Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [41]
Emerson gave me a peculiar look.
“That is one way of putting it,” he said drily. “It seems more likely to me that Khuenaten’s physical peculiarities are an artistic convention. You will note that his courtiers and friends are shown with similar peculiarities.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Look there.” Emerson started to sit up and clutched the sheet to him as it slid. He was a very hairy man. “This tomb belonged to a high noble of Khuenaten’s court. Its walls are decorated with reliefs in the unique Amarna style.”
My curiousity aroused, I reached for the lamp. This motion produced a scream of rage from Emerson.
“Not the lamp! I only use it when I must. The fools who light the tombs with magnesium wire and lamps are vandals; the greasy smoke lays a film on the reliefs. The mirror—take the mirror. If you hold it at the proper angle it will give you sufficient light.”
I had observed the mirror and wondered at this unexpected sign of vanity. I ought to have known. It took me some time to get the hang of the business, with Emerson making sarcastic remarks; but finally a lucky twist of the wrist shone a beam of reflected light through the doorway in which I stood, and I stared with wonder and delight.
The reliefs were shallow and worn, but they had a vivacity that at once appealed to me. There seemed to be a parade or procession; all the small running figures followed the mighty form of pharaoh, ten times the size of lesser men. He drove a light chariot, handling his team of prancing horses easily; in the chariot with him was a slightly smaller crowned person. Their heads were turned toward one another, it seemed as if their lips were about to touch.
“He must have loved her very much, to give her such a prominent place at his side,” I mused aloud. “I am inclined to agree with you, Emerson; no man who was less than a man would violate tradition by showing his devotion to his beautiful wife. Even her name, Nefertiti—’the beautiful woman has come’…”
“You read the hieroglyphs?” Emerson exclaimed.
“A little.”
I indicated, without touching it, the oval cartouche in which the queen’s name was written, and then moved my finger toward the empty ovals which had once contained the names of Khuenaten.
“I have read of this—how the triumphant priests of Amon destroyed even the royal heretic’s name after he died. It is strangely disturbing to see the savagery of their attack. How they must have hated him, to obliterate even his name!”
“By doing so they hoped to annihilate his soul,” Emerson said. “Without identity, the spirit of the dead could not survive.”
The incongruity of the conversation, with a gentleman in pink undergarments, did not strike me until Evelyn appeared in the doorway, and as abruptly disappeared. From without, her timid voice inquired whether she might come in.
“Oh, curse it,” Emerson exclaimed, and pulled the sheet over his head. From under it a muffled voice bade Evelyn enter.
Evelyn entered. She was properly dressed in a pale-green cotton frock, and looked as neat and dainty as if she had had all the amenities of the dehabeeyah at her disposal instead of a basin of tepid water. She was a little flushed. Knowing her as I did, I concluded that she was amused, although I could not imagine why. Emerson pulled the sheet down to the bridge of his nose. Over its folds a pair of blue eyes regarded Evelyn malevolently. She did not look at him.
“Do come in, Evelyn, and look at these carvings,” I exclaimed, flashing my mirror about expertly. “Here is the king riding in his chariot and his queen beside him—”
“I am sure they are fascinating, Amelia, but do you not think it might be better to wait for a more propitious time? Mr. Emerson needs rest, and you are not really dressed for a social call….” There was a suspicious quiver in her voice. She suppressed it and went on, “Walter seems to be having some trouble with the chicken you ordered.”
“I suppose I must take charge, as usual.” With a last lingering glance at a group of running soldiers, I replaced the mirror.
“So long as you are taking charge, you might have