They had slain three loyal men of Pharaoh’s and found it funny? Renifer felt as if she had been thrown into a sewage ditch. She could never be cleansed of the evil her father had done.
“I think, Pankh, we should say that you and I captured the actual robbers,” said Pen-Meru. “They are being tortured even now, and dispatched to the Land in the West.”
“What if He asks to see the prisoners?” said Pankh.
Pen-Meru shrugged. “We stake out a few peasants.”
Renifer was appalled. “You would execute innocent men, pretending they robbed this tomb? But this is Egypt! Such things do not happen here.”
“Would you rather that I and your future husband got staked out in the desert?” said Pen-Meru.
Renifer remembered how Pankh had stroked the goddess Sekhmet. It had not been worship, or lack of worship. It had been blackmail. Your daughter marries me, Pen-Meru, or I bring Pharaoh into your gates to see what you have stolen from Him.
I am the daughter of a tomb robber, thought Renifer. I will be made to marry a tomb robber. My father and husband will force my sons to be tomb robbers.
Renifer caught the distant scent of incense being burned. Somewhere a priest was obeying the sacred rites. Much good it did him, when people like her father were abroad in the land.
Here had Princess Meresankh prayed as Renifer sang, “Sky and stars make music for you. Sun and moon praise you. Gods exalt you and goddesses lift their voices.” But Meresankh’s grandmother was not exalted now. Renifer’s family had brought her down.
Her father said to Pankh, “Even if Pharaoh believes our story, I think we will be executed. Pharaoh will find out that not only is His mother’s tomb nearly empty, but her mummy is gone. He’ll execute everyone in sight. He might execute the whole battalion of tomb police, even those not on duty this month.”
“You stole the queen’s mummy?” cried Renifer. Her family would be haunted forever. The powerful ka of the queen would waylay them by night and set traps for them by day. Renifer’s children would be doomed to lives of terror.
Horror curdled in her stomach like goat’s milk in the sun. She was not going to have children. She too would be staked out in the desert, three days dying, jackals waiting. Renifer’s eternity would be spent in limbo, with neither rest nor joy. She hardly minded (although probably she would mind when they actually drove the stake through her). Such a fate was richly deserved by a family that profaned the tomb of a queen.
“We took the inner coffin, Renifer,” said her father irritably, “because it contained the finest jewels. Of course it had her mummy in it.”
“Where did you put the mummy?” said Renifer, trying not to sob. “We’ll put it back. She must lie among her remaining tomb goods.”
“I tossed the mummy in the desert after I peeled away the gold and silver,” said Pen-Meru.
The verb he used—toss—was horrible in its simplicity. Children tossed balls. Her father had tossed aside the mummy of a queen as if it had no more meaning than a child’s toy.
“Did you always know about this?” Renifer said in Pankh’s direction. She could not face him.
“I’ve been helping since I was twelve.” His voice was proud and even sassy, as if he had always wanted to swagger in front of her with this information, and now at last, his real self could stand before her: tomb robber.
Renifer was weeping. “Does Mother know?” she asked her father.
“She pretends not to. Like you.”
“But I didn’t know,” she cried.
They lost interest in her silly vapors and returned to the problem at hand.
“More soldiers will be here soon,” said Pen-Meru gloomily. “That means Pharaoh will be told soon. They’ll go down the shaft and report to Pharaoh that not only was His mother’s tomb robbed, her bones are gone. We are dead men.”
“I’ve got it,” said Pankh excitedly. “We tell Him that we, in our glory, prevented the robbery. The valor of Pen-Meru and his future son-in-law, Pankh, led to the deaths of some robbers—but the others fled. We tell Pharaoh that since the escaped evildoers now know where the opening of the queen’s tomb is, we recommend an immediate solution to Pharaoh.”
Pankh was almost jumping up and down in his delight. Renifer wondered how she had ever found this man attractive.
