The Golden One

by Elizabeth Peters

Gargery entered at that moment to announce we had guests. “Mr. Bertie and Mr. Cyrus. You didn’t tell us they were expected for breakfast, madam.”

  “Stop trying to put me in the wrong, Gargery,” I said somewhat snappishly. “They were not expected.”

  “But we are always glad to see them,” Fatima said, adding plates and cups and silverware to the table, and bustling out for more food.

  “Sorry to disturb you folks,” Cyrus said. He did not look at all sorry. Bliss – delight – happiness… The words are too weak for the emotion that transformed his face. The only other time I had seen that glow was on the day he and Katherine were wed.

  “What is it, Cyrus?” I cried, jumping to my feet.

  “It’s for Bertie to make the announcement,” Cyrus replied. He was puffed with pride.

  Bertie looked round the table. “Where’s Jumana? She should be here.”

  “Oh my goodness,” I gasped. “You aren’t… you two aren’t engaged?”

  Bertie’s boyish laugh rang out. “Better than that, Mrs. Emerson. We’ve found it, Jumana and I. Jamil’s tomb.”

  Pandemonium ensued. Even Gargery, who had only the vaguest notion of what Bertie meant, clapped his hands and joined in the cries of excitement and congratulation. As the others gathered round Bertie, all talking at once, I slipped out of the room.

  Jumana was sitting on her bed, her hands folded and her face smeared with dried tears. Now that I got a good look at her, I realized she was not dressed for a romantic rendezvous. Her shirt and trousers were torn and dusty, her boots were scuffed, and her hair straggled over her face.

  “Bertie is here,” I said.

  She jumped up. “Then it’s all right? He told you? I promised I would not, it was to be a surprise, his surprise. May I go now?” She let out a peal of laughter. “I am very hungry!”

  Ah, the resilience of youth! From despair to delight in the twinkling of an eye! I could have let her go without further delay; I was tempted to do so, but justice compelled me to make what amends I could.

  “First, I must apologize,” I said.

  “Apologize? To me? Why?”

  “For misjudging you. I was wrong, and you were right to keep your promise to Bertie. I deeply regret the injustice I did you and I hope you will forgive me.” I held out my hand. She would have fainted with sheer surprise if I had attempted to embrace her, and anyhow, she was very grubby.

  “Forgive? You?” She stared wide-eyed at my offered hand.

  “I did you an injustice,” I repeated. “Shake hands, if you will, and then go to the others.”

  She did not shake my hand. She kissed it, fervently and damply, gave me a radiant smile, and ran out of the room.

  I would not have blamed her for taking advantage of her role as heroine – misjudged, falsely accused heroine at that! Instead she insisted that all the credit belonged to Bertie. It was he and he alone who had deduced where the tomb must be.

  “But where is it?” Emerson shouted, tugging at his hair. “Bertie won’t say. Jumana, where -”

  “We want to show you,” Bertie explained. “You’ll never believe it otherwise.”

  “They’re entitled,” Ramses said, smiling in sympathy. “Lead the way, Bertie.”

  He led us to Deir el Medina.

  Our men were there, waiting to begin the day’s work. Ramses called them to gather round, explaining that Bertie had an important announcement to make. The truth had begun to dawn on Emerson by then. “It can’t be,” he mumbled. “I don’t believe it. Damnation!”

  “Father, if you please,” Ramses said. “Bertie, you have the floor.” He added, with a grin, “Make the most of it.”

  “Oh, well,” Bertie said, blushing. “It was an accident, really, you know. I sat here for days with my foot up and nothing much to do but stare at the scenery. I got to know it pretty well. Look up there.”

  He pointed.

  Straight ahead, the walls of the temple occupied the opening of the little valley, with the fields and the river stretching out to the north and the cliffs rising up on either side. The ruined tombs of the workers were scattered along the western slope. Bertie’s extended arm indicated the highest point, to the left of the temple. We stared in silent bewilderment for a time. We were all looking for a sculpture – the figure of a god, weathered by time, shaped by the hand of man.

