The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [21]
“Very well, Emerson, if you would prefer I did not talk with him I will not. But what are we going to do? I assume he offered you another site?”
Emerson’s cheeks darkened. “Control yourself,” I implored. “Speak slowly and breathe deeply, Emerson. It cannot be as bad as that.”
“It is worse, Peabody. Do you know what site that bas—that wretch had the effrontery to offer me? ‘You desire pyramids,’ he said, with that French smirk of his, ‘I give you pyramids, my dear cabbage. Mazghunah. What do you say to Mazghunah?’”
He gave the guttural a rolling sound that made the word resemble an oath in some exotic language. “Mazghunah,” I echoed. “Emerson, I confess the name is wholly unfamiliar. Where is it?”
My admission of ignorance had the desired effect of soothing Emerson’s wounded dignity. He seldom gets the chance to lecture me on Egyptology. However, in this case I was not just being tactful. I did not recognize the name, and when Emerson had explained, I knew why it meant nothing to me—and why my poor spouse had been so wroth.
Mazghunah is only a few kilometers south of Dahshoor, the site we had wanted. Dahshoor, Sakkara, Giza and Mazghunah itself are the ancient cemeteries of Memphis, the once-great capital of ancient Egypt, of which only a few mounds of ruins now remain. All are close to Cairo and all boast pyramid tombs; but the two “pyramids” of Mazghunah exist only as limestone chips on the level desert floor. No one had bothered to investigate them because there was hardly anything left to investigate.
“There are also late cemeteries,” said Emerson with a sneer. “De Morgan made a point of that, as if it were an added inducement instead of a handicap.”
He pronounced the word “late” as if it were an insult, which to Emerson it was. Emerson’s interest in Egypt began about 4000 B.C. and stopped 2500 years later. Nothing after 1500 B.C. had the slightest attraction for him, and the late cemeteries were dated to Roman and Ptolemaic times—trash, so far as Emerson was concerned.
Though my own spirits were low, I sought to cheer my afflicted husband. “There may be papyri,” I said brightly. “Remember the papyri Mr. Petrie found at Hawara.”
Too late I realized that the name of Mr. Petrie was not designed to improve Emerson’s mood. Scowling, he attacked the fish the waiter had set in front of him, as if his fork were a spear and the fish were Mr. Petrie, boiled, flayed and at his mercy.
“He lied to me,” he grunted. “His publication was not ready. It was late this year. Did you know that, Amelia?”
I did know. He had told me approximately fifteen times. Emerson brooded darkly on the iniquities of Petrie and de Morgan. “He did it deliberately, Amelia. Mazghunah is close to Dahshoor; he will make sure I receive daily reports of his discoveries while I dig up Roman mummies and degenerate pottery.”
“Then don’t take Mazghunah. Demand another site.”
Emerson ate in silence for a time. Gradually his countenance lightened and a smile curved his well-shaped lips. I knew that smile. It boded ill for someone—and I thought I knew for whom.
At last my husband said slowly, “I will accept Mazghunah. You don’t mind, do you, Peabody? When I visited the site some years ago I determined to my own satisfaction that the remains were those of pyramids. The superstructures have entirely disappeared, but there are surely passageways and chambers underground. There is not a chance of anything better; Firth has Sakkara, and the Giza pyramids are so popular with tourists, one can’t work there.”
“I don’t mind. ‘Whither thou goest,’ you know, Emerson; but I do hope you are not planning any ill-advised assaults on M. de Morgan.”
“I cannot imagine what you mean,” said Emerson. “Naturally I will offer the gentleman the benefit of my experience and superior knowledge whenever the opportunity presents itself. I am determined to turn the other cheek, and render good where