Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [72]
I was not bored. An active mind can never be bored, and I had a great deal to think about. In between musing on the possible location of my pyramid’s entrance and my plans for washing Nemo’s robe (and Nemo) that evening, I considered means of keeping Enid safe that night. I was forced to admit that my initial plan, of having Enid sleep in a tent near our own, was unsatisfactory. I had neglected to consider the fact that my marital obligation (which is also, let me hasten to add, my pleasure) would distract me to such an extent that I would be unable to hear, much less prevent, an attack on the girl’s person should such occur. At last I concluded that it would be better for Enid to remain at the house that night. Proper chaperonage, though important, had to yield in this case to more vital matters, such as Enid’s survival and Emerson’s and my conjugal felicity.
As the sun sank lower in the west, the changes of light along the sloping sides of the pyramid produced fascinating aesthetic alterations, and I found myself musing about the long-dead monarch whose mummified remains had once rested in the now desolate burial chamber. With what pomp and circumstance had he been carried to his tomb; with what glitter of gold and glow of precious stones had his petrified form been adorned! A natural progression of ideas led me to recall another Pharaoh—the one whose name had been taken by the terrible man whose emissaries I awaited even now. The tomb of the great Sethos, Pharaoh of Egypt, lay far to the south in the Valley of the Kings at Thebes. It had been discovered in 1817 and it was still among the leading attractions of the area. The magnificent carvings and paintings of that most splendid of all royal tombs suggest that Sethos’ funerary equipment must have excelled all others; yet alas for human vanity! Thousands of years ago, the monarch had been robbed of his treasures and his mortal remains had been ignominiously thrust into a humble hole in the cliffs, with others of his peers, to save them from destruction. The cache of royal mummies had been found a few years before, and the remains now rested in Cairo, where I had seen them. Sethos’ withered features still retained the stamp of royalty and the pride of race. In his day he was a leader of men and a remarkably handsome individual—like his son Ramses, a lion in a valley of goats. I wondered if the modern-day Sethos had ever contemplated the shrunken yet noble features of his ancient namesake. Was it that mummy that had prompted him to select his nom de guerre? Not too fanciful an idea for a man who had already demonstrated a poetic imagination and considerable intellectual ability. I felt a certain unwilling kinship for him, for I have the same qualities myself.
The lengthening shadows reminded me that the afternoon was almost spent and that Emerson would be wanting his tea. I decided to wait five more minutes, and shifted my position so that I faced the northeast. I could see the green of the cultivated fields and the trees that half-concealed the minaret of the village mosque. A haze of smoke from the cooking fires hung over the town like a gray mist.
A rumbling crash behind me brought me to my feet. Turning, I saw a cloud of dust and sand rise from the base of the small pyramid. Apparently our excavations that afternoon had weakened the crumbling stone, and part of the north face had given way.
Mercifully it had not happened when our men were working underneath. That was my first thought. My next reaction was one of excitement. Surely there was something visible on the northern face that I had not seen before—a square of shadow too regular to be anything but man-made. Had the fortuitous accident disclosed the hidden entrance?
Forgetting detectival duties and marital responsibilities,