The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [46]
Emerson’s amiable curses ended the demonstration and we proceeded to the house. Fatima was waiting for us on the verandah, and I was delighted to see that the vines I had planted the previous year were flourishing. Abdullah had never bothered to water them. Now they twined green arms up the trellises that framed the open window apertures, and blooming roses scattered crimson petals onto the dusty ground.
The young people immediately went off to the stables, accompanied by Selim; he was an excitable young fellow, and even Ramses was unable to get a word in as Selim reported on the livestock that had been left in his charge. The donkeys had been washed, the goat Tetisheri was fatter than ever, and the filly . . .
Asfur and Risha had become proud parents the previous year. Nefret, whose claim to the beautiful little creature no one denied, had named her Moonlight; she was a gray, like her sire, but of a paler shade that glowed with a pearl-like luster. Nefret had a well-nigh uncanny rapport with animals of all kinds; by the time we left Egypt in the spring the filly had taken to following her like a puppy. She had, of course, never known the touch of saddle or bridle.
When Nefret came back, her face was alight with pleasure. “She remembers me!”
“She certainly does,” I said, for Moonlight was at her heels, quite prepared, as it appeared, to join us for luncheon. Frustrated in this purpose she went round to the window opening and poked an inquiring nose at Horus, who was sitting on the ledge. Horus was accustomed to horses, but not on his territory. He sprang up with a hiss, his fur bristling, and the filly began to browse on my roses.
Nefret finally persuaded her to go with Selim, and the rest of us sat down to eat. This sort of fraternization, which had become a custom with us, was a source of scandalized gossip among the European community of Luxor. The more “liberal” of them condescended from time to time to entertain Egyptians of the wealthy, educated class, but none of them would have sat at table with their own workers. Our people were of a superior sort, of course.
Naturally I did not invite Fatima to join us. She would have been as horrified at the idea of sitting with a group of men as the men themselves would have been. She bustled back and forth, superintending the service of the food and drink.
When we had caught up on the gossip—marriages, deaths, illness, new babies—Emerson pushed his chair back and took out his pipe.
“So, Selim,” he said genially. “What have your rascally relations in Gurneh been up to lately? Any new tombs?”
A shadow of vexation crossed the imperturbable countenance of my son, who had taken up his favorite position on the window ledge, with his back against a pillar. I thought I understood its cause, for I shared the emotion. Emerson is so direct and forthright he does not understand that inquiries of that sort should not be pursued so directly. Selim was related by blood or marriage to a good many of the Gurnawis, and a good many of the Gurnawis were accomplished tomb robbers. A direct question put all our men, especially Abdullah, in a difficult position; they had to choose between informing on their kin or lying to us.
Selim, sitting on the ledge next to Ramses and David, looked uncomfortable. He was a handsome young man, with the big dark eyes and well-cut features of his handsome family, and he bore a strong resemblance to his nephew David, who was only a few years younger than he. With an apologetic glance at Abdullah, he said, “No new tombs, Father of Curses. Nothing. Rumors only. The usual rumors . . .”
“What rumors?” Emerson demanded.
“Now, Emerson, this is not the time for that sort of discussion,” I said, taking pity on the afflicted youth. I knew Emerson had already quizzed Abdullah, but Abdullah had been away from Luxor