Elizabeth Peters: A River in the Sky

“Mrs. Emerson. How do you do?”

“This,” said Spencer, forced into feeble civility, “is Mr. Smith.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said, arranging my skirts and my parasol. “His name is Tushingham, and I met him two years ago following a lecture he gave at the Royal Academy of Science. How are your botanical studies progressing, Mr. Tushingham?”

Over a chorus of snorts from Spencer and chuckles from Emerson, Tushingham said, “I did not presume to assume that you would remember me, Mrs. Emerson. Our encounter was fleeting, to say the least.”

“You mean you hoped I would not remember you. Never fear, Mr. Tushingham. My discretion is well known. Now let us not waste time, you probably have other matters to attend to and I mean to do a little shopping while I am in town. Major Morley is not a German agent.”

The general dropped heavily into a chair and stared at me. Tushingham seated himself and stared at Emerson.

“Does the Professor agree?”

“Oh, certainly,” said Emerson, standing behind my chair. “He is a common garden-variety adventurer. Not that he isn’t capable of making mischief. His notion of proper archaeological methodology-”

“What about the other fellow-Panagatopolous?” demanded the general.

“Panagopolous,” I corrected. “If he is secretly working for Germany, or any other government, he is the finest actor I have ever seen, on or off the stage. You know, of course, of his role in Morley’s project.”

“We investigated his background,” Tushingham said. “In his native Greece he is considered to be part of the lunatic fringe of biblical scholarship-harmless and possibly mentally disturbed. I-that is, we-assume Morley is using him and his bizarre theories as a rationale to mount an expedition.”

“I am certain that is the case,” I replied. “As for Morley, my husband and I are of the same mind concerning his motives. He isn’t the first treasure hunter to be enticed to the Holy Land.”

“Quite,” said Emerson. “Shapira, Parker-”

He would have gone on and on, and I was in a hurry to get to the shops, so I interrupted. “Religious fanaticism and greed, singly or in combination, have been responsible for a number of explosive incidents in Jerusalem. One needn’t invent German spies to explain this latest project, or wish to prevent it.”

Tushingham leaned back in his chair, ran his forefinger along his mustache and shot the general a meaningful glance. I had the distinct impression that he shared our opinion but had failed to convince his obsessed superior.

“Morley has raised a great deal of money from various wealthy, gullible individuals,” Emerson said. “Surely that constitutes fraud, or at the least-”

“I’m afraid not,” I said. “In our free society people are allowed to spend their money as foolishly as they like. You are wandering from the point, Emerson, if you will excuse me for saying so.”

General Spencer leaned forward, his elbows on his desk and his hands clasped. “And what, Mrs. Emerson, is the point?”

I told him.

“HE STILL BELIEVES MORLEY is working for the Germans,” I said as Emerson and I left the building. “Goodness, how dull these military persons are. Once they get an idea into their heads it is impossible to get it out. Mr. Tushingham, now-”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Tushingham?”

This was such an unjust reproof I realized Emerson was in a surly mood-possibly because I had removed him from the general’s office before he had a chance to enlarge upon his opinions. He had not offered me his arm. I took it and leaned upon it and replied, not to the question itself but to the annoyance that had prompted it.

“The lecture was on new varieties of wheat in the Golan Heights, Emerson. You refused to attend it because, as you so pithily put it, varieties of plant life are only of interest to you when they are on your dinner plate.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson. “He’s no damned botanist, is he?”

“Oh, yes, and a good one. Wasn’t it you who mentioned that exploration and archaeology make excellent cover for spies? The same is true of other scholarly professions-botanists, geologists, even ornithologists. They provide a legitimate excuse for persons to poke their noses into places where they might not otherwise-”

“I did point that out,” said Emerson between his teeth. “So you needn’t lecture me about a subject with which I am thoroughly acquainted.”

His point was valid, so I abandoned the subject. “There is a cab, Emerson.”

“So I see.” Emerson gestured, and the driver pulled in to the curb and stopped.

“Fine day, sir and madam,” he said, raising his whip in salute.

“Hmph,” said Emerson, helping me in. “Take us to Victoria Station.”

“By way of Harrods,” I said. “I have a great deal of shopping to do before we leave for Palestine.”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

From where Ramses stood at the top of the mound he could see some distance across the plain. It was a country of rolling hills and peaceful valleys, fields of grain laced by streams whose water caught the sunlight in a shimmer of sparkles, vineyards and groves of olive and fig trees. On the eastern slope of the hill a cluster of nondescript buildings marked the modern village of Sebaste. Behind him lay the ruins of the royal city built by King Herod in the first century. Reisner had identified the forum area, the road of columns that led round the hill to the forum, and the great temple Herod had raised to the glory of the emperor Augustus.

It was the latest of several cities that had occupied the same site, each built upon the ruins of its predecessor. Tells like this one were found all over Palestine, rising above the plain like the man-made hills they were. In theory it should have been possible to peel off each level of occupation sequentially, from top to bottom, with each successive level earlier in time than the one above. In actual practice, the separate levels were sometimes almost impossible to separate. New settlers had dismantled earlier structures and reused the stones, and dug foundations down through earlier strata, sometimes to bedrock. The result resembled a trifle that had been violently stirred with a spoon, mixing fruit and cake and cream into a hopeless jumble. (He had done that once when he was six years old, feeling that since everything got all mixed up inside anyhow, he might as well save time by doing it beforehand. The explanation, though quite logical, had failed to impress his mother.)

The only practical way of dealing with such a site was the one Reisner had adopted-digging straight down next to a foundation wall and trying to locate the dividing line between one occupation level and the one above it. Clearing then continued horizontally along that line. Ramses was waiting for Reisner to come and verify his belief that they had found an actual floor level. He wasn’t allowed to proceed until the Mudir had approved his findings.

In fact, Ramses thought, he had little more authority than the skilled Egyptian workers Reisner had brought with him to act as foremen. To be fair, he hadn’t had much experience in excavating a site like this one, only a single short season with Reisner the year before. But his work must have been satisfactory, or Reisner wouldn’t have asked him back…

Ramses shifted impatiently and stifled a yawn. He had dreamed about Nefret-a dream so vivid and intimate he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep afterward. He had been in love with her for years. Only recently had he discovered what an uphill battle he had to wage if he hoped to win her. She loved him too-as a brother and best friend. Sometimes he thought he’d stand a better chance if she regarded him with indifference or even dislike. His own instincts, as well as the advice he had been given from an unlikely but incontrovertible source, told him that his best course was patience. It was hard, though, when every fiber of his body and mind ached for her. Being away from her helped a little. He had accepted Reisner’s offer in part because it was an excuse to be away from England all summer.