Tomb of the Golden Bird

  TOMB OF THE GOLDEN BIRD

  Elizabeth Peters

  DEDICATION

  To Phil and Kathe Gust

  Members of the Fellowship

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  LIST OF CHARACTERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AFTERWORD

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY ELIZABETH PETERS

  CREDITS

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  LIST OF CHARACTERS

  The Emersons and their kin

  Professor Radcliffe Emerson, “the greatest Egyptologist of this or any other century”

  Amelia Peabody Emerson, his wife

  “Ramses,” Walter Peabody Emerson, their son

  Nefret Emerson, Ramses’s wife

  David John and Charlotte (Charla), their twin children

  Walter Emerson, Radcliffe’s younger brother

  Evelyn Emerson, his wife

  Seth, alias Sethos, alias Anthony Bissinghurst, Radcliffe’s “other brother”; half-brother of Radcliffe and Walter

  Sennia Emerson, child of Amelia’s nephew (formally adopted)

  David Todros, grandson of Abdullah (see below)

  Lia Todros, née Emerson, his wife, daughter of Walter and Evelyn

  Gargery, their butler, who considers himself a member of the family

  Their Egyptian family

  Abdullah, their former reis (foreman), now deceased (or is he?)

  Selim, his youngest son, the present reis

  Daoud, Abdullah’s cousin, assistant reis

  Kadija, his wife

  Sabir, his son

  Ali Yussuf, Hassan; his other sons

  Fatima, the Emersons’ housekeeper in Luxor

  Vandergelts and staff

  Cyrus, American millionaire, longtime friend of the Emersons, and sponsor of excavations in Egypt

  Katherine, his wife

  Bertie, her son, adopted by Cyrus

  Jumana, daughter of Abdullah’s brother, first Egyptian woman trained in Egyptology

  Suzanne Malraux, artist

  Nadji Farid, excavator

  Luxorites

  Inspector Ibrahim Aziz, chief of Luxor Police

  Lieutenant Gabra, his assistant

  Deib, Farhat and Aguil ibn Simsah, tomb robbers

  Azmi, enterprising water boy

  Wasim, a guard

  Elia, the twins’ nursemaid

  Kareem, incompetent footman of the Emersons’

  Badra, sous-chef

  Jamad, stableman

  Maaman, the Emersons’ cook

  Abdul, servant at Winter Palace Hotel

  Ishak, guard in Valley of the Kings

  Reis Girigar, Howard Carter’s reis

  Ali, suffragi at Shepheard’s Hotel, Cairo

  Ali Ibrahim, boatman

  Journalists

  Margaret Minton, Morning Mirror (married to Sethos)

  Kevin O’Connell, Daily Yell

  Bradstreet, Morning Post (Cairo) NY Times

  Bancroft, Daily Mail

  Arthur Merton, London Times

  Archaeologists and hangers-on

  Howard Carter, excavating in the Valley of the Kings

  Lord Carnarvon, his patron, aka “Pups”

  Lady Evelyn Herbert, Carnarvon’s daughter

  “Pecky” Callender, engineer and architect, friend of Carter

  Herbert Winlock, head of the Metropolitan Museum staff at Deir el Bahri, Luxor

  George Barton, one of his staff

  Pierre Lacau, Director of the Service des Antiquités

  Rex Engelbach, Chief Inspector for Upper Egypt

  Ibrahim Effendi, his assistant

  Theodore Davis, former American sponsor of excavations in the Valley of the Kings

  Arthur Weigall, former Chief Inspector for Upper Egypt

  Arthur Mace, member of Metropolitan Museum staff

  Harry Burton, photographer, ditto

  Hall and Hauser, draftsmen, ditto

  Alfred Lucas, head of chemical laboratory of Survey Department, Egypt

  Mr. and Mrs. Davies, artists, copyists of Egyptian tombs

  Alan Gardiner, British philologist

  James Henry Breasted, American Egyptologist

  His wife; his son Charles

  Animals

  Amira, dog

  the Great Cat of Re

  Risha, Ramses’s Arabian stallion

  Moonlight, Nefret’s mare

  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 to his beautiful wife Nefret, but it might be asking too much of a lady who is approaching a certain time of life to allow her husband close association with a younger female. Miss Malraux was half French. And she was bound to be attracted to Ramses. Women were. His gentle manners (my contribution) and athletic frame (his father’s), his somewhat exotic good
looks, and a certain je ne sais quoi (in fact I knew perfectly well what it was, but refused to employ the vulgar terms currently in use…).

  No, despite our need for additional staff, it might not be advisable.

  “Have you had any interesting encounters?” Ramses asked, looking over the people taking tea on the terrace. They were the usual sort—well dressed, well groomed, and almost all white—if that word can be used to describe complexions that ranged from pimply pale to sunburned crimson.

  “Lord and Lady Allenby stopped to say hello,” I replied. “He was most agreeable, but I understand why people refer to him as the Bull. He has that set to his jaw.”

  “He has to be forceful. As high commissioner he is under fire from the imperialists in the British government and the Nationalists in Egypt. On the whole, I can only commend his efforts.”

  I did not want to talk politics. The subject was too depressing.

  “There is your father,” I said. “Late as usual.”

  Ramses looked over his shoulder at the street. There was no mistaking Emerson. He is one of the finest-looking men I have ever beheld: raven locks and eyes of a penetrating sapphirine blue, a form as impressive as it had been when I first met him, he stood a head taller than those around him and his booming voice was audible some distance away. He was employing it freely, greeting acquaintances in a mixture of English and Arabic, the latter liberally salted with the expletives that have given him the Egyptian sobriquet of Father of Curses. Egyptians had become accustomed to this habit and replied with broad grins to remarks such as “How are you, Ibrahim, you old son of an incontinent camel?” My distinguished husband, the finest Egyptologist of this or any era, had earned the respect of the Egyptians with whom he had lived for so many years because he treated them as he did his fellow archaeologists. That is to say, he cursed all of them impartially when they did something that vexed him. It was not difficult to vex Emerson. Few people lived up to his rigid professional standards, and time had not mellowed his quick temper.

