Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [106]
“Alain? Oh. Kuentz. Yes, that’s right. You know where it is?”
“I think so,” Ramses said. “If you’ll excuse us—”
“Mind if I tag along? I can keep up, I walk really fast.”
Nefret was too softhearted to resist. She gave him the hoped-for pat. “If you like. We’ll have to go on foot most of the way anyhow.”
They left Jamil and the horses beside the second terrace of the temple and went on, following a narrow path that climbed steadily upward, skirting heaps of loose debris. There were many such paths, used by the surefooted and often barefooted people of Gurneh or by goats; some had been in use since ancient times. When they stopped to catch their breaths they were high enough to see clear across the cultivation to the river. The line between the green and the barren desert was as sharp as if it had been drawn with a knifepoint. Nefret could feel perspiration puddling between her breasts and running down her back. There were dark patches on Ramses’s shirt too, and Barton was breathing hard. He had followed so close behind her that once or twice she had had to skip to avoid tripping over his extremely large feet. If he had hoped to leap to her assistance he had been disappointed.
“That’s where they found the cache of royal mummies,” Ramses said, pointing toward the base of the cliff.
“Where?” Barton asked eagerly. “I read about it but I haven’t seen it yet. Can we get in?”
“No, we can’t,” Ramses said forcibly. “Not without ropes and certainly not today.” Barton looked so disappointed, he relented. “I’ll show you where it is, but don’t entertain any notions about exploring the place on your own. The shaft is over forty feet deep and the last time I was down there the ceilings of the corridors had begun to collapse.”
“You’ve been there?”
Damn, Ramses thought, I should have known he’d take that as a challenge instead of a warning. “It was some years ago. I wouldn’t risk it again without assistance.”
Another climb brought them to the base of the cliff. There wasn’t much to see, only a gaping irregular black hole. Ramses took hold of Nefret’s arm and waved Barton back.
“Careful. The Service des Antiquités ought to have covered the opening, it’s too much of a temptation to impetuous idiots. There’s nothing down there, you know.”
That wasn’t strictly true. Emil Brugsch had removed the coffins and miscellaneous funerary equipment over thirty years earlier, but it had been a rushed job and Emerson had always been of the opinion that the tomb ought to be properly excavated. Ramses wasn’t about to mention that to Barton, who had edged closer and was peering down into the hole. Ramses understood his fascination; it was one of the great stories of Egyptology: the bodies of Egypt’s royalty, violated and robbed and stacked up like cordwood, to lie hidden for almost three thousand years, discovered by a family of modern tomb robbers who surreptitiously marketed stolen objects until they were caught by the Antiquities Department.
“We’d better go on,” he said.
The going wasn’t easy; the path rose and fell, twisted and turned, over the piles of loose debris that bordered the Theban cliffs, the result of centuries of weathering by wind and rain. Barton kept catching Nefret’s arm, throwing her off balance and then steadying her. He didn’t seem to realize that was what he was doing, and she was kind enough not to complain.
The opening of the royal cache was not far behind them when Ramses stopped. “That looks like it.”
There was a long vertical shadow at the spot he indicated. It was only one of many. Splintered and cracked, the rock face rose high above them.
“How can you tell?” Nefret asked, shaking off Barton’s hand.
“It’s the right distance.” Ramses looked around. “He said there is a boulder to the south of the cleft that resembles a sheep’s head.”
“They all do,” Nefret muttered.
“I’ll go up and have a look,” Ramses said. “Stand back a bit.”
The climb wasn’t particularly