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.