old self again— except for the confounded beard. He was
also in a high good humor for, though it had almost choked me to do it, I had not pressed him on the subject of Mr. Vincey and Bertha. However, Cyrus and I had discussed the matter at length and had agreed upon certain precautions.
Waiting on the quay were twenty of our faithful men from Aziyeh, the little village near Cairo which produced some of the most skilled diggers in Egypt. I had sent Abdullah to fetch them to Amarna,
and the sight of their keen, smiling faces was more reassuring to me than that of a troop of soldiers
would have been. They had worked for us for years, Emerson had trained them himself, and they
were devoted to him body and soul.
Emerson climbed over the rail and jumped ashore. He was still thumping backs and shaking hands and submitting to fervent embraces when I joined the group. I was not the second one ashore, however.
The cat Anubis preceded me down the gangplank.
Abdullah drew me aside and gestured at the cat, which was giving each set of sandaled feet a thorough inspection. "Have you not rid yourself of that four-footed afreet, Sitt Hakim? He was the betrayer of Emerson— "
"If he was, it was inadvertent, Abdullah. Cats cannot be trained to lead people into ambushes— or to
do anything else they don't want to do. Anubis has become very attached to Emerson, he stayed with him, on the foot of his bed, all the while he was ill. Now, Abdullah, have you warned the other men
that Emerson is still in danger from the man who called himself Schlange, and told them of the subjects they must not mention?"
"Such as the subject that you are the wife of the Father of Curses?" Abdullah spoke with a sarcasm worthy of Emerson himself, and his prominent hawklike nose wrinkled critically. "I have told them Sitt. They will obey, as they would obey any command you gave, though they do not understand your reasons. Nor do I. To me, this is a foolish way of bringing back a man's memory."
"For once we see eye to eye, Abdullah," said Cyrus, joining us. But I reckon we've got to go along.
When the Sitt Hakim speaks, the whole world listens and obeys."
"No man knows that better than I," said Abdullah. Emerson's shout brought us gathering around "Abdullah has set up camp for us," he announced.
"And I have washed the donkeys," said Abdullah.
Emerson stared at him. "Washed the donkeys? What for?"
"He was following my orders," I said. "The little animals are always in wretched condition, covered
with sores and inadequately tended.  I do not allow . . Well, that is beside the point. Will you now condescend to tell us where we are going and what you propose to do— and why we require a
campsite when we have the dahabeeyah?"
Emerson turned the stare on me. "I have no intention of staying on that cursed boat. It is too far
from the tombs."
"Which tombs?" I asked, stepping heavily on Cyrus's foot to still the objection he was about to make.
"All the tombs. The southern group is a good three miles from her and the northern group is even farther There is another interesting area in a hollow behind that low hill near the center of the arc of the cliffs."
"There are no tombs there," I objected. "Unless the brickwork..."
Emerson gestured impatiently. "I will make my final decision tonight. My object today is to make a preliminary survey, and the sooner you stop arguing, the sooner we can get at it. Well? Any further objections?' He wheeled suddenly on Rene, who had edged closer. There were no further objections.
Before the day was over, any doubts as to Emerson's physical condition were removed. He declared we did not need the donkeys— a statement with which everyone disagreed but to which everyone except myself was too cowed to object. I knew perfectly well that he was testing us— me, especially— and so
I did not object either. We must have walked almost twenty miles, counting the perpendicular distances
we covered scrambling over piles of rocky scree and climbing up and down the cliffs.
The easiest way of describing this hegira is to envision the area as a semicircle, with the Nile forming the straight side. The cliffs of the high desert curve like a bow, at the extreme north and south ends they almost touch the riverbank. Haggi Qandil is somewhat south of the midpoint of the straight line, so we were a good three miles from the nearest section of the cliffs.
The path led through the village and the surrounding fields out onto the plain— an undulating, barren surface littered with pebbles and potsherds. The ruined foundations of Akhenaton's holy city lay under
the drifted sand. It had stretched the entire distance from the north end of the plain to the south. The portion we had excavated during the years we worked at Amarna lay farther to the south, but I felt sure the slow, inexorable hand of nature had reclaimed the site and buried all evidence of our labor as it had that of the ancient builders.
Emerson struck briskly out across the plain. Quickening my pace, I caught up to him. "I take it,
Emerson, that we are going to the northern tombs?"
"No," said Emerson.
I glanced at Cyrus, who shrugged and smiled and invited me, with a gesture, to walk with him. We allowed Emerson to forge ahead, with only Abdullah close on his heels. No one else seemed eager for
his company.
We did, in fact, visit some of the northern tombs, but not until after Emerson had indicated another
kind of monument he wanted to examine in detail that season.
Around the rocky perimeter of his city Akhenaton had carved a number of commemorative markers defining its boundaries and dedicating it to his god. Emerson and I had found and copied three of them ourselves. These stelae, as they are called, were similar in form, a central round-topped marker bearing a long hieroglyphic inscription under a scene in bas-relief that depicted the king and his family worshiping their god Aton, in the form of a sun-disk extending rays that ended in small human hands. Statues of the royal family stood on either side. Most of the boundary stelae were in ruinous condition,- some portions had been deliberately destroyed by the royal heretic's enemies after his death and the restoration of the old gods he had denied.
"There are two series of inscriptions, one earlier in time than the other," said Emerson. Hands on his
hips, bareheaded in the baking sunlight, he stood staring up at the cliff that towered over us. "This is one of the earlier,- there are two princesses shown with their parents. The later stelae show three daughters."
Cyrus took off his solar topi and fanned himself with it. "How the dickens you make that out I don't know. The top of the darned thing has to be thirty feet off the ground and the cliff is absolutely sheer."
"It cannot be approached except from above," said Emerson. He turned. Charlie was trying to hide
behind Abdullah, whose tall form and voluminous robes offered a good-sized shelter, but Emerson's
eyes went straight to him. With ferocious good humor Emerson said, "The boundary stela are your responsibility, Holly. A healthy young fellow like you should enjoy the challenge of copying texts while you dangle at the end of a rope."
A precipitous path led us up to the ledge on which the northern group of nobles' tombs were located. Once they had gaped open, vulnerable to the depredations of time and tomb-robbers. Recently the Antiquities Department had put up iron gates at the entrances to the most interesting of them. Emerson studied these gates, which had not been there in our time, with critical curiosity.
"Isn't there an American saying about locking the barn door after the horse is stolen? Ah, well, better
late than never, I suppose. Who has the keys?"
"I can get them," Cyrus replied. "Since I did not know— "
"I may want them later," was the curt reply.
He refused to say more until we had reached Abdullah's campsite. Knowing Abdullah, I was not surprised to see that his efforts had consisted of putting up a few tents and gathering camel dung for a fire.
"Very nice, Abdullah," I said. The reis, who had been watching me out of the corner of his eye, relaxed, and then stiffened again as I went on, "Of course nothing is as commodious as a nice, convenient tomb. Why can't we— "
"Because we are not going to work at the tombs," said Emerson. "This site is equidistant between the
two groups, northern and southern."
"Site?" Cyrus repeated indignantly. "What the dev------ the dickens do you want to waste your time on
this area for? There can't be any houses out here, so far from the main city, and no one has found any evidence of tomb shafts."
Emerson's well-shaped lips— now, alas, virtually hidden from my fond eyes by bristling black hair— curled in a sneer. "Most of my colleagues couldn't find a tomb shaft if they fell into it. I told you,
Vandergelt, explanations will have to wait till this evening. We have quite a distance yet to cover,
follow me."
The sun was now directly overhead and we had been walking (to use that term loosely) for several
hours. "Lead on," I said, taking a firm grip on my parasol.
Emerson had already eyed this appendage askance, but had not asked about it, so I saw no reason to explain that a parasol is one of the most useful objects an individual can carry on such an expedition.
Not only does it provide shade, but it can be used as a walking stick or, if need be, as a weapon. My parasols had frequently been employed in the latter capacity. They were specially made, with a heavy steel shaft and a pointed tip.
Like the gallant gentleman he was, Cyrus came to my rescue. "No, sir," he declared. "It's high noon
and I'm famished. I want my lunch before I stir another step."
Emerson was ungraciously pleased to agree.
The shade of the tents was welcome. One of Cyrus's servants unpacked the hampers his chef had provided, and we consumed a luncheon far more elegant than most field archaeologists enjoy. While we ate, Emerson condescended to lecture again. He directed most of his remarks at the two young men.
"The brickwork Miss— er— Peabody referred to is on the slopes and at the bottom of the hollow behind us. Some of it probably belongs to tomb chapels. The ruins on the floor of the hollow are clearly of another nature. I will start there tomorrow with a full crew. You, Vandergelt, and Miss —er— "
"If the title bothers you so much, you may dispense with it," I said calmly.
"Hmph," said Emerson. "You two will assist me. I trust this meets with your approval, Miss Peabody?"
"Quite," I said.
"Vandergelt?"
"I can hardly wait," said Cyrus, with a grimace
"Very well." Emerson jumped to his feet. "We have dawdled long enough. Let us be off."
"Back to the dahabeeyah?" Cyrus asked hopefully. "Since you have decided where you mean to excavate— "
"Good God, man, there are a good six hours of daylight left, and we have seen less than half of the area. Hurry up, can't you?"
Enviously the others watched Cyrus's servant strike off toward the river with the empty hampers then
the procession formed again, with Emerson's entourage trailing after him.
I presumed he meant to complete the circuit of the cliffs, and my heart beat high at the thought of seeing again the southern tombs where we had dwelt for so many happy years. But somehow I was not surprised when he led us into the foothills toward an opening in the rocky ramparts. Cyrus, ever at my side, let out a stifled American oath.
"Great jumping Jehoshaphat! I had a horrible premonition about this. The royal wadi! It's a three-mile hike each way and I'll bet you the temperature is high enough to fry an egg on a rock."
"I'll bet you it is," I agreed.
As I have already explained, but will reiterate for the benefit of less attentive readers, the wadis are canyons cut through the high desert plateau by past floods. The entrance to this one was located midway between the southern and northern groups of tombs. Its proper name is the Wadi Abu Hasah el-Bahri,
but for reasons that should be evident, it is commonly referred to as the main wadi. The royal wadi proper is a narrow offshoot of this larger canyon, approximately three miles from the entrance to the latter. Here, in a spot as remote and desolate as a lunar valley, Akhenaton had caused his own tomb to
be built.
If the southern tombs brought back poignant memories, the royal tomb recalled scenes that had impressed themselves indelibly upon my heart. In the gloomy corridor of that sepulcher I had felt Emerson's arms about me for the first time, along the rubble-strewn floor of the wadi we had raced by moonlight to save those we loved from a hideous death. Every foot of the way was familiar to me, and the spot was as fraught with romance as a garden of roses might be to one who had led a more boring life