  A divinity had shaped it – nature herself. As I have had occasion to mention, the rock formations of the western mountains assume bizarre forms. This might have been a giant fist, gripping the crest of the hill – four regular, rounded, parallel shapes, with a small spur of rock next to them like the end of a thumb. It was a prominent landmark, rising high above the lower, less precipitous part of the hillside, and once the eye had defined it the resemblance was unmistakable.

  “There!” I exclaimed in wonderment. “Emerson, do you see?”

  Emerson removed his pith helmet and flung it onto the ground. I gave him a warning frown and a little poke. It was sufficient; his better nature triumphed over envy. “Well, well,” he said hoarsely. “Hmph. That is – congratulations, Vandergelt.”

  Cyrus slapped him on the back. “It belongs to both of us, old pal. All of us, I should say.”

  “No, no.” Emerson drew himself up. “We made an agreement, Vandergelt. The tombs of Deir el Medina are yours, and it was Bertie who found this one. Congratulations, I say.”

  Never had I admired my dear Emerson more. He looked so noble, his shoulders thrown back and his tanned face wearing a strained smile, it was all I could do not to embrace him. Cyrus was equally moved. He took out his handkerchief and blew his nose.

  “That’s darned decent of you, Emerson. But no more than I expected.”

  “And no less than you deserve,” Emerson said gruffly. “So where is the damned tomb?”

  “In that crack between the first and second fingers,” Bertie said. “It took us several days – nights, I should say – to find it. Fortunately the moon has been full. We haven’t been inside. We thought Cyrus ought to have the privilege,” he added, wincing as Cyrus seized his hand and wrung it vigorously.

  “Are you sure the passage is open?” I asked. “I know Jamil has been in and out of the place, but he is – was – slightly built and agile and foolhardy.”

  Naturally the men ignored this sensible comment. Emerson’s eyes glittered like sapphires. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

  We restrained Emerson while we discussed the best way to proceed. Bertie explained how he and Jumana had managed it, scaling the cliff and lowering themselves from above by means of a rope. Emerson was pleased to approve this plan, though if I had not kept hold of him he would have started straight up the sheerest part of the cliff.

  We all went, of course, including Selim and Daoud. Their assistance was invaluable, for it was a tricky climb. When we stood atop the rounded “finger” looking down, I addressed Jumana, who had stuck to me like a burr.

  “You did this at night? Really, my dear, was that wise? You ought to have told the Professor, or Cyrus, of your theory.”

  Bertie overheard. “It was my fault, Mrs. Emerson. I wanted to be sure before I told anyone. I didn’t mean to tell Jumana either, but I asked too many questions – about the terrain here, and whether Jamil had explored this area – and she wrung it out of me.”

  He turned to respond to Emerson, and Jumana said in a low voice, “He would have searched alone. It was too dangerous.”

  “It certainly would have been,” I agreed. “I am surprised he allowed you to accompany him.”

  “He said I could not. So,” said Jumana coolly, “I told him that you and Nefret do not let Ramses and the Professor stop you from doing what you want, and I was trying to be like you. But you see why I could not speak before. He trusted me, and I had – I had been unkind and unfair to him.”

  “Ah,” I said somewhat uneasily. “So you think well of him, do you?”

  She met my eyes directly and with no sign of self-consciousness
. “He is a good man. We are friends, I hope.”

  I hoped so too.

  Watching Daoud knot the rope round Cyrus’s waist, I issued a final order. “Cyrus, stop at once and come back if the passage becomes too narrow or the ceiling looks unstable or -”

  “Sure, Amelia. Lower away, Daoud.”

  “You shouldn’t have allowed him to go first, Emerson,” I scolded, as Cyrus’s body disappeared into the crevice.

  “My dear Peabody, how could I deprive him of a moment he has waited for his whole life? If he died in the attempt, he would die happy. That,” Emerson added quickly, “was only a figure of speech. Nothing is going to happen. But – er – well, perhaps I ought to follow him.”

  “Not with one arm, Emerson!”

  “They will have to lower me, that’s all,” said Emerson, his chin protruding in a manner that made remonstrance useless. “We’ve another rope, haven’t we?”

