The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [122]
Courteous as always (when I reminded him), he slowed his pace. ‘I want to have a look at one of the tombs Loret found last year.’
‘Amenhotep II? It will be crowded with tourists, Emerson; you know how the vulgar are attracted by mummies.’
‘No,’ said Emerson.
The tomb he sought had been dug into the side of the Valley. Like most of the others, it was open and unguarded, and I reflected, as we started down the stairs, that Howard had his work cut out for him if he hoped to protect the tombs.
We had of course brought our own candles. At that time none of the tombs were lighted by electricity, and the steps were steep and broken. Gertrude, gallantly assisted by Cyrus, let out little squeaks of alarm as she stumbled down them.
The stairs ended in a square, unadorned room. A second stone-cut staircase led down into the chamber that had been the king’s final resting place. A red sandstone sarcophagus, adorned with images of protective gods and goddesses, gaped empty.
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson uninformatively. He went to the right-hand wall and began examining it.
I did not need him to inform me why he had come there. The tomb had belonged to Thutmose I, the father of Queen Hatshepsut, but it was not that connection that interested Emerson. This was the earliest royal tomb in the Valley – later by several generations than our tomb, but closer in time to it than any other. It was much smaller than the long, elaborate sepulchres of later periods, and I saw what was in Emerson’s mind. Since our tomb was earlier even than this one, it might be as simple. If so, the blocked doorway at the base of the stairs we had seen could lead directly into the burial chamber.
The others had gathered round the sarcophagus. Gertrude stood at the head, her head bowed and her hands clasped. I noted that the goddess portrayed on that part of the sarcophagus was Nephthys – no more veiled than Isis, since both ladies are usually depicted wearing an extremely skimpy, skintight garment.
After examining the sarcophagus and translating the inscriptions (though no one had asked him to), Ramses joined his father at the wall.
‘It was decorated with painted stucco,’ he remarked dogmatically.
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson, walking sideways and holding his candle close to the surface.
‘Water-damaged,’ said Ramses to Nefret, who had come to see what they were doing. ‘The chamber has often been flooded. That is the difficulty with these tombs located at the foot of the cliffs; one would have supposed –’
‘Hmph,’ said Nefret, following Emerson.
‘Haven’t you seen enough?’ Cyrus demanded impatiently. ‘There’s nothing interesting here.’
I had to tap Gertrude on the shoulder before she roused from her reverie – or meditation, or prayer, or whatever it was. She turned to me with a particularly foolish look. ‘It is wonderful,’ she breathed. ‘To see Her here, in this setting; the air is permeated with Her presence, with the intensity of belief.’
‘If by Her, you refer to Isis,’ I remarked, ‘you have picked the wrong goddess. That is Nephthys. Isis is on the foot of the sarcophagus.’
Gertrude was not put out. ‘She manifests herself in many forms. All are She. She is all.’
‘Oh, really? Come, Gertrude, or we will be left behind.’
‘Not by me,’ Cyrus declared. ‘I have an arm for each of you, ladies.’
‘That would leave you no hand for your candle,’ I retorted. ‘Take care of Miss Marmaduke, Cyrus. I will follow behind with . . . Evelyn?’
She had already gone on – with whom I had not seen, but not with her husband. ‘With Walter,’ I finished. ‘May I have your arm, my dear?’
Not that I needed it. However, his hangdog look indicated that his fragile masculine ego required a little boost; and I was happy to supply it. We were the last to mount the stairs, leaving darkness to fill the desolate abandoned chamber once again.
At the suggestion of Ramses, who shares his father’s interest in mummies (to an exaggerated degree, I might add), we went next to the tomb of Amenhotep II, which had been discovered only the previous