Crocodile On The Sandbank Part 23

I had found that the surest way of annoying Emerson was to ignore his provocative remarks and reply as if he had spoken in ordinary courteous exchange.

"I was thinking of the royal tomb," I explained. "Of the relief of the little princess and her grieving parents. Evelyn should copy it. She would do it beautifully."

"I am surprised at the suggestion," Lucas exclaimed. "After what happened today- "

"Oh, I don't mean she should do it now; but one day, when the situation has been cleared up. Since your connection with Evelyn has been so distant, Lucas, you may not know that she is a splendid artist. She has already done a painting of the pavement that was destroyed."

Lucas insisted on seeing this painting and exclaimed over it quite excessively. The conversation having turned to matters archaeological, he was reminded of the papyrus scroll he had mentioned.

"I had the bearers fetch it," he said, reaching into the box at his side. "Here you are, Mr. Emerson. I said I would hand it over, and I keep my word."

The papyrus was enclosed in a carved and colored wooden case, except for a single section-the one Lucas had unrolled.

"I put it between two squares of gla.s.s," he explained. "That seemed the best method of keeping it from crumbling any further."

"At least you had that much sense," Emerson grumbled. "Hand it to Walter, if you please, your lords.h.i.+p.

I might drop it, having only one good hand."

Walter took the framed section, as gently as if it had been a baby, on the palms of his two hands. The sun was setting, but tiiere was still ample light. As Walter bent over the sheet of papyrus, a lock of hair tumbled down over his brow. His lips moved as if in silent prayer. He seemed to have forgotten our presence.

I leaned forward to see better. The papyrus seemed to me to be in fairly good condition, compared with others I had seen in antiquities shops. It was brown with age and the edges were crumbling, but the black, inky writing stood out clearly on the whole. An occasional word was written in red, which had not fared so well; it had faded to a rusty brown. Of course I had no notion whatsoever what the writing said. It resembled the hieroglyphic writing; one could distinguish the shape of an occasional bird or squatting figure, each of which represented a letter in the ancient picture alphabet of the Egyptians. But the majority of the letters were abbreviated forms and resembled a written script such as Arabic more than it resembled hieroglyphic writing.

"It is splendid hieratic," said Emerson, who was leaning over his brother's shoulder. "Much closer to the hieroglyphs than some I have seen. Can you make it out, Walter?"

"You don't mean that Master Walter can read that scribble?" Lucas exclaimed.

"Master Walter," said his brother drily, "is one of the world's leading experts on the ancient language.

I know a bit, but I am primarily an excavator. Walter has specialized in philology. Well, Walter?"

"Your partiality makes you praise me too highly," Walter said, his eyes greedily devouring the crabbed script. "I must show this to Frank Griffith; he is with Petrie at Naucratis this season, and unless I miss my guess, he is going to be one of our leading scholars. However, I believe I can make out a few lines. You are right, Radcliffe; it is splendid hieratic. That," he explained to the rest of us, "was the cursive script used on doc.u.ments and records. The hieroglyphic signs were too ornate and c.u.mbersome for the scribes of a busy kingdom. The hieratic was developed from the hieroglyphic, and if you look closely, you will see how the signs resemble the original pictures."

"I see!" Evelyn burst out. We were all bending over the papyrus now, except Lucas, who sipped his whiskey and watched us all with his patronizing smile. "Surely that is an owl- the letter 'm.' And the following word much resembles the seated man, which is the p.r.o.noun 'I.'"

"Quite right, quite right." Walter was delighted. "Here is the word for 'sister.' In ancient Egyptian that might mean----- " His voice faltered. Evelyn, sensitive to the slightest change in his feelings, quietly returned to her chair.

"Sister and brother were terms of endearment," said Emerson, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence his brother had begun. "A lover spoke of his sweetheart as his sister."

"And this," said Walter in a low voice, "is a love poem."

"Splendid," exclaimed Lucas. "Read it to us, Master Walter, if you please."

Lucas had insisted that we be informal; but his address of Walter by the childish t.i.tle was certainly meant to provoke. On this occasion it had no effect; Walter was too absorbed in his studies.

"I can only make out a few lines," he said. "You ought not to have unrolled it, Lord Ellesmere; the break goes through part of the text. However, this section reads:

I go down with thee into the water And come forth to thee again With a red fish, which is- beautiful on my fingers.

"There is a break here. The lovers are by the water; a pond, or the Nile. They- they disport themselves in the cool water."

"It doesn't have the ring of a love poem to me," Lucas said skeptically. "If I offered a fish, red or white, to a lady of my acquaintance as a love offering, she would not receive it graciously. A diamond necklace would be more welcome."

Evelyn moved slightly in her chair. Walter went on, "This is certainly a lover speaking. He is on one side of the river-

The love of the sister is upon yonder side; A stretch of water is between And a crocodile waiteth upon the sandbank.

But I go down into the water, I walk upon the flood; My heart is brave upon the water It is the love of her that makes me strong."

There was a brief silence when he stopped speaking. I don't know which impressed me more- the quaint charm of the lines or the expertness with which the modest young man had deciphered them.

"Brilliant, Walter," I cried, forgetting propriety in my enthusiasm. "How inspiring it is to realize that n.o.ble human emotions are as ancient as man himself."

"It seems to me not so much n.o.ble as foolhardy," said Lucas lazily. "Any man who jumps into a river inhabited by crocodiles deserves to be eaten up."

"The crocodile is a symbol," I said scornfully. "A symbol of the dangers and difficulties any true lover would risk to win his sweetheart."

"That is very clever, Miss Amelia," Walter said, smiling at me.

"Too clever," growled Emerson. "Attempting to read the minds of the ancient Egyptians is a chancy business, Peabody. It is more likely that the crocodile is a typical lover's extravagance- a boast that sounds well, but that no man of sense would carry out."

I was about to reply when Evelyn fell into a fit of coughing.

"Well, well," Lucas said. "How happy I am that my little offering has proved to be so interesting! But don't you think we ought to make plans for tonight? The sun is almost down."

It was one of the most stunning sunsets I had ever beheld. The fine dust in the atmosphere produces amazing conditions of light, such as our hazy English air does not allow. There was something almost threatening about the sunset that evening; great bands of blood-red and royal purple, translucent blue like the glaze on ancient pottery, gold and amber and copper streaks.

I asked Lucas whether his crew might not help us guard the camp, but he shook his head.

"Evidently they met some of the villagers today. Your crew has also been infected, Miss Amelia. I would not be surprised if all of them fled."

"They cannot do that," I exclaimed. "I am paying them! Nor do I believe that Reis Ha.s.san would abandon his trust."

"He would have some excellent excuse," Lucas said cynically. "Adverse winds, threatening weather- any excuse for mooring elsewhere."

I was aware, then, of someone beside me. Turning, I beheld Michael, whom I had not seen all day.

"Sitt Hakim"- for so he always addressed me- "I must speak to you alone."

"Certainly," I said, although I was surprised at his request and at his interruption of our conversation.

"After dinner," Lucas said, giving the poor fellow a sharp look. Michael shrank back, and Lucas added, "Michael, or whatever your name is, you are not needed. My men will serve the meal. I promised them they might return before dark. Miss Peabody will speak with you later."

Michael obeyed, with a last pleading glance at me. As soon as he was out of earshot I said, "Lucas, I really cannot have you reprimanding my servants!"

"My first name!" Lucas exclaimed, with a broad smile. "You have broken down at last, Miss Amelia; you have done me the honor of addressing me as a friend. We must drink to that." And he refilled his wine gla.s.s.

"We- to use the word loosely- have drunk too much already," I retorted. "As for Michael- "