“You will recall, Pen-Meru,” said her beloved, “that adjacent to that temple being constructed close to the Pyramid is an unused tomb. It was built for Princess Nitiqret of Blessed Memory, but she chose to be buried in her husband’s tomb. How we will praise the vacant tomb! We will convince Pharaoh that it is fit for the ka of His mother. Even now, we will explain to Him, we are swiftly removing the tomb furniture from this defiled spot and have taken the blessed body of Hetepheres to its new and safe resting place.” He folded his arms over his chest, swollen with pride at his brilliant idea.
“It’s not much of a tomb,” said Pen-Meru doubtfully. “It’s hardly a closet. They sank it very deep, but since Nitiqret was buried elsewhere, they never began the wall paintings or finished up—”
“Who cares?” said Pankh impatiently. “Pharaoh is never going to descend the shaft to see. He will believe you. You in your radiance will have acted swiftly and with reverence to rescue a queen whose safe harbor has been invaded. I will treat you as a god before Him, marveling in the splendor of your quick thinking and willingness to die for the queen. He’ll fall for it.”
“Maybe,” said Renifer’s father. “But maybe not. Pharaoh isn’t stupid.”
“May I remind you what will happen if we allow Pharaoh’s servants to climb down that shaft?”
And then the time for planning was over. The chapel filled with more tomb police. Shocked and saddened by the loss of their colleagues, they let Pen-Meru take charge. He motioned them into a huddle, giving instructions.
“We work quickly to transfer the remaining tomb furniture,” said Pen-Meru. “Pharaoh will kill every one of us for failing to keep His mother’s tomb safe. But if He thinks that in the end, we did keep her safe … Well, then. Not only do we survive, He will pay us each a great reward.”
The tomb police, afraid of the wrath of Pharaoh, agreed.
Renifer felt there was a flaw in the plan. Everybody knew where tomb entrances were. The moment a chapel was raised, the world understood that the tomb lay beneath.
Does Pharaoh think nobody knows where He will lie? wondered Renifer. Having built the largest pyramid in the world above His shaft? Not that anybody could ever shift those stones. Still …
For the first time she realized that Pharaoh would not bury Himself beneath His Pyramid. He would have a real grave site, hidden and safe. The Pyramid was many things, and one was trickery.
Every tomb policeman went to work immediately. They delegated and planned, summoning laborers and torches, planks and ropes, carts and baskets.
Although Hetepheres’ sarcophagus weighed many tons, removing it was not difficult, as the equipment was close at hand and used every day. Once lifted up, it was placed on rollers, hitched to ropes that were hitched to men, and moved to the mouth of the new tomb. Nitiqret’s shaft was far deeper. Affixing the strongest of papyrus ropes, the men lowered the sarcophagus easily, their only worry that the ropes would split under the weight and the coffin drop to the bottom and break into a thousand pieces. But that did not happen.
The remaining pieces of tomb furniture—only a bed canopy and a carrying chair had not been stolen—were taken down and piled against the wall. The gold hieroglyphs of the queen’s name glittered against the black ebony of her bed.
“Now,” said Pen-Meru, “we go to Pharaoh.”
Renifer did not want to imagine the scene with Pharaoh, as her father and her future husband outdid themselves with lies to the Living God. If Pharaoh believed the untruths Pen-Meru put before Him, would it prove that He was man and not God? And if He were man, and not God, what then was Egypt? What were the sun and the Nile? Who controlled them and made them great?
Renifer felt bludgeoned by the heat and sun, the shock and shame.
“The more distinguished the ceremony of reburying Hetepheres,” said Pankh, “the less Pharaoh will question the details. Girls are useful in ceremonies. They add a feeling of reverence and grace. You, Renifer, will sing. He loves your voice. And the girl of ivory we will dress as a handmaiden. She is just the kind of gift to please Pharaoh.”
Renifer had forgotten the girl of ivory.
Was she indeed a ka? Could she be Queen Hetepheres’ ka? Once Father had thrown Hetepheres’ body to the jackals, had the ka lost its way in the papyrus swamp? Or could the girl of ivory be a messenger sent by Hetepheres?
Why had Pankh cried out the name of the queen when he first saw the girl of ivory? Because he knew what he had done to Hetepheres? Or because her ka put those syllables in his mouth?
Renifer found the girl still in the shade of the silver portico among the fronds of the green ferns. She seemed neither afraid nor confused, but lightly embraced Renifer, as if to say that she understood.
