“That is all very well, Emerson, but two of the original thieves have met a violent death. In criminal investigation -”
“This is not a criminal investigation,” said Emerson, with a snap of his teeth. “We have no proof of murder.”
Undeterred, I proceeded. “Then how do you explain the position of the body? It is a most inconvenient hiding place. How did Jamil – oh, very well, whoever it was – how did he get the body there?”
Emerson replied with a rhetorical question. “How did the ancient workmen get that damned sarcophagus of Hatshepsut’s into her tomb in the cliff? That tomb is even less accessible than this one, and a stone sarcophagus is considerably heavier than a man.”
“Perhaps it was meant to warn us, and others, away from the place.”
“There was nothing of value left in the tomb,” Emerson said. “Anyhow, Jamil knows better than to threaten me.”
The shrubbery outside rustled, and Horus came in through the open window. He was carrying something in his mouth.
“Oh, my goodness,” I exclaimed. “It’s not a mouse – it’s too big. A rat. Disgusting. Emerson -”
Emerson was too slow. Horus darted past him and laid the object at Nefret’s feet. He then sat down and stared fixedly at her.
“It’s not a rat,” Ramses said. He reached down and scooped the motionless form into his hands. “It’s a cat – a kitten. I’m afraid it’s…”
A faint but unmistakable purr contradicted his assumption. The small creature was so dirty I could not make out its markings.
Nefret said gently, “Cats sometimes purr when they are frightened or in pain. If it is beyond help, we had better put it out of its misery.”
The parlor door opened. Sennia stood on the threshold, rubbing her eyes. “Horus woke me up. He had… Oh!”
Emerson caught hold of her. “Now, child, don’t touch it. It is sick, or hurt, or…”
Sennia leaned against Emerson. She looked charming, her hair ruffled with sleep and the hem of her white nightdress baring slim brown feet and ankles. “If it is sick, Aunt Nefret will make it well.”
“Oh, Sennia…” Nefret glanced at the motionless body Ramses cradled in his cupped hands. “I’ll try. I’ll do my best. Go back to bed, darling.”
“Yes, Aunt Nefret. Horus, you are a good boy. Come to bed now, Aunt Nefret will take care of the kitty.”
Horus considered the suggestion. With what looked alarmingly like a nod of acquiescence, he got up and followed Sennia out.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, do you think you can… What is wrong with it?”
“I don’t know yet.” Nefret shrugged helplessly. “But I’ll have to find out, won’t I? Bring it along, Ramses.”
As I might have expected, Sennia was the first one down next morning. Gargery was trying to get her to eat her porridge – never an easy task – when we entered the dining room. She bounced up from her chair and ran to me. “How is the kitty? When can I see it?”
“I don’t know, Sennia. Ramses and Nefret have not come yet. Sit down and eat your breakfast. Where is Horus?”
“Under her chair,” said Gargery grimly. “As usual. Madam, what is all this about another cat? We don’t need one. We don’t need that one,” he added, with a baleful look at Horus.
“It is only a little cat,” said Sennia. “It is sick, but Aunt Nefret is going to make it well.”
Her bright, confident face made my heart sink. What she expected, in her innocent fashion, might be impossible, even for Nefret. Emerson cleared his throat. “Er – Sennia, the cat was – er – very sick. It may not…”
“There they are!” Sennia was out of her chair again, running to them. She threw her arms round Nefret’s waist. “Why didn’t you bring the kitty, Aunt Nefret?”
“It needs to rest,” Nefret said, after the obligatory grunt of expelled breath. “But it is better. Much better.”
Emerson’s face displayed his relief. He is such a sentimentalist about children, he could not bear to see Sennia disappointed. He did not even object when the entire conversation centered on the cat, for Sennia would talk of nothing else. She demanded a detailed diagnosis.
“Malnutrition and dehydration,” Nefret said. “With the attendant infections. The little creature has quite a will to live, though. The first thing it did was stagger to the food we put out for it and gulp it down. Then it tried to climb up Ramses’s leg.”
Sennia laughed. “Did it scratch, Ramses?”
“Not really. Its claws aren’t any longer than your eyelashes.”
“It thinks Ramses is its mother,” Nefret said. Sennia chortled, and Nefret added, “He sat up most of the night holding it.”
“It needed to be kept warm,” Ramses mumbled, looking embarrassed. “And it wouldn’t stay in its basket.”
“I am going to see it now,” Sennia announced. “You want to see it, too, don’t you, Gargery?”
Gargery tried to think of something that would express his feelings to the rest of us without betraying them to Sennia. He failed. “Yes,” he said resignedly.
The kitten served one useful purpose. I did not want to take Sennia with us on our first day at the dig, and she would have insisted on coming but for the distraction. Nefret offered to give her her first lesson in bones after the patient had been inspected, and Sennia promised to leave it alone the rest of the day. A convalescent does not fare well with an enthusiastic child poking at it, however good the child’s motives, and I took it for granted that the creature was not housebroken.
Naturally Ramses stayed with them, and Sennia kindly agreed to let Jumana join her biology lesson. They were to bring the horses and meet us later at Deir el Medina, where Selim and Daoud were waiting for us with the men they had hired.
Few tourists visit the site, which is tucked into a little valley in the hills of the West Bank. The only attraction for them is the Ptolemaic temple at the north end of the valley. It is a nice enough temple in its way, but it is too late in date to interest us. The people who do go there follow the route that includes more popular tourist attractions, from Deir el Bahri to Medinet Habu.
There is another path, however, that ascends one of the hills enclosing the settlement and continues at a considerable elevation, passing above the temples of Deir el Bahri on its way to the Place of Truth, as the Valley of the Kings was called in ancient times. We had often followed part of this route, climbing the slope behind the temple and going on to the Valley – or, as we had done two days earlier, striking off on that hair-raising climb over the plateau.
It was not the easiest way of getting to Deir el Medina, but Emerson proposed we follow it that first morning. He wanted to see what condition the southern section of the path was in, he explained. I was reasonably sure it was in exactly the same condition it had been the previous year and for countless years before, but I did not demur. When we reached the top of the hill above Deir el Bahri we stopped for a moment, as Abdullah and I had so often done.
I knew that Emerson was also thinking of Abdullah as we stood looking out across the desert and the cultivation. The air was clear that morning; we could see the miniature shapes of the temples on the East Bank, with the eastern cliffs behind them. However, his only audible expression of emotion was a loud clearing of his throat.
Instead of turning south toward Deir el Medina, Emerson set off along the trail that led to the Valley. He had not gone far before he stopped with a grunt of satisfaction. I could not see what had occasioned the satisfaction; he was looking at what appeared to be a row of tumbled stones, half-buried in sand.