  “He’s got someone with him,” said Ramses.

  “Well, well,” I said. “What a surprise.”

  The individual who followed in Emerson’s mighty wake was none other than Howard Carter.

  Perhaps I should explain the reason for my sarcasm, for such it was. Howard was one of our oldest friends, an archaeologist whose career had undergone several reversals and recoveries. He was presently employed by Lord Carnarvon to search for royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Searching for royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings was Emerson’s great ambition—one he could not fulfill until Carnarvon gave up his concession. Rumor had it that his lordship was about to do so, having come to the conclusion—shared by most Egyptologists—that the Valley had yielded all it ever would.

  Emerson did not share that conclusion. At the end of the previous season he had admitted to me that he believed there was at least one more royal tomb to be found—that of the little-known king Tutankhamon. He had done his best, without actually lying, to conceal this belief from Howard. One of the reasons why we had come to Egypt so much earlier than was our custom was to discover what plans Howard and his patron had made for the coming season.

  One look at Emerson’s expressive countenance told me what I wanted to know. Despite the heartiness of his vociferous greetings, his sapphirine eyes were dull, his well-cut lips set in a downward curve. Carnarvon had not abandoned his concession.

  However, Howard Carter appeared no more cheerful. Nattily dressed as was his habit in a tweed suit and bow tie, a cigarette holder in his hand, he addressed me with a rather stiff bow before assuming the seat I indicated.

  “How nice to see you, Howard,” I said. “We tried several times this summer to communicate with you, but without success.”

  “Sorry,” Howard muttered. “I was in and out, you know. Busy.”

  “I ran into him by accident at the office of the director,” said Emerson, who had been haunting that spot for two days. He relapsed into gloomy silence. Ramses gave me a meaningful look and tried to revive the conversation.

  “Like ourselves, you are out early this year, Carter.”

  “Had to be.”

  The waiter approached with a tray. He had, with the efficiency one expects at Shepheard’s, noted our number and brought cups and biscuits for all.

  “The area where I mean to excavate is very popular with tourists,” Howard resumed. “Want to get it over before they arrive in full force.”

  “Ah,” said Ramses. “So Lord Carnarvon has decided on another season. We had heard he was thinking of giving up the firman.”

  Emerson made a soft growling sound, but Howard perked up a trifle. “One more season, at least. I persuaded him we must examine that small triangle we left unexcavated near Ramses VI before we can claim we have finished the job we set out to do.” He glanced at Emerson, and added, “I have the Professor to thank for that. Initially his lordship was of the opinion that another season in the Valley would be a waste of time, but when I told him that Professor Emerson had offered to take over the concession and my services, Carnarvon had second thoughts.”

  “Naturally,” I said, managing not to look at Emerson. “Well, Howard, we wish you good fortune and good hunting. When are you off to Luxor?”

  “Not for a while. I want to visit the antiquities dealers. Though I don’t suppose I will come across anything as remarkable as that statuette you found last year.”

  “I doubt you will,” said Emerson, cheering up a bit.

  Howard asked about our own plans, and we thanked him for allowing us to continue working in the West Valley, which was properly part of his lordship’s concession. After we had finished tea and Howard had taken his leave, I turned to Emerson.

  “Don’t say it,” muttered my husband.

  “Emerson, you know I would never reproach you for failing to follow my advice. I did warn you, however, that making that offer to Lord Carnarvon would have an effect contrary to what you had hoped. Given your reputation, your interest was bound to inspire a spirit of competition in—”

  “I told you—” Emerson shouted. People at a nearby table turned to stare. Emerson glared at them, and they found other objects of interest. With a visible effort he turned the glare into a pained smile, directed at me. “I beg your pardon, my dear Peabody.”

  That brief moment of temper was the most encouraging thing I had seen for months. Ever since my near demise the previous spring Emerson had treated me as if I were still on my deathbed. He hadn’t shouted at me once. It was very exasperating. Emerson is never more imposing than when he is in a rage, and I missed our animated discussions.

  I smiled fondly at him. “Ah, well, it is water over the dam. We will not discuss it further. Ramses, when are Nefret and the children due back from Atiyeh?”

  Ramses consulted his watch. “They ought to have been here by now, but you know how difficult it is to extract the twins from their admirers in the village.”

  “You ought to have gone with them,” said Emerson, still looking for someone to quarrel with.

  “Nonsense,” I said briskly. “Selim and Daoud and Fatima went with them, which was only proper, since they wanted to visit with their friends and kinfolk. They ought to be able to keep two five-year-olds from taking harm.”

  “It would take more than three or four people to keep Charla from doing something harmful, to herself or others,” said Emerson darkly.

  In this assumption he was justified, since his granddaughter had a more adventurous spirit than her brother, and an explosive temper. However, it was not Charla who returned cradled in the muscular arms of Daoud. We had returned to our sitting room in the hotel, and when Emerson saw David John limp as a dead fish and green-faced as a pea, he sprang up from his chair with a resounding oath.

  “Hell and damnation! What is wrong with the boy? Daoud, I trusted you to—”

  “He’s drunk,” shouted David John’s twin sister, her black eyes shining and her black curls bouncing as she jumped up and down with excitement. “The boys gave him beer and dared him to drink it.” She added regretfully, “They wouldn’t let me have any, they said it was only for men.”