The great sun was sinking now in bloodred splendor. Pharaoh’s barge was visible in the square lagoon far down the causeway.
“The timing is good,” said Pankh. “Tomorrow Pharaoh has planned a great feast to welcome the return of the admiral from Lebanon. Not only did the admiral successfully acquire twelve ships of cedar logs, he brought dancing bears and trained dwarfs. Pharaoh will want to complete the reburial tonight, so that tomorrow He can concentrate on the celebrations.”
Renifer was beginning to believe the outrageous plan might succeed.
Her father said, “You, Renifer, will utter the sacraments when we seal His mother in darkness. You will describe how the girl of ivory arrived; how she was sent by a ka. Pharaoh loves omens from the next world. Don’t say she’s just a foreigner who needed a bath. Then, deep in the night, we bring Him to the top of the new shaft. We let Pharaoh catch a glimpse of gold at the bottom, shining in the moonlight. He will assume that everything originally with the queen is still with the queen! And because we left behind her stone sarcophagus—after all, it has no resale value—He will think her silver and gold coffin is within.”
“What do you bet,” said Pankh, “that in His gratitude, He even invites us to the feast for the admiral?”
Pen-Meru laughed and bet the golden Sekhmet. Pankh bet six gold necklaces. They slapped hands to seal the bet.
Farmers were yanked from a field. They insisted they were not tomb robbers. But of course, that is what a robber would shout as he was carried to the desert edge. Once they understood their fate, they began screaming and fighting, but to no avail. The stakes were driven in slowly, to prolong the pain.
Renifer felt the stakes through her own heart; through all her hopes.
“What if the girl of ivory runs away or behaves badly?” asked Father.
“She loves gold,” said Pankh. “Adorn her in much gold and she will be happy.”
CAMILLA
Oh! the compliments of the men as they gathered for dinner at the French embassy in Cairo. The smiles with which the men greeted Camilla, upon being introduced. The admiring eyes. The tender remarks. Dizzy with excitement, Camilla flirted and laughed.
“If only we were not going to war!” cried the British officers. “We would surely beg the pleasure of your company at our dances, Miss Matthews.”
How splendid the British were, chests crossed by sashes, hung with bejeweled military crosses, decked out in many-colored ribbons.
Dr. Lightner bowed to them, saying with great courtesy, “I hope you will join us for a dance I will give in her honor.”
“But of course!” cried the guests. “Such a beautiful woman deserves everything in her honor.”
“Ah,” said the French, sounding so intimate that Camilla blushed, “quelle perfection.”
Camilla could not stop smiling. Neither could Dr. Lightner. Camilla could have swirled around the room forever, height forgotten, as she and Dr. Lightner drifted from group to group.
“What a pleasure this is,” said Dr. Lightner, as they waltzed in graceful circles. “Normally I am the outcast. The tedious scholar who writes books. Tonight, I have grace and appeal, Miss Matthews, because of your company.”
Her very height prevented even Dr. Lightner from knowing how young she was; it was a disguise in inches. She was by far the youngest at the party, but she was holding her own. She wanted the introductions to go on forever, but of course, eventually the guest of honor arrived and they must all sit down for a formal dinner.
The guest of honor was very fat, strapped into his dinner jacket and cummerbund. His jowls layered down onto his chest and his arms were so thick he could hardly bend at the elbows.
“A very rich man indeed,” said a British officer, admiring the amount of meat and brandy it took to achieve such girth.
“Excellent mustache,” said another.
The guest had a strong American accent. The British flinched slightly at his vulgar words and the French raised their eyebrows. The Germans could not be bothered to cross the room. But Dr. Lightner was most eager to meet the gentleman. “An American art collector!” he whispered. “It’s very new. All the best people are doing it now. It gives one hope for America. We will bring him to the excavation.”
And then for the first time that evening, Dr. Lightner’s face drooped into tired lines. “He will expect glory,” said the archaeologist sadly, “and find only potsherds. He will expect gold. I did not want to sully this lovely evening, Miss Matthews, with the sad fact of what happened this afternoon. We cannot find the gold sandal.”
