The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [148]
“Oh, Emerson! Did you pick them for me?”
The hand that brushed my cheek was covered with scratches.
Everyone has been round to ask about you,” Nefret said. “Daoud and Selim, and Mr. Winlock and Mr. Barton, and half the village of Gurneh, including a curious goat, and Marjorie Fisher and Miss Buchanan, and a dozen others. The Vandergelts are here now.”
“How nice,” I said. “Ask them to come in, will you?”
“Mother, you mustn’t overdo. Too many visitors—”
“Will enliven me,” I declared. “And I want to see Ramses, and David, of course. And—”
“All right,” Nefret said reluctantly. “For a few minutes. Promise me you will remain quiet and not talk.”
“I must talk, I have a great deal to say.”
Nefret’s grave face broke into a smile. “Ten minutes, Mother, and not a minute longer.”
They crowded into the room, and the sight of those beloved faces would have lifted anyone’s spirits. “All right, are you, my boy?” I asked Ramses.
He nodded speechlessly. “Excellent,” I said. “I overheard much of what you said to Katchenovsky. What have you done with him?”
“He’s in hospital,” Emerson said. “Ramses damaged him rather extensively, but he’ll live—to face a charge of attempted murder.”
“I am sorry about him,” I said. “He is a talented scholar and was, I believe, a good man before temptation got the better of him. His confession clears up the remaining items on my list. Adrian Petherick is guilty of nothing except bullying his sister.”
“You mustn’t talk too much,” Nefret said, feeling my brow.
“Then let Ramses talk. What the devil—what was in that papyrus?”
“I’ve made a preliminary translation,” Ramses said. He took a paper from his pocket. “Parts of it were damaged or missing, so I have filled in the gaps as best I can. It is the confession of the original thief, describing where and how he found the golden statue.
“‘I took the image of this god from his tomb in the Great Place. Bakenamen son of Ptahmose took the other image and Sebekhotep the draftsman took rings of gold and a jeweled collar. The guards of the necropolis came upon us and seized Sebekhotep and Bakenamen, but I ran away without them seeing me. Now a sickness has seized my limbs and the gods are punishing me for my crime, and I cannot put the image of this god back. So I offer it to you, Lady of Turquoise, Lady of Mercy, that I may not profit from my crime and that I will win forgiveness in the Hereafter.’”
“Lady of Turquoise,” Nefret said. “The goddess Hathor.”
Ramses smiled at his wife. “The Golden One. He buried it near her temple, and that is where it was found, a few years ago, by a modern thief. In the last place one would expect—Deir el Medina, where the thief lived over three thousand years ago.”
“Amazing,” Bertie exclaimed. “It must be absolutely unique.”
“There are other papyri dealing with tomb robberies and the confessions of the thieves,” Ramses said. “They are Twentieth Dynasty in date. This is much earlier—Eighteenth Dynasty, if my analysis of the grammar and handwriting is correct. However, this is the only case where we have not only the confession of the thief but the actual object he stole.”
“I still don’t see why that is so important. Except, of course, from a scholarly point of view,” Bertie added, with a glance at Jumana.
“Be quiet, Mother.” Ramses placed his fingers lightly on my parted lips.
My voice somewhat muffled by Ramses’s fingers, I said, “There are two unknown royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Abdullah told me so.”
“She’s delirious,” Katherine said anxiously.
Nefret shook a thermometer under my nose. “She won’t be quiet while you are all here. Out, everyone.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
“How is she this morning?” Ramses asked. He was too familiar with his wife’s features to miss the faint signs of worry—the two light lines between her curved brows.
“A little feverish. That’s only to be expected. But I think I’d better stay with her today.”
Emerson pushed the food around his plate. “Of course. If someone doesn