  “It will be a tight fit,” Bertie warned. “There’s a roughish platform, about five feet square, with the passage going off into the cliff at a right angle. It’s partially filled with -”

  “Plenty of room,” said Emerson, tossing one end of the rope to Selim and trying to knot the other end round his waist.

  I said, “Oh, curse it,” and tied the knot myself. Then I lay flat on the ground peering down into the crevice as Emerson was lowered.

  With the rope anchored and held by both Selim and Ramses, I was not afraid Emerson would fall. I was afraid he would try to crawl into the narrow passage and get stuck like a cork in a bottle. It was quite dark down there except for the limited light of Emerson’s torch. I could see very little, and the auditory sense was not of much help either, thanks to the echoes that distorted every sound. The rope went loose and Emerson yelled something, and I let out a small exclamation.

  “It’s all right, Mother,” Ramses said. “He’s reached the platform.”

  “He won’t be able to get through the passage,” I muttered. “He’s twice the size of Jamil.”

  “He’ll get through,” Ramses said, passing his sleeve over his perspiring face. “If he has to dig the fill out with his bare hands. One bare hand.”

  I could hear him doing it. Loose rock began falling from the bottom of the cleft, rattling down the hillside. It slowed and stopped. After that there was nothing but silence, until a call from Cyrus brought us all to our feet. Daoud seized the rope and pulled with all his might. As soon as Cyrus’s head appeared we fell on him and dragged him out.

  “Well?” I cried.

  Cyrus shook his head. His lips moved, but no words emerged. Tears ran down his face. His eyes were red-rimmed.

  “Dust,” said my practical son. He handed Cyrus the water bottle, and then leaped for the other rope as it tightened. With Daoud’s help they soon had Emerson up; he hadn’t even bothered tying the rope round his body, but was holding on with one hand. We hauled him over the edge and he staggered to his feet, blinking bloodshot eyes.

  “There are four coffins,” he gasped. “Four. Four of everything, packed into that room from floor to ceiling and side to side. Four sets of canopic jars, four gold-inlaid boxes, four funerary papyri, four hundred ushebtis, four thousand -”

  Cyrus began jumping up and down and waving his arms. “The God’s Wives,” he bellowed. “Four! I never thought I’d live to see this day! If I were struck dead tonight, I’d be the happiest man alive.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I said, catching hold of him. “You would be dead. And you will be, if you fall off the cliff.”

  I wanted to take Emerson home; he had ruined another shirt squeezing through those tight spaces, and banged his head, and scraped most of the skin off both hands and cracked the cast. Cyrus was in little better case, but neither of them heard a word I said; they kept shouting enthusiastically at each other and shaking hands. I consigned them both to the devil (they didn’t hear that either) and concluded I was entitled to satisfy my own curiosity.

  We went down in turn, two at a time for safety’s sake: Jumana and Bertie, Ramses and I, Selim and Daoud. Emerson offered to take Nefret, but she said she believed she would wait. The procedure was somewhat uncomfortable – crawling on hands and knees over rough fragments of stone, with dust choking one’s mouth and an occasional bat squeaking past overhead, but the sight was so incredible I would not have wanted to miss it.

  The opening of the chamber had been closed with mortared blocks. Jamil had removed the upper layers, stacking the stones along the passage, which made the last few feet something of a squeeze. Looking in, I saw at first only a dazzle of gold. It was the end of an anthropoid coffin, inlaid with glass and semiprecious stones. Packed all around it were smaller objects: woven baskets, caskets of ebony and cedar, tattered fragments of papyrus and linen. Jamil had rummaged through the smaller boxes, dragging out anything he could reach.

  Cyrus’s long patient wait had been rewarded at last. This was another cache, like that of the royal mummies; loyal followers of the Adorers of the God had rescued them and their funerary goods from tomb robbers, and hidden them away in this remote spot. Time and careless handling had destroyed some of the artifacts, but it was still one of the richest finds ever made in Egypt.

  We could not even begin excavating the tomb chamber that day. The passage and the platform had to be completely cleared first and a method of stabilizing and removing the objects determined upon. Needless to say, all work came to a standstill; the men danced and sang and cheered and Daoud told them all extravagant lies about the treasures in the chamber. It was necessary to make arrangements for guards, by day and by night, for the news would spread like wildfire.

