The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [141]
‘Another of your aphorisms, Peabody?’ Amusement brightened the blue eyes under the lowering brows. After greeting the others he condescended to take a chair and a cup of tea.
‘Very well, Peabody, I am braced and ready. Propose your scheme.’
‘The news is out,’ I said. ‘If it has not already spread to Luxor, it soon will, and then it will be on its way to Cairo. We must send official notification to M. Maspero.’
‘Cursed if I will,’ Emerson growled. ‘He will come haring down here and insist on opening the sarcophagus. I won’t have him tramping through my debris.’
‘Would you rather he heard of it from someone else? For he surely will, and then he would have grounds for resentment.’
‘We were planning to build elevated ramps and platforms,’ Ramses said.
Emerson turned an awful frown on his son. ‘Sturdy enough to support Maspero’s weight?’
‘That is rude, Emerson,’ I said, as Walter stifled a laugh behind his hand. ‘And, if you will forgive me, irrelevant. If we cannot prevent the news from spreading, we can at least control it – and make good use of the loyal friends who can now be taken into our confidence.’
‘Whom did you have in mind?’ Emerson inquired suspiciously.
‘Cyrus, of course, and his new assistant; Howard Carter –’
‘If you mention the name of a certain redheaded journalist, Amelia, I may lose my temper.’
‘I am only suggesting, Emerson, that you leave that side of the business to me. You will be fully occupied with the excavation. I will handle everything else.’
‘You will anyhow,’ Emerson muttered. ‘Oh, very well. Is that Sir Edward coming? High bloody time! Nefret, get your notebook.’
I could not resist going up with them to have another look. On the previous afternoon the men had removed all but the lowest course of the remaining stones, and constructed a sloping ramp to the top of the sarcophagus. It was firmly anchored at the base and secured at its upper end by a complex arrangement of ropes, but the slope was steep, and I must admit it was rather amusing to watch Sir Edward creep up it on hands and knees, camera and tripod strapped to his back. He had obviously taken Emerson’s threat to heart, for he moved very carefully.
There were wonderful things in that small room. To the left of the door a carved chair or throne lay on its side in what appeared to be a pool of gold. The wood had shrunk and split, and the gold leaf that had covered most of the surface had fallen off. Those paper-thin sections of gold defined the original dimensions of the chair. It could be rebuilt if the gold was handled carefully. The same was true of the other inlaid pieces of furniture – a low bedstead with lion’s feet, long poles that might belong to a carrying chair or a canopy. Leaning against the wall stood two large circular objects that had wrung a reverent ‘By the Almighty!’ from Emerson. They appeared to be wheels – but belonging to what sort of vehicle? My suggestion, that it had been the chariot of a warrior queen, made Emerson groan aloud. ‘Impossible,’ he muttered. ‘Not at this period. At least . . . Oh, good Gad!’
He would have to restrain his burning curiosity, for the wheels were at the far side of the room, separated from us by several feet of incredible litter – baskets, pots, stone vessels, objects of bronze and faience. My eye was drawn to a tumbled heap of beads – gold and carnelian, lapis and turquoise – mixed in with gold spacers and exquisitely inlaid clasps. The queen’s jewellery box had collapsed and shattered and the strings had decayed; but if we could preserve the present arrangement, the jewellery could be restored to its original beauty. Paraffin wax, melted and dashed over the fragments, would hold those beads in place . . .
My fingers itched, but I turned away from the enticing mess. Emerson had not thanked me for my sacrifice. I felt certain, however, that he would acknowledge it at a later time. He knew – who better? – that I would have preferred to remain. Archaeological fever