The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [103]
The room was rather small and the bed was narrow. But I pinned my hopes on the liniment.
IX
Buried Alive!
THE sun had just lifted over the horizon when I departed from our room, leaving Emerson attempting to conquer his habitual early-morning confusion by dashing cold water onto himself and the floor. As I strode briskly towards the upper deck I passed the saloon and saw, to my surprise, that Walter was there before me.
A smile warmed his face as he rose. ‘I hope you don’t mind my looking at your work, Amelia. It was an impertinence, I know, but I could not resist when I saw you were translating Apophis and Sekenenre.’
‘Of course I don’t mind.’ What I did mind was that he was up so early. That augured poorly for the reconciliation I had hoped for, and his expression, though affable as always, lacked the indefinable but (to my trained eye) unmistakable signs that (in my experience) follow such an activity.
‘I have been forced to neglect my translation these past days,’ I continued, concealing my disappointment. ‘It is a curious text, isn’t it?’
‘You mean to supply an ending, as you have done with your other Egyptian fairy tales?’
‘I had hoped to, yes, but I confess I cannot think of a logical ending. The text is far from complete and the implication of the Hyksos king’s message eludes me. It is obviously a deadly insult – but why? Oh, of course the arrogant demand is that of a monarch to an inferior, but there is more to it than that, surely. And why are Sekenenre and his courtiers at a loss as to how to reply?’
‘There may well be some obscure religious meaning,’ Walter agreed. ‘As you know, my dear sister, Egyptian religion is wonderfully inconsistent, and an animal like the hippopotamus could be good or evil – the benevolent goddess of childbirth in one aspect, the deadly enemy of the sun-god Re in another. Set, the murderer of Osiris, took the form of that animal when he fought Osiris’ son Horus in the famous tale of “The Hunt for the Red Hippopotamus.” The Hyksos were considered to be worshippers of Set – but that,’ Walter said, shaking his head, ‘only makes the situation more mysterious. Why should the Hyksos king demand the slaughter of the animal that represented his god?’
‘Walter, I believe you have given me a clue,’ I exclaimed. ‘You are attempting to employ modern Western logic. It is necessary to put oneself into the illogical minds of the ancient Egyptians.’
‘No one can do that better than you, my dear sister.’
Before I could reply to this graceful compliment, Emerson came bursting into the saloon. ‘We are late,’ he declared accusingly. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘On the upper deck, I expect,’ I replied, rising. ‘We always breakfast there, as you know perfectly well.’
Nefret and Ramses were already eating, for we never stood on ceremony at that first meal of the day. I was pouring when Evelyn joined us. I managed to catch the pot before much tea had spilled.
‘Good gracious,’ Walter exclaimed, staring at his wife. ‘When did you acquire that – er – ensemble, my dear? I have never seen you wear it.’
‘Men never remember women’s clothing,’ Evelyn said, taking the chair Ramses held for her.
‘I don’t believe I could have forgotten that!’
I did not believe he could have either. It was a copy of the working costume I had worn before I took the daring leap to breeches and coat like those of a man. Evelyn’s Turkish trousers were even more voluminous than mine had been, and a brilliant blue in colour. Her boots, reaching to the knee, had obviously never been worn.
‘I don’t know why you are wasting time talking about my wardrobe, Walter,’ Evelyn said coolly. ‘We should return to the topic we were discussing last night.’
Emerson – who had, of course, observed nothing unusual in Evelyn’s appearance – banged his cup into the saucer. ‘I have no intention of returning to it. Must I remind you that this is an archaeological expedition? The task before us is a formidable one, and we are still short-handed.’
‘Radcliffe, you know we are at your disposal,’ Walter said. ‘Tell us what needs to