Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [59]
I realized that Emerson had not been present when Mr. Nemo told me of this pseudonym. As soon as I could persuade him to leave off shaking me, I rendered the necessary explanations. The effect of my statement upon my husband was terrible to behold. The alteration of his normally handsome features was so dreadful that Enid fled into the night and Ramses was moved to exclaim, “Such engorgement of the blood vessels may betoken a seizure, Mama. Some cold water dashed in Papa’s face—”
I was unable to prevent the application of this remedy, for Ramses acted upon it even as he spoke, and I must admit that it had a salubrious effect. Emerson sputtered and swore, but his fiery complexion subsided by gradual degrees and his acute intelligence triumphed over his choler. He stood in silence for a moment, dripping. Then he said quietly, “Nemo is certain of the name?”
“It is hardly a name he would invent, Emerson. He knows nothing of Egyptology. And what name could be more appropriate? For Set, as we know, was the evil adversary of the noble Osiris, and might be termed the Egyptian Satan. Though it appears that during some period of history, he was well enough regarded to act as patron of a royal house. The name Sethos means ‘man of Set,’ or ‘follower of Set.’ You remember, I am sure, the Kadesh inscription of Ramses the Second, which exalts the pharaoh by comparing his powers to those of the god:
“Lord of fear, great of fame,
In the hearts of all the lands.
Great of awe, rich in glory,
As is Set upon his mountain. . . .
Like a wild lion in a valley of goats!
“How admirably does this same comparison suit the enigmatic person who has assumed the sobriquet of Sethos! Ranging at will among his helpless victims, like the king of beasts—”
“Yes, yes,” Emerson said. “But the name has another significance which seems to have eluded you.”
“Sethos the First was the father of Ramses the Second,” squeaked our son of the same name.
His father gave him a look of pure dislike—one of the few times I had seen Emerson regard the boy with disfavor.
“What the devil does that have to do with anything?” he demanded.
“Nothing at all,” I said. “What are you getting at, Emerson?”
“Have you forgotten, Peabody, that Set was a redheaded god?”
There could be no doubt, even in the skeptical mind of my husband, that the token of flowers and jewel had come from that villain, the Master Criminal. Only he would have thought to taunt me by presenting me with one of the antique treasures he had stolen from a royal tomb—for, as I hardly need say, golden rings with a kingly cartouche are not easy to come by.
Emerson and I were still discussing the matter as we strolled across the silvery desert toward the Bent Pyramid. Miss Marshall trailed timidly in our wake, encumbered as we were by toilet articles, blankets, and so on. Knowing the poor girl must be utterly mystified, I requested Emerson to render a brief statement of our encounter with the Master Criminal during the previous season. He declined with a degree of acerbity even greater than the mention of this person’s name generally produced, so I took the task on myself.
“You know, of course, Miss Marshall, about the deplorable trade in illicit antiquities. Owing to the vast number of buried tombs and cities, it is impossible for the Department of Antiquities to guard all of them, especially since the locations of many are not known. Untrained diggers, both native and foreign, lured by the high prices such antiques command, carry out digs of their own, often neglecting to keep the careful records that are essential if we—”
“If she already knows it, why are you telling her about it?” Emerson demanded. “The facts are known to every schoolchild, much less a trained excavator like Miss Marshall.”
I laughed lightly. “Quite right, Emerson. I have delivered the lecture so often to tourists and other ignoramuses that I forgot myself.
“At any rate, Miss Marshall, we discovered