Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [51]
He nodded at Ramses, who said gravely, “I would be happy to be of use, naturally.”
Emerson was peering down into the pit. “You won’t reach the bottom of the stairs before later this afternoon.”
“How do you know how many steps there are?” Lady Evelyn inquired pertly.
Emerson shrugged away the question as he would have shrugged off a fly. Glancing at him, Howard said, “The Professor bases his appraisal on the apparent dimension of the doorway, Evelyn. It is standardized in tombs of this period. Isn’t that right, sir?”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. His hands flexed, as if aching to grasp a tool.
No one was rude enough to tell us to go away. Nothing short of a direct order could have accomplished it, and Emerson would have ignored even that. We had waited for weeks to learn whether the doorway had been breached, and what lay beyond it. We stood round the edge of the stairwell, watching with pent breath as step after step came into view. Down below, the shape of the doorway lengthened, but it was impossible to make out details owing to the lack of light. Finally Reis Girigar called out, “Sixteen steps, mudir. The door is clear.”
Emerson was quivering like a hunting dog waiting to be released. He controlled himself, however, and so Howard was the first to descend. Carnarvon and Lady Evelyn were next. A mumble of conversation followed, broken by the young lady’s cries of excitement. Then Howard came back up.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “You don’t look at all pleased, Howard. Don’t tell me…”
“There are signs of forced entry. A hole. It was filled in afterward.”
“But that is encouraging news, Carter,” Ramses said. “If the tomb had been completely looted, the necropolis priests would not have bothered to close up the hole and stamp their seals all over the door. Are there any other seals?”
“Dozens of them.” Carnarvon gasped. His daughter helped him up the stairs. “Hundreds. Carter couldn’t read them…”
I should explain, in Howard’s defense, that the seals to which Carnarvon referred had been stamped into the wet plaster after it was spread across the stones of the doorway. The passage of time, and perhaps the hastiness of the ancient workers, had wrought considerable damage on these impressions. Crumbling and broken, they were not easy to decipher, especially by a man in a considerable state of excitement.
Nefret hastened to Carnarvon and took his other arm. “Sit down here in the shade, sir.”
“Yes, do, Pups.” Lady Evelyn looked doubtfully at Nefret. “You’re a doctor, they tell me? Is he all right?”
“It’s just excitement, I think,” Nefret said with a reassuring smile.
“I can’t rest until I know what those seals read,” Carnarvon insisted. “Is there a king’s name? Whose name?”
“Ramses,” said Emerson. “Relieve his lordship’s mind, if you please.”
“Yes, sir,” Ramses said. “Unless Mr. Carter would rather—”
“No, no,” Carter said. “That is…yes. Come along.”
They went down together. Knowing his father was about to burst, Ramses reported his findings in a loud, clear voice. “There are signs of entry at the top of the doorway—an uneven, roughly oval gap, which has been blocked up again and resealed. There are more necropolis seals—the jackal and the nine kneeling captives—and a number of cartouches.”
A cry from Lord Carnarvon was echoed by one from Emerson. “Whose?” they shouted.
“Most of them are illegible, or nearly so, but they appear to be the same name.”
Carter said something in a low voice—a question, to judge by the inflection. “I agree,” Ramses said loudly. “That is definitely a neb sign. And at the top, a sun disk.”
“Nebkheperure,” Emerson said.
“Possibly,” Ramses said cautiously.
“Not Tutankhamon?” Lady Evelyn asked.
“Nebkheperure is Tutankhamon,” I said.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOR A FEW MINUTES THE SILENCE WAS ABSOLUTE. HAD WE INDEED found the missing tomb of that shadowy monarch, the last of his line, the successor of the great heretic Akhenaton? When Howard and Ramses came up the stairs, Carnarvon burst out, “The doorway must