  “We might stop at Gurneh and have a word with Mohammed Hassan,” I suggested. “A curse or two, perhaps?”

  Emerson chuckled. “He will probably cry like a baby. Yes, I will point out the moral advantages of honesty. If he had not cheated Jamil, he’d have had a chance at this tomb.”

  “It would have been a bit tricky,” Ramses said. “Even if they worked only at night, they would have left traces of their activities, and we might have observed those signs. That was why Jamil tried to lure us out into the western wadis. He wanted everyone away from Deir el Medina.”

  Since the tomb must not be left unguarded for an instant, Daoud and several of the other men volunteered to stay until evening, when they would be relieved.

  “I suppose you plan to sleep here every night,” I said to Cyrus.

  “Every night and every day till we can get a steel door in place. Jumping Jehoshaphat, Amelia, you don’t know what this means to me! Katherine! I’ve got to tell Katherine. She’ll be so durned proud of this boy! And then,” Cyrus went on, grinning fiendishly, “maybe I’ll just run over to Luxor and break the news to Joe Albion. I want to see his face when he hears.”

  We sent Selim off with a list of the equipment we would need, and dismissed the men for the day. A celebration was definitely in order; Cyrus had promised the greatest fantasia ever seen in Luxor, but that would have to wait. Excitement and exertion had left everyone weary, and Bertie and Jumana both showed the effects of several sleepless nights. I instructed Bertie to go home and rest.

  We had an early night too. Tea and biscuits and Sennia’s excited questions revived Jumana temporarily, but I sent her off to bed immediately after dinner. Sennia would not go to bed until Emerson promised to take her into the tomb.

  “Emerson, I absolutely forbid it,” I exclaimed, after she had gone dancing off with Horus in her arms.

  “Oh, come, Peabody, don’t be a spoilsport. Ramses was in and out of worse places when he was her age. I won’t take her until we’ve made sure it’s safe.” He threw his napkin on the table and stood up. “I’m late. Vandergelt will be there already.”

  “Emerson,” I said. “This is Cyrus’s tomb. He is in charge, not you.”

  Emerson looked uncomfortable. “I suppose I am allowed to offer my expert advice?”

  “Not unless he asks for it. He is generously al
lowing you to participate, which is more than you ever did for him!”

  “Hmph,” said Emerson, stroking his chin.

  “You might quite properly offer him the assistance of your staff,” Ramses suggested.

  “Oh. Hmmm. Certainly. Including myself?” He gave me a questioning look.

  I pretended to consider. Emerson had really behaved quite well, for him. “If he asks you,” I conceded.

  “He asked me to stand guard with him tonight.”

  “Then you may go.”

  Emerson burst out laughing and gave me a bruising hug. “Thank you for giving me permission, my dear. Ramses, are you coming?”

  “No,” I said, before Ramses could reply. “He won’t be needed. Nefret, you might have another look at his injury. In my opinion he overdid it today.”

  FROM MANUSCRIPT H

  Nefret had also noticed that her husband seemed abstracted. He submitted without comment to her examination, but she found no cause for concern. The wound was healing well.

  “It’s nice to have an evening to ourselves,” she said.

  “Yes.” He was prowling restlessly around the sitting room, picking up a book and putting it down, straightening a stack of papers. Hands folded in her lap, she watched him for a while and then took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding.

  “I have something to tell you,” she said.

  He came to her at once, dropping to his knees in front of the chair and taking the hand she offered.

  “I wondered.” His other hand came to rest lightly on her waist. “But I didn’t want to ask.”

  “Why not? You had every right.”

  “No, I hadn’t. When did you know? Nefret, look at me. Before Gaza?”

  She might have equivocated, mentioned the various factors that made certainty difficult. She met his troubled gaze squarely. “Yes.”

  “And you risked that? That awful trip, the danger, the -”

  She took his face between her hands. “I knew it would be all right. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. I would have risked it anyhow. I want this very much, but you are the dearest thing in the world to me. I let you go – I let you take the risk – but I’d have died of suspense waiting in Cairo. Oh, darling, aren’t you glad?”