Elizabeth Peters - A River in the Sky

He squinted up at the sun. Reisner was taking his own sweet time. The waiting workmen had squatted and lit cigarettes; listening with half an ear to their low-voiced conversation, Ramses wondered whether one of them was the stone-thrower. The boy with the soft brown eyes, whose beard had barely begun to grow? The bent old graybeard, who wielded a pickax with a young man’s strength? Like his parents, he had always made a point of getting to know the men who worked for them-asking about their families, making certain they got medical attention when it was needed. His mother had earned the title of Lady Doctor, and some of the men preferred her treatments to those of Nefret, who had been medically trained. In his mother’s case, it was probably sheer force of will that made her so successful. You wouldn’t dare die if the Sitt Hakim told you you would live.

With a workforce of more than four hundred men, as was the case here, it was impossible to learn much about the workers, but Ramses had managed to establish friendly relations with several of the men in his own gang. From one of them came a polite cough and a soft inquiry.

“Do we still wait, Brother of Demons? I have no more cigarettes.”

A murmur of mingled disapproval and amusement arose from the other men, but Mitab, the questioner, only smiled guilelessly. Ramses realized that the supervisors Reisner had brought with him from Egypt must have told the locals about his Arabic sobriquet. There was a sort of unwritten rule about the use of these names; they were usually employed in direct address only when they were flattering, like Nefret’s Nur Misur, Light of Egypt, and his mother’s Sitt Hakim. He had earned his appellation because of his purported control of supernatural forces. It might have been meant as a compliment, but Ramses had made it clear that he didn’t much appreciate the distinction. Mitab was not, to put it nicely, the most intelligent of the men. He hadn’t meant to offend.

Ramses smiled and tossed down a tin of cigarettes. He had brought an ample supply, knowing they made small but welcome gifts. “Here is Ali now, bringing the word of the Mudir.”

The word wasn’t what Ramses had expected: “The Mudir wishes you to come to him.”

Ali spoke the idiomatic Arabic of Cairo, which was as familiar to Ramses as his native English. “Now?” Ramses asked in surprise. “I have been waiting for him to tell the men how to go on from here. I think we’ve found a floor level.”

Ali cast an expert eye over the area Ramses had indicated. “You are right, I think. But the Mudir said come now.”

He didn’t have to add: When the Mudir says now he means now. Ramses nodded. He picked up the coat he had removed when the sun rose higher and began picking his way across the uneven surface of the summit, where their excavations had exposed structures dating back to pre-Roman eras. As he approached the western slope, where Reisner was working, he saw a group of people near one of the large circular towers that had been part of a defensive wall.

Ramses swore under his breath. They were frequently interrupted by visitors. Sebaste was off the beaten track for the usual pilgrims, whose standard tours of the Holy Land allowed little time for anything except Jerusalem and the nearby biblical sites, but a few of the diehards (fanatics, as Reisner had once been heard to remark) made it there. As the youngest and least important member of the staff, Ramses was the one appointed to show visitors around and keep them out of Reisner’s way. The tomb of John the Baptist was the chief attraction, with a massive door said to be that of his prison. There was a tomb, or at least a dome covering something, in the courtyard of what had been a Crusader church before it was turned into a mosque. The remains of the church had some points of interest, but not for Ramses, who had seen them too many times. He had also heard more than he wanted to hear about King Ahab, whose bloodstained chariot had been washed in a pool by the gate of Samaria. There was a gate, but the existing structure was Roman, built some eight hundred years after Ahab had ruled at Samaria. He had learned it was a waste of time to mention this to the pilgrims or to point out that according to the historian Josephus, John the Baptist had been beheaded at a castle on the Dead Sea.

They didn’t look like pilgrims. Two of them appeared to be part of an official escort, dressed in shabby uniforms trimmed with an excess of tarnished gold braid. A third man wore a white robe and the green turban restricted to descendants of the Prophet. He was an impressive figure, taller than most, with the sculptured features of a Bedouin, but Ramses’s attention was held by the woman who was the center of the group.

Her costume was, to say the least, unusual: riding boots and trousers, topped by a knee-length garment of vivid emerald-green. A cloak of gray homespun hung from her slim shoulders; her fair hair had been wound into a coronet around her head. Her hands were covered with gauntlets of supple leather. One held a riding crop.

Seeing Ramses, Reisner broke off his lecture with unconcealed relief. “Madame von Eine, may I present my colleague, Ramses Emerson. He will be happy to show you around the acropolis.”

A light, uncomfortable shock ran through Ramses when her eyes focused on him. They were an unusual shade of pale blue-gray, but in their depths he saw a spark of light, like a flame under clouded glass. Her gaze moved from his face to his feet and back again, with the cool appraisal of a potential buyer inspecting a piece of merchandise.

“Ramses,” she repeated. “What an extraordinary name.”

Ramses could not have said what prompted him to reply in German. Her slight accent had suggested she was of that nationality, but it was in part a response to her condescending tone. “It is a Kosename, madam, used by my friends and family.”

“Aber natürlich. You must be Walter P. Emerson, who wrote that pleasant little book on Egyptian grammar.”

“I am flattered,” Ramses said mendaciously.

“Mme von Eine is a specialist in Hittite remains,” Reisner said, cutting the amenities short. “We have found nothing of that period, madame, but Ramses will show you the Herodian forum area and the Israelite levels if you like.”

“Thank you.” She nodded graciously, a noble lady acknowledging the courtesy of an inferior. “I won’t take any more of your time, Mr. Reisner. You are anxious, I know, to get on with your work.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Reisner muttered.

Without waiting for Ramses to lead the way, she started up the slope, her attendants following. Ramses had to take long strides in order to catch her up. He hadn’t realized how tall she was until he stood next to her.

“The terrain is a bit uneven,” he said, offering his hand.

After an almost imperceptible hesitation she put a slim gloved hand in his. When they reached the summit she withdrew her hand and looked expectantly at Ramses. Ramses launched into his lecture.

“After the death of Solomon, his realm broke up into two separate kingdoms-Israel in the north and Judah in the south. Samaria was the capital of the northern kingdom, whose most famous rulers were Omri and Ahab. It was Omri-”

Seeing her expression, he broke off in some confusion. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I slipped into the standard lecture. You know all that, of course.”

“Of course.” She moved to one side and looked down at the stretches of wall just below. “Seleucid,” she said.

“Quite. Dated to approximately 125 B.C. by means of coins found above and below the floors.”

He went on with his lecture as they moved forward, getting no response except an occasional nod, until she interrupted in the midst of a description of the Greek and Babylonian remains.