The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [123]
We retreated into the next room, where was to be seen one of the most curious sights in the Valley. In addition to the shrouded and encoffined royal dead, the tomb had contained three other mummies. They lay where they had been found, naked and unnamed. Two had been sadly battered by the ancient tomb robbers and did not look very nice, though the effect was nothing near so ghastly as our unnamed mummy. One, that of a woman, retained even yet a remote beauty. Her long dark hair lay round her head.
Of course we found Ramses already there, bending over the mummies. Nefret was with him, and as we came in we heard Ramses remark, ‘The mummification technique is certainly that of the Eighteenth Dynasty. Observe the incision.’
Which Nefret did, her face close to the unpleasant surface of the mummy. Emerson chuckled. (The most peculiar things put him in a pleasant temper.)
‘I am glad to see you both working hard at your studies,’ he said. ‘Have you reached any conclusions, Ramses?’
‘As to the possible identity of these individuals, you mean?’ Ramses thoughtfully fingered his chin. ‘It has been suggested, I believe, that the older woman is the great Hatshepsut herself.’
Nefret let out a little exclamation of interest and knelt to examine the body more closely. ‘Could the younger individuals be her children?’
‘Impossible to determine,’ said Ramses. ‘And there is no more reason to suppose that this is Hatshepsut than any other royal woman of the period whose mummy is as yet unknown.’
A loud ‘Pardon, madame!’ behind me made me step aside. Two tourists entered, followed by Sir Edward, whose expressive eyebrow lifted at the sight of Ramses and Nefret crouching beside the mummies.
‘Amazing young woman,’ he murmured. ‘Most gels would run shrieking from such a sight.’
‘Most gels have been trained to behave like idiots,’ I replied.
‘I am entirely of your opinion, Mrs Emerson. After the ladies whom I have had the good fortune to meet this season, the ordinary young Englishwoman will seem vapid and childish.’
I acknowledged the implied compliment with a smile.
The tourists were, as the Reader has undoubtedly deduced, of the French nation. I deduced, further, that they were on their bridal trip. (They were young, their clothing was new and of the latest fashion, and she clung to his arm in a manner typical of brides.) The young man’s swagger and loud voice and the high-pitched giggles with which she responded to his feeble witticisms were also indicative.
Emerson was already simmering with rage; he had protested loudly to M. Maspero about leaving the mummies unprotected. The rude comments of the young male person did nothing to calm him. When the latter poked at one of the pitiful cadavers with his gold-headed stick, Emerson could contain himself no longer.
‘Sacrebleu!’ he shouted. ‘Que le diable vous emporte! Aî ne maudit!’ and other, even more emphatic, expressions of disapproval.
The tourists went quickly away. I caught Emerson’s arm and prevented him from pursuing them. Sir Edward began to laugh.
‘Very eloquent, Professor.’
Emerson’s rigid arms relaxed. ‘Oh, curse it. I don’t know why I bother. It is a wonder some collector hasn’t walked off with these poor cadavers already. I must have a word with Carter about this.’
Climbing back up the rough rubble-strewn stairs was even more difficult than the descent had been, with only a rope handrail to offer assistance. We stopped midway up to see the other peculiar