The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [190]
“Ah. Those alternate sites you suggested?”
“Mmmm.” Emerson sucked on his pipe. “None of them has any connection with a divine representation. If the Albions are solely interested in excavation—”
“Ramses!” His mother’s voice had considerable carrying power. Emerson twitched guiltily and Ramses turned. She was on her feet, waving some object at him. It appeared to be a large piece of pottery—an ostracon.
Ramses waved back. “We may as well stop for lunch,” he said. “Sennia has told me twice already that she’s faint with hunger.”
“Where is she?” Emerson turned, scanning the terrain.
“Probably in the shelter, investigating the basket, which would explain why the Great Cat of Re has also abandoned us. I must speak to her about overfeeding the creature, it’s getting absolutely obese.”
“He,” Emerson corrected.
Sennia, and the cat, were where he expected. The others joined them in time to save most of the chicken. Ramses’s lecture was not as forceful as he had intended it to be; the hurt looks he got from two pairs of eyes, one pair big and black, the other pair round and clear-green as peridots, had a softening effect. Apologetically he offered the cat a piece of chicken.
Sennia had collected a few ostraca too, but the one his mother had found was outstanding—larger than most, the hieratic clearly preserved. He was touched to see how her face brightened when he expressed his appreciation.
“Was this in the fill?” he asked, holding it carefully by the edges. “I’m surprised that any of our fellows would overlook something so large.”
“Curse it, Peabody,” Emerson mumbled through a bite of cheese, “have you been digging illicitly?”
“How could you suppose I would do such a thing, Emerson? Ali brought it to me. It has been properly recorded.”
“Oh. All right, then.”
“What does it say?” Nefret asked, leaning over Ramses’s shoulder. A loosened lock of hair brushed his cheek. He twisted it around his finger and smiled at her. “It appears to be a prayer—to Hathor, Divine Mother, Lady of Fragrance.”
“You can translate it later,” Emerson declared, wiping his fingers on his trousers. “I want to finish that section today.”
“I trust you have not forgotten we are dining with Cyrus this evening,” his wife reminded him.
Emerson groaned. Cyrus grinned. “I asked Selim too,” he said significantly.
“Hmmm,” said Ramses’s mother.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Bertie, you haven’t told me how you are getting on. Not that I have any right to ask, I suppose.”
“Don’t be a dog in the manger,” his wife said.
“You have every right to ask, sir,” Bertie said earnestly. “It’s going well, I think. I’ve got most of the known tombs located now. This is a working copy, of course; I keep the master copy at home and add to it every night.”
“Well done.” Emerson slapped him on the back. “Now—back to work, eh?”
Not until later that day was Ramses able to arrange a private conversation with his mother.
“Do you really intend to tell Cyrus about Khan Yunus? You know, Mother, that the Official Secrets Act—”
“I do not consider myself bound by any document to which I did not agree in advance,” said his mother. Her chin protruded even more than usual. “We must tell Cyrus something. It isn’t fair to him to keep him wholly in the dark. Ramses . . . dear . . .” She put her hand on his shoulder. “I know you would rather not talk or think of the affair again, but if you will brace yourself, one more time . . . You have my word that Selim’s narrative will not get me in trouble with the War Office!”
“All right, Mother. Dear,” he added, with a smile that brought a faint flush to her cheeks.
It had taken Katherine Vandergelt a while to become comfortable with their Egyptian friends. She had had to come to terms with her prejudices, or at least conceal them—his mother hadn’t left her any choice! No one but a boor could have treated Selim with less than the courtesy his fine manners and inherent dignity deserved; Katherine’s greeting was warm and friendly. She displayed even more warmth toward Jumana, whose pallor and morose expression obviously shocked her, and