Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [90]
While I engaged the agitated old person in a spirited exchange of thrusts and parries, Ramses skipped hastily away. “I was merely examining your feet, madam,” he said indignantly. “They are very large, you know.”
This remark may have been intended to soften Mrs. Axhammer’s anger, but as might have been predicted, it had precisely the opposite effect. She set off after Ramses, and, seeing he was having no difficulty in keeping a safe distance from her, I followed at a more leisurely pace. At least Ramses’ dreadful lapse of manners had succeeded in drawing Mrs. Axhammer away from Emerson, and I fondly hoped that once away, she would not return.
Such proved to be the case. Shaking with indignation, Mrs. Axhammer mounted her donkey and the caravan trotted off.
When we returned to the house that afternoon, Emerson expressed himself as satisfied with the morning’s work. “I think I have it clear in my mind now, Peabody. There are traces of at least three occupation levels, the latest addition having probably been made in Ptolemaic times. The plan is complex, however, and I would appreciate your assistance, if you are finished messing about with your pyramid.”
Overlooking the derogatory tone, I assured him that I was at his disposal. “There is nothing inside, Emerson. I doubt that it was ever used for a burial.”
“That is what I said, Mama,” remarked Ramses.
After luncheon, Enid retired to her room with her book of detective stories. She had not spoken a word to Donald, and his gloomy look testified to his depressed spirits. I was about to suggest we have a little talk when Emerson said, “What would you think about a ride to Mazghunah this afternoon, Peabody? The communion vessels ought to be returned to the church.”
“An excellent idea, Emerson,” I replied, wondering what was behind this suggestion.
“Shall we take Ramses?”
“I would rather not,” I said truthfully.
“And I,” said Ramses, “would prefer to take a little mild exercise, in the form of a stroll around the village and its environs.”
“Mild exercise indeed,” I exclaimed. “You have had a great deal of exercise already, being chased by infuriated old ladies. Stay here and work on your grammar.”
“Never mind, Peabody,” Emerson said with a smile. “We cannot keep an active lad like Ramses shut up in the house all the time. There is no harm in his taking a stroll so long as Mr. Fraser accompanies him.”
Neither Ramses nor Donald appeared to care for that idea. “Such an arrangement would leave the young lady unprotected,” Ramses protested. Donald nodded vigorous agreement.
“She has stout walls and strong men to protect her,” Emerson replied. “It is broad daylight, and we won’t be long. Mazghunah is only ten kilometers from here, and our business will be easily concluded.”
So it was arranged. Taking two of the donkeys, Emerson and I rode southward. We saw no one, for at that time of day tourists and natives alike retire into the shade. I hardly need say that Emerson and I are never deterred from the path of duty by climatic conditions, and I, for one, enjoyed the ride.
The path, scarcely discernible to any but a trained eye, led across the rocky waste of the plateau, past the tumbled remains of the three brick pyramids of Dahshoor. They had been built a thousand years after their great stone neighbors, but the shorter passage of time had not dealt kindly with them. Once faced with stone, in imitation of the older and larger tombs, they had crumbled into shapeless masses of brick as soon as the facing stones were removed.
Dominating the other ruins was the great bulk of the Black Pyramid, the tomb of Amenemhat of the Twelfth Dynasty. Because of its location on the highest part of the plateau, it appears from some vantage points to be even taller than its stone neighbors to the north, and its ominous reputation is justified by its appearance. I knew the interior of that monstrous structure only too