The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [124]
‘Chicken wire! Is that Maspero’s notion of proper protection? Curse it . . .’
I will spare the Reader a repetition of his additional remarks.
Even the excellent picnic lunch Cyrus’ servants produced did not relieve his feelings. He was still in a surly mood after we finished eating, and declined to join us in an inspection of Belzoni’s tomb, as it is called after the name of its discoverer.
‘I have seen it a dozen times. You don’t need me; Walter and Ramses can tell you about the reliefs as well as I can. And Peabody, of course.’
Since the tomb (that of King Sethos I, to be precise) is one of the most handsomely decorated of all, there were still a number of cursed tourists hanging about, but they did not mar the enjoyment of my companions. A thrill of affection ran through me as I beheld Evelyn, her face rapt, examining the beautifully painted scenes. Her first and only visit to Egypt had ended in marriage and persistent motherhood; it was all new to her and as fascinating as art can be to a true artist. Gertrude found enough goddesses to keep her happy, and Ramses lectured till he was hoarse.
When we came out into the sunlight again, everyone was ready for a rest and liquid refreshment. The air, particularly in deep tombs like Sethos’, is very dry. Comfortably seated in the shade, we finished the tea and lemon drink the servants had brought.
Most of the tourists had gone; purple shadows lengthened as the sun sank towards the cliffs. ‘Where’s my old pal Emerson got to?’ Cyrus asked.
‘Deep down in a tomb, I expect,’ Walter replied with a smile. ‘He loses all track of time when he is absorbed in archaeology. We needn’t wait for him if you are tired, Evelyn. He will find his way back when he is ready.’
I rose and shook out my skirts. ‘The rest of you go on.’
‘If you wish to wait for the Professor, I will stay with you,’ said Sir Edward, gallant as always.
‘Idon’t intend to wait. I know where he has gone, and I am going the same way. I will meet you back at the dahabeeyah. Thank you, Cyrus, for a delightful day.’
Cyrus slapped his knee. ‘Gee whillikers, but I am a stupid old goat! I should have known he couldn’t stay away from that tomb of his. See here, Mrs Amelia, it’s a long, rough hike from here. You can’t go on foot.’
‘Emerson is on foot,’ I replied.
‘You are going over the mountain path?’ Sir Edward shook his head and smiled. ‘One day, Mrs Emerson, I will learn not to be surprised at anything you attempt. I will accompany you, of course, if I cannot dissuade you. And I feel fairly sure I cannot.’
He really had a very charming smile. Before I could assure him he was welcome, Ramses, already on his feet, said stiffly, ‘That is not necessary, sir. I will escort my mother.’
I was anxious to be off, so I cut short the agitated discussion that followed. Everyone offered to go; I selected the ones I knew could keep up with me. ‘Ramses, Nefret and Sir Edward. Good day to the rest of you.’
The view from the top of the cliff was glorious at that time of day, but we did not linger to enjoy it. As the sun sank lower, my uneasiness increased. We ought to have met Emerson returning before this. He would not have remained away so long without warning me of his intentions.
Instead of following the well-marked path that led to Deir el Bahri, I struck out to the north, following what I deemed to be the quickest if not easiest route. The track was in some places almost too rough for human feet, and had probably been made by goats. Since I was in something of a hurry, I accepted Sir Edward’s hand in the more difficult sections. Ramses and Nefret followed, and I am sorry to say that I heard a good deal of bad language from the latter as she fought off Ramses’ attempt to assist her in the same way. Some