The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [19]
“The decision is not so easy to make,” Emerson replied, holding out his cup to be refilled. “I was tempted by Sakkara; so little has been done there, and I am of the opinion that there is a great Eighteenth Dynasty cemetery somewhere in the vicinity of Memphis.”
“That is a logical deduction,” I agreed. “Especially in view of the fact that Lepsius mentions seeing such tombs in 1843.”
“Peabody, if you don’t refrain from anticipating my brilliant deductions I shall divorce you,” Emerson said amiably. “Those tombs of Lepsius’s are now lost; it would be quite a coup to find them again, and perhaps others. However, Thebes also has its attraction. Most of the royal mummies of the Empire have now been found, but… By the by, did I tell you I knew of that second cache of mummies, in the tomb of Amenhotep the Second, fifteen years ago?”
“Yes, my dear, you have mentioned it approximately ten times since we heard of Loret’s discovery of the tomb last March. Why you didn’t open the tomb yourself and get the credit—”
“Credit be damned. You know my views, Peabody; once a tomb or a site is uncovered, the scavengers descend. Like most archaeologists, that incompetent idiot Loret doesn’t supervise his men adequately. They made off with valuable objects from that tomb under his very nose; some have already appeared on the market. Until the Antiquities Department is properly organized—”
“Yes, my dear, I know your views,” I said soothingly, for Emerson was capable of lecturing on that subject for hours. “So you are considering the Valley of the Kings? If the royal mummies have all been found—”
“But the original tombs have not. We are still missing those of Hatshepsut, Ahmose, Amenhotep the First and Thutmose the Third, to mention only a few. And I have never been certain that the tomb we found was really that of Tutankhamon.”
“It could have belonged to no one else,” I said. “However, I agree with you that there are royal tombs yet to be found. Our old friend Cyrus Vandergelt will be there again this season, will he not? He has often asked you to work with him.”
“Not with, but for him,” Emerson answered with a scowl. “I have nothing against Americans, even rich Americans— even rich American dilettantes—but I work for no man. You have too many cursed old friends, Peabody.”
My famous intuition failed on this occasion. No tremor of premonitory horror ran through me. “I hope you don’t harbor any doubts as to Mr. Vandergelt’s intentions, Emerson.”
“You mean, am I jealous? My dear, I abjured that unworthy emotion long ago. You convinced me, as I hope I convinced you, that there could never be the slightest cause. Old married people like ourselves, Peabody, have passed through the cataracts of youthful passion into the serene pool of matrimonial affection.”
“Hmmm,” I said.
“In fact,” Emerson went on, “I have been thinking for some time that we need to examine our plans, not for this year, but for the future. Archaeology is changing, Peabody. Pétrie is still bouncing around like a rubber ball, tackling a different site each year—”
“We have done the same.”
“Yes, but in my opinion this has become increasingly ineffective. Look at Petrie’s excavation reports. They are…” Emerson almost choked on the admission that his chief rival had any good qualities, but managed to get it out. “They are—er—not bad. Not bad at all. But in a single season’s work he cannot do more than scratch at the site, and once the monuments are uncovered they are as good as gone.”
“I agree, Emerson. What do you propose?”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Without waiting for an answer he took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “What I propose is that we focus on a single site, not for one season, but until we have found everything that is to be found and recorded everything in painstaking detail. We will need a larger staff, of course—experts in