Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [1]
Asfur, David’s horse
Eva, Amelia’s mare
Ancient Egyptians and gods
Mertseger, “She Who Loves Silence”; cobra-headed goddess, name given to the pyramid-shaped mountain at Valley of the Kings
Amon, chief god of Thebes
Aton, the “sole god” of Akhenaton, below
Akhenaton, “the Heretic,” pharaoh of late Eighteenth Dynasty
Nebkheperure Tutankhamon (Tutankhaton); possibly son of above
Ankhesenamon (Ankhesenpaaton); wife of above, daughter of Akhenaton
Nefertiti, wife of Akhenaton
Seti II, one of the “confusing pharaohs,” Twentieth Dynasty
Ramses VI, one of the lesser Ramses, Twentieth Dynasty
And
Sir Malcolm Page Henley de Montague, wealthy collector
Sir William Portmanteau, Suzanne’s grandfather
Fuad, King of Egypt
Feisal, King of Iraq
Saad Zaghlul, head of Egyptian Nationalist Party
Gertrude Bell, English explorer, writer, king-maker
Ibn Saud, ruler of Arabia
Sayid Talib, Iraqi nationalist regarded by many as the most logical candidate to rule that country
Mohammed Fehmi, aka Bashir, Egyptian nationalist and ex-revolutionary
Bracegirdle-Boisdragon, aka Mr. Smith, head of a certain department that is unnamed
Wetherby, his assistant
Thomas Russell Pasha, Commandant of Cairo Police
Lord Edmund Allenby, British High Commissioner, Egypt
CHAPTER ONE
“RAMSES!”
Seated on the terrace of Shepheard’s Hotel, I watched with interest as a tall young man stopped and turned, as if in response to the calling of his name. Yet this was not the fourteenth century B.C., but the year of our Lord 1922; and the tall man was no ancient pharaoh. Though his bronzed skin and black hair resembled those of an Egyptian, his height and bearing proclaimed him for what he was—an English gentleman of the finest quality. He was also my son, “Ramses” Walter Peabody Emerson, who was better known in Egypt by his sobriquet.
He raised his hand to his brow, and realized that (as usual) he was not wearing a hat. In lieu of removing that which was not present he inclined his head in greeting, and one of his rare, attractive smiles warmed his thin face. I craned my neck and half rose from my chair in order to see the individual who had occasioned this response, but the crowds that filled the street blocked my view. Cairo traffic had grown worse since my early days in Egypt; motorcars now mingled with donkeys and camels, carts and carriages, and the disgusting effluvions their engines emitted offended the nostrils more than the odors of the abovementioned beasts—to which, admittedly, I had become accustomed.
I deduced that the person my son addressed was of short stature, and most probably female (basing this latter assumption on Ramses’s attempt to remove his hat and the affability of his smile). A portly person wearing a very large turban and mounted on a very small donkey passed in front of my son, and by the time he had gone by Ramses was wending his way toward the steps of the hotel and the table where I sat awaiting him.
“Who was that?” I demanded.
“Good afternoon to you too, Mother.” Ramses bent to kiss my cheek.
“Good afternoon. Who was that?”
“Who was whom?”
“Ramses,” I said warningly.
My son abandoned his teasing. “I believe you are not acquainted with her, Mother. Her name is Suzanne Malraux, and she studied with Mr. Petrie.”
“Ah yes,” I said. “You are mistaken, Ramses, I heard of her last year from Professor Petrie. He described her work as adequate.”
“That sounds like Petrie.” Ramses sat down and adjusted his long legs under the table. “But you must give him credit; he has always been willing to train women in archaeology.”
“I have never denied Petrie any of the acclaim that is his due, Ramses.”
Ramses’s smile acknowledged the ambiguity of the statement. “Training is one thing, employment another. She has been unable to find a position.”
I wondered if Ramses was implying that we take the young woman on to our staff. She might have approached him rather than his father or me. He was, I admit, more approachable, particularly by young ladies. Let me hasten to add that he did not invite the approaches. He was devoted