Camilla was so flushed with excitement that another layer of pink in her cheeks was not noticeable. “It must have been mislaid,” she said.
“Nobody mislays gold. They do, however, steal it.”
“No!” cried Camilla. “Surely not. Who at your dig would stoop so low?” She wondered when they would search the gentlemen’s tent. They might not, now that she thought of it. It would be too great an insult for young men so full of importance.
“Hush,” murmured Dr. Lightner. “Let us not speak of regrettable events during this fine occasion. Come, it is our turn to be presented to the guest of honor.”
Camilla was oddly afraid. This close, the body did not seem grand, but gross. The mustache not lush, but graying moss creeping over the lips and into the mouth. The swollen hand that gripped hers was girded in rings so tight that the flesh burst out around them. The man’s breath stank of pipe tobacco and he had already had too much brandy.
The party felt infected.
“And this lovely lady?” he said. A smile crawled out from behind the moss of his mustache.
Camilla tried to smile, but did not achieve it.
“This,” said Archibald Lightner proudly, “is my guest, sir. Miss Camilla Matthews.”
A flicker of amusement went through the man’s eyes, and Camilla felt owned, as a slave might be, or a factory hand.
“Ah, yes,” said the guest of honor. “The famous Miss Matthews. The reporter from Kansas.”
In all America, only Mr. Duffie knew there was a Camilla Matthews who claimed to be a reporter. Mr. Duffie and one other man. Camilla tried to step back, but the man did not release his grip, as a gentleman should. “Hiram Stratton, Sr., at your service, ma’am,” said he.
Camilla tried to extricate her hands from his paws but he did not allow it. She would have to scrub her fingers as she had scrubbed herself from the dread of leprosy.
I would rather have leprosy than touch Hiram Stratton, she thought. Why did I not realize that he would come? It is my own telegraph that brought him. Of course he would not trust me to bring his beloved son home. After all, I had no intention of doing it. I intended his son to live out his days, or at least a few years, in an Egyptian prison.
But I have failed.
Whether or not the gold sandal is found among Strat’s belongings, nothing will happen to the boy. Hiram Stratton’s power is tangible eve
n in this room that belongs to another government. His power will work anywhere. In Egypt, being paid off has been a tradition for thousands of years. There will still be a joyful reunion, and father and son will go home to burn down yet another factory.
“Mr. Stratton, sir!” cried Dr. Lightner. “What a privilege to encounter a man of your stature. It is my hope to be permitted to bring you to Giza, that I may myself escort you among the ancient Egyptian monuments, and have the great pleasure of showing you the excavation under my supervision. Just this week, we uncovered a hitherto unknown tomb. It is full of mystery.”
“Fine, fine,” said Hiram Stratton, already bored.
“In fact, my good sir,” said Dr. Lightner, now somewhat uneasy, “among the young men spending a year with me in lieu of being broadened by travel in the more usual places, young men educated at Harvard and Yale, Princeton and Dartmouth …” Dr. Lightner paused, as if hoping he need not go on.
“Among those young men,” said Hiram Stratton, “is my own son. Do not be uncomfortable with the admission. It is I who am ashamed. He went to Yale, but did not succeed. He has not, in fact, succeeded anywhere. He lacks capacity for anything except failure.”
The French were horrified that a father would speak like that. The British were expressionless. The Germans, of course, had still not bothered to cross the room.
“I’ve come to bring him home,” said Hiram Stratton. “He belongs in prison and I plan to put him there.” The man’s face split open in what must have been a smile. Camilla could not look at it.
“In prison?” repeated Dr. Lightner, appalled. “Surely not, Mr. Stratton. He seems a delightful fellow. Has taken fine pictures. In fact, he’s the one who found the tomb about which I am so excited!”
“I was not blessed with a good son,” said Hiram Stratton. “Throughout his life it has been necessary to curb him. I incarcerated him in an asylum for the good of the community.”
You did not! thought Camilla. You locked him up because he defied you. It was easy to show the factory workers who was boss: burn their jobs. It was easy to show your son, too. Whip Strat until he cringed in the manner you like to see in dogs.