A River in the Sky

“The police will want an identification,” Ramses said. “I am one of the few who can provide it. Excuse me, Mother.”

The argument was logical, but I knew he had another reason. He wanted to be sure his nemesis was dead.

In point of fact, he had a third reason, which I did not learn until he returned an hour later. He found the rest of us still at table waiting. It was impossible to go on with our daily tasks until doubt had been removed.

“Well?” I said anxiously.

“It was he. The police have removed him.” Ramses put an object down on the table. “This was still inside his robe.”

At first I did not recognize the carved box, it was so warped and battered. Cracks ran the length of the sides and base, but the ornate brass clasp had held.

“What is it?” Nefret asked.

“The motive behind Mansur’s actions,” Ramses said. He wrenched the lid open. We crowded round, heads together, inspecting the contents. For those of us