Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [64]
“That is one of the projects I had hoped to undertake this season,” Emerson replied. “The royal tomb has never been properly cleared out, although these villainous villagers removed anything of salable value some time ago. There was not much; the reliefs in the tomb were never finished, and I question whether Khuenaten was ever buried there, although fragments of a sarcophagus may still be seen in the burial chamber. Hmmm. Yes, Peabody, I would like to have another look at it. Suppose we go this afternoon.”
“The royal tomb is not to my taste today,” Lucas said, stretching out his booted feet lazily. “It is quite a distance, I am told, and the path is rugged.”
“It would mar the finish of your boots,” Emerson agreed gravely. “You seem to know something about Amarna, Lord Ellesmere. The royal tomb is not on the ordinary traveler’s list of sights.”
“Oh, I have become an interested student of all things Egyptian. Already I have made a splendid collection of antiquities, and I hope to acquire more along the way. I intend to set up an Egyptian gallery at Ellesmere Castle.”
Emerson had been keeping himself under tight rein—for what reason I could not imagine—but this was too much for him.
“Another amateur collection, ignorantly displayed and isolated from scholars,” he burst out. “Of course you are collecting your antiquities from the dealers, my lord—which means that they have been wantonly pilfered from the original places, with no records kept—”
“I seem to have struck inadvertently at a tender spot,” Lucas said, smiling at Evelyn.
She did not return the smile; instead she said seriously, “Mr. Emerson’s feelings are more than justified, Lucas. It is vital that excavations should be carried out only by trained archaeologists. Some objects are fragile and can be damaged by unskilled hands. More important, the provenance of an object can sometimes tell us a great deal—where it was found, with what other objects, and so on. If visitors would not buy from dealers and peasants, they would stop their illicit digging.”
“Dear me, you are becoming quite an enthusiast yourself,” Lucas exclaimed. “That is what I shall need for my Egyptian gallery—an expert who will tend and classify my collection. Then perhaps Mr. Emerson will not despise me.”
Evelyn’s eyes fell under his meaningful regard.
“Emerson will despise you in any case,” I said. “The only steps you can take to redeem yourself are, one, to cease buying antiquities, and two, to present the ones you have to the British Museum. The scholars there will take proper care of them.”
Emerson muttered something which, though indistinct, was clearly uncomplimentary to the British Museum.
Lucas laughed. “No, I cannot give up my collection. But perhaps Mr. Emerson will read my papyrus for me.”
“You have a papyrus?” I inquired interestedly.
“Yes, quite a good one—brown with age, crumbling, covered with those strange little scratches which were, I am told, developed from the hieroglyphic picture writing. When I unrolled it—”
An ominous moaning sound emerged from Emerson.
“You unrolled it,” he repeated.
“Only the first section,” said Lucas cheerfully. “It began to break apart then, so I thought… Why, Mr. Emerson, you look quite pale. I gather I have done something reprehensible.”
“You might as well confess to a murder,” Emerson exclaimed. “There are too many people in the world as it is, but the supply of ancient manuscripts is severely limited.”
Lucas seemed subdued by the reproof.
“I will give it to you, then, if you feel so strongly. Perhaps it will count as my payment of admission to this charming group,” he added more cheerfully. “I must send back to my dahabeeyah for supplies, if I am to spend the night. Let us just have a look around, shall we? I can hardly wait to see the scenes of the Mummy’s appearance, and select a tomb for myself.”
Emerson acquiesced with no more than a mumble. I was at a loss to