The Snake, The Crocodile, And The Dog Part 7

"Well, well." Emerson waved his opinion away. "Amarna does offer temptations. The Royal Tomb has never been properly investigated, and there are certainly other tombs in that remote wadi."

He took a bite of fish. Mr. Vincey, who had been listening in modest silence, now spoke. "I too have heard rumors of other tombs, but such rumors are common in Egypt. Have you any evidence?"

His voice was mild and the question was certainly reasonable, I could not understand why Emerson shot him such a hard look. "I don't deal in rumors, Vincey, as you should know. I knew of the Royal Tomb at least a decade before its 'official' discovery."

It was a testimonial to Emerson's reputation that no one expressed doubt of this statement, but Newberry exclaimed, with unusual heat, "You might have had the courtesy to inform your friends, Emerson. Petrie and I spent hours looking for the confounded place in the winter of '91, and I got myself in hot water when I wrote that letter to The Academy The Academy accusing Grebaut of falsely claiming credit for discovering the tomb." accusing Grebaut of falsely claiming credit for discovering the tomb."

"What's a little hot water, when the cause is just?" demanded Emerson, who might be said to have spent most of his life up to his neck in boiling liquid. "Grebaut is the most incompetent, stupid, tactless nincomp.o.o.p who ever called himself an archaeologist. Except for Wallis Budge, of course. I do not announce discoveries until I am in a position to deal with them myself. The depredations of the natives are hard enough on the antiquities, the depredations of archaeologists are even worse. Heaven only knows what meaningful objects were kicked aside by Daressy and Sayce when they- "

Sayce began to sputter, and Mr. Reisner said quickly, "Then you won't be returning to the Sudan? That region fascinates me. There is so much to be done there."

"It tempts me," Emerson admitted. "But Meroitic culture is not my field. Curse it, I can't be everywhere!"

I had hoped to avoid mentioning the Sudan, for I knew what would follow. Archaeologists are no more immune to idle curiosity than the next man. A general stiffening of attention ran round the table, but before anyone could frame a question we were distracted by the arrival of a short, stout individual who swept up to our table with the regal manner of a viceroy- which, in a professional sense, he was.

"M. Maspero!" I exclaimed. "How delightful! I did not know you were in Cairo."

"Only pa.s.sing through, dear lady. I cannot stay, but upon hearing of your arrival I could not deny myself the pleasure of welcoming you back to the scene of your many triumphs." Ogling me in his amiable Gallic fas.h.i.+on, he continued, "You have the secret of eternal youth, chere madame, indeed you are younger and lovelier than you were that day of our first meeting in the halls of the museum. Little did I know what a momentous day it was! You may not think, gentlemen, that I resemble the little G.o.d of love, but I had the honor that day to play Cupid, for it was I who introduced madame to the gentleman who was to win her heart and hand."

With a grandiloquent flourish of his hand he indicated Emerson, who responded to the amused smiles of the others with a stony stare. He had been extremely critical of Maspero when the latter was Director of the Department of Antiquities, but he had detested the latter's successors even more. Now he said grudgingly, "You had better come back to the job, Maspero. The cursed Department has fallen apart since you left. Grebaut was a disaster, and de Morgan- "

"Ah, well, we will talk of that another time," said Maspero, who had

learned from painful experience that it was necessary to cut Emerson short when he began talking about the failings of the Department of Antiquities. "I am in haste, I must go on to another appointment. So you must tell me at once, madame, what all Cairo aches to know. How fares the interesting young lady who owes you so much? Of all your triumphant adventures, this was surely the most magnificent!"

"She is in excellent health and spirits," I said. "How kind of you to inquire, monsieur."

"No, no, you cannot stop there, with conventional courtesy. You are too modest, madame, I will not allow it. We must hear the whole story. How you learned of her plight, what brilliant deductive methods you applied in order to locate her, the perils you faced on the dangerous journey."

Emerson's expression had petrified to such an extent his face might have been carved of granite. The others leaned forward, lips parted and eyes aglow. They would be able to "dine out" on this story for the rest of the season, since no one had heard it firsthand.

I had not looked forward to telling the tale to our professional colleagues. Unlike the general public, they had the expert knowledge to find the flaws in our little fiction. However, I had known the moment must come and I had prepared for it with my usual thoroughness.

"You do me too much credit, monsieur. I had no idea such a person as Miss Forth existed. As you must have heard, we went in search of her cousin, who had become lost in the desert after he set out to look for his uncle and aunt. Like many other rash travelers, they had vanished when the Mahdi overran the Sudan." I paused to take a sip of wine and select my words carefully. Then I resumed, "Since the region has been pacified, there have been rumors that some of these people in fact survived."

"It was some such idle rumor that sent Mr. Forthright into the desert?"

Maspero shook his head. "Rash and foolish."

"It was Divine Guidance that inspired him," Sayce said reverently. "And led you to the rescue of this innocent child."

I could have kicked the kindly old man. A remark like this was bound to break through Emerson's silence, for he particularly dislikes giving G.o.d the credit for his own achievements. Unfortunately I could not kick Emerson, since he was seated across the table from me.

"Divine Guidance inspired him to lose himself in the desert," said my husband. "Having better sense, we did not rely on- "

Since I could not administer a warning kick on the s.h.i.+n, I had to find another way of stopping him. I knocked over my winegla.s.s. The heavy damask tablecloth absorbed most of the liquid, but a few drops spattered my brand-new frock.

"What did you rely on?" Carter asked eagerly.

