The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [199]
We gathered round to inspect the drawing. The sistrum was a musical instrument, rather like a rattle, played before various gods. It was dedicated to Hathor, goddess of music, whose image appeared here as the head of a woman with long curling locks and the characteristic cow’s ears. From this sculptured head rose a long loop of copper wire threaded with rods which were strung with beads, so that when the sistrum was held by its handle—this one in the shape of a lotus column—and shaken, it produced a pleasing if somewhat monotonous sound. All the elements I have described were present in Emerson’s sketch, which meant that this object was truly unusual, undamaged, and intact.
“Couldn’t get the face right,” Emerson admitted. “It’s very beautiful. Obviously from a royal workshop.”
“And made for a royal woman,” Ramses said. “I admire your forbearance, Father, I’d have been strongly tempted to take this. It ought to be in a museum.”
“It will be,” Emerson assured him, with a snap of his teeth. “We’ll give the Albions plenty of rope, before we pull the noose tight. There can be no doubt; Jamil’s tomb is that of one of the Divine Wives of Amon, and if these small objects are representative of the contents, Heaven only knows what else may be there.”
Cyrus let out a low moan. “I’d sell my soul for a find like that. And if Joe Albion gets to it first, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands.”
Next day I penned a courteous note to Mrs. Albion thanking her for her delightful party. It was somewhat hypocritical, as Emerson was quick to point out, but in my opinion a certain amount of hypocrisy is necessary in maintaining the social amenities. If everyone said exactly what he or she thought of everyone else, there would be no social amenities.
“Anyhow,” I added, folding the note, “breaking off relations with the Albions would be a serious error until we get the goods on them.”
We went to work as usual, but did not accomplish a great deal. Emerson’s discovery of the artifacts had whetted his appetite and stimulated his imagination. He tried to concentrate on the work at hand, but he would stop from time to time and stare off into space, mumbling to himself. How well I understood! The broken mud-brick walls of Deir el Medina were so pitiful in comparison to golden dreams of a royal tomb.
Jumana had come late to breakfast, looking so woebegone and red around the eyes that Sennia demanded to know where it hurt and what she could do to make it better. Nefret distracted the child by describing the decorations of the ballroom and the lavish menu, and the Great Cat of Re provided an additional diversion by appearing with an agitated mouse in its mouth. With Sennia’s assistance Ramses managed to pry the cat’s jaws apart and remove the mouse, which he carried outside and released, to the utter disgust of Horus. I hoped that the presentation of unharmed, living prey was not becoming a habit with the confounded cat. Horus at least had the decency to dispose of his in private.
I decided to say no more to Jumana. She had been punished by our combined disapproval and Nefret’s tongue-lashing, and after all, she had not committed a serious misdemeanor, only an error in judgment understandable in a young girl. After having been raised in one society she had had to learn the ways of another; and since she had only been acquainted with men whose moral sensibilities were irreproachable,