The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [105]
“Nefret changed the bandage before we went to dinner.”
“A little laudanum to help you sleep?”
“No, thank you.” He waited for a moment, watching me. Then he said, “You didn’t expose me to danger, Mother. You did your damnedest to keep me out of it.”
“Don’t swear, Ramses.”
“I beg your pardon, Mother.”
“Good night, my dear.”
“Good night, Mother.”
I had long since despaired of persuading my family to attend church services on Sunday. Their religious backgrounds were diverse, to say the least. David’s father had been a Christian, in name at least, though, in Abdullah’s picturesque words, he had “died cursing God.” Nefret had been Priestess of Isis in a community where the old gods of Egypt were worshiped, and I had a nasty suspicion she had not entirely abandoned her belief in those heathen deities. Perhaps she shared the views of Abdullah, who was something of a heathen himself: “There is no harm in protecting oneself from that which is not true!” Emerson’s views on the subject of organized religion ranged from the blasphemous to the merely rude, and Ramses never expressed his views, if he had any. So for us the Sabbath was a workday like any other, since we allowed our Moslem workers their day of rest on Friday. We were therefore up bright and early and ready to return to the Valley. It had been a quiet night, without incident.
Later that morning Ned Ayrton joined us for a brief period of refreshment, as he had got into the habit of doing. Let me add that this was in no way a reflection upon his work habits, which were conscientious to a fault. Many excavators do not pause for breakfast until after they have been at work for several hours. We always took a little rest and a cup of tea at around ten in the morning, and so did Ned. I do not believe I will be accused of vanity when I say that he enjoyed our company. In response to Emerson’s pointed inquiry he said his men were sinking a pit below the squared-off area they had discovered the day before.
“It has been rather hard going,” he explained. “The limestone chips have been soaked by water and are fused together like cement.”
“Not a good sign,” said Emerson, stroking his chin.
“No. One can only hope that if there is a tomb entrance below, the rain did not penetrate so far. Well, I have been too long away; it is the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Emerson, that is to blame.”
After he had gone, I said, “Mr. Davis’s expectations are so high they must make Ned very nervous. I cannot suppose he will find anything where he is digging now.”
“Hmmm,” said Emerson.
I am convinced my husband has a sixth sense for such things. It was not until later in the afternoon, just as we were about to stop for the day, that Ned came running back to tell us the news. “Eureka!” was his first word, and his last for a time; he was too out of breath to continue.
“Ah,” said Emerson. “So you’ve found a tomb entrance, have you?”
“Yes, sir. Rock-cut steps, at any rate. I thought perhaps you might want to have a look.”
It was a polite way of putting it. Wild horses could not have kept Emerson away. The rest of us followed.
The opening lay directly to the right of the open entrance to the tomb of Ramses IX. Mounds of debris still surrounded it, but the top of a stone-cut stair was clearly visible.
Ned’s men were still at work shoveling rock into baskets, clearing down the steps. Emerson snatched a shovel from one of them. His eyes were glazed, his lips half parted. Those who have felt that passion for discovery, and have been deprived of it for too long, can comprehend the intensity of his emotion at that moment. I can only compare it with the feelings of a starving individual who sees a platter of rare roast beef. He does not care that it is not his roast beef. If he is hungry enough, he will have it, whatever the consequences.
It well-nigh broke my heart to stop him, but I knew I must. “Emerson, my dear, Mr. Ayrton’s men are shoveling quite nicely. You will only get in their way.”
Emerson started and came out of his trance. “Er—hmmm. Yes. It—er—certainly looks promising,