"If it was not Divine Guidance, it was pure luck," I said, frowning at Emerson. "We had the usual adventures. You know the sort of thing, gentlemen- sandstorms, thirst, Bedouin attack. Nothing to speak of. From displaced persons we met along the way we heard of the missionaries- they belong to some strange Protestant sect, like the Brothers of the New Jerusalem- you remember them, Reverend - and finally reached the remote village where they had miraculously survived fourteen years of war and misery. Mr. and Mrs Forth had pa.s.sed on, but their child lived. We were fortunate enough to be able to restore her to her heritage."

The waiter had supplied a fresh gla.s.s of wine. I took a hearty swig, feeling I deserved it.

"So you found no trace of poor Mr. Forthright?" Newbeny shook his head sadly. "A pity. I fear his bones are whitening in some remote spot"

I certainly hoped they were. The young villain had done his best to murder us.

"But did I not hear some story of a map?" Mr. Vincey asked.

My winegla.s.s almost went over again. I managed to get hold of it. It was Maspero who came to the rescue. Laughing heartily, he said, "Willie Forth's famous maps! We have all heard of them, have we not?"

"Even I," Carter said, smiling. "And I did not know the gentleman. He is something of a legend in Egypt, though."

"One of the lunatic fringe always to be found in archaeology," Newberry said disapprovingly. "So his fantasies led him, not to the city of gold he hoped for, but to a village of miserable mud huts and an early death."

Maspero took his leave. For the rest of the evening the discussion focused on purely archaeological matters.

After we had returned to our rooms Emerson wrenched off his stiff collar. "Thank heaven that is over.

I won't do it again, Amelia. This suit is as archaic as armor and almost as uncomfortable."

The wine had left visible spots on my skirt. I replied gently, "You won't have to wear evening kit to a fancy dress ball, my dear. I was thinking of something along Elizabethan lines. Those close-fitting hose would set off the handsome shape of your lower limbs."

Emerson had removed his coat. For a moment I thought he would throw it at me. Eyes blazing, he said in a muted roar, "We are not going to a fancy dress ball, Amelia. I would as soon attend my own hanging." "It is in four days' time We can find something in the bazaar, I daresay. Please help me with my b.u.t.tons, Emerson. These spots may come out if I sponge them at once."

However, I was unable to tackle the spots that evening. By the time the b.u.t.tons were undone I had other things on my mind.

Some time later, as a pleasant drowsiness wrapped around my weary frame, I reflected with pardonable complacency upon the events of the evening. Over the course of the succeeding months, as the story pa.s.sed from speaker to listener, it would be altered and embroidered beyond recognition, but at least the original fiction had been accepted by those whose opinions counted most. How ironic, I thought, that it was Willoughby Forth's reputation for eccentricity that was primarily responsible for saving his daughter from vulgar gossip and the Lost Oasis from discovery and exploitation.

I was about to remark on this to Emerson when his regular breathing a.s.sured me he had fallen into slumber Turning on my side, I rested my head against his shoulder and emulated his example.

I have a methodical mind. Emerson does not. It required prolonged discussion to convince him we ought to sit down with a map of Egypt and make a neat list of prospective sites, instead of rus.h.i.+ng around at random. The more I thought about it, the more his plan appealed to me. Although I had enjoyed our vagabond existence, never knowing from one year to the next where we would be the following season, and although no one accepts with greater equanimity the difficulties of setting up a new camp in a new location yearly, often in places where water and shelter were inadequate, insects and disease proliferated, and the chance of s.n.a.t.c.hing a few moments alone with Emerson was slight, especially with Ramses always underfoot . . . Well, perhaps I had not enjoyed it as much as I thought I had! Certainly the idea of a permanent habitation had considerable attraction. I found myself picturing how it would be: s.p.a.cious, comfortable living quarters, a photographic studio, an office for the keeping of records . . . perhaps even a writing machine and a person to operate it. I had mentally selected the pattern of the draperies for the sitting room by the time Emerson, brooding over the map, spoke for the first time.

"I don't believe we want to go south of Luxor, do we? Unless there is some site between there and a.s.suan that you yearn for."

"None that comes to mind. The Theban area offers a number of interesting possibilities, however."

We had decided to breakfast in our room, for the sake of greater privacy and also because Emerson did not want to get dressed to go downstairs. His s.h.i.+rt was open at the throat and his sleeves had been pushed up to the elbows, the sight of him lounging at ease, long legs stretched out, a pipe in one hand and a pen in the other, almost distracted me from the matter at hand. Unaware of my affectionate regard, he shoved the map at me. "Have a look, Peabody. I have marked my choices, add or subtract as you like."

"I think I had better subtract," I said, looking at the emphatic crosses that marked the map. "We must narrow the possibilities down to half a dozen or less. Beni Ha.s.san, for instance, would not be my first choice."

Emerson groaned feelingly. "The tombs have deteriorated badly since I first saw them. They need to be copied"

"That can be said of almost every site you have marked."

So the discussion proceeded,- after a refres.h.i.+ng hour or so we had reduced the list to three-Meidum, Annarna and western Thebes- and I had agreed to Emerson's suggestion that we inspect the sites before making a final decision.

"It is still early in the season," he reminded me. "And we have not had the leisure to play tourist for several years. I would like to have a look at the tomb Loret found last year. He has left some of the mummies there, b.l.o.o.d.y fool that he is."

"Language, Emerson," I said automatically. "It would be nice to see the dear old Valley of the Kings again. What do you say we start with Meidum, since we are in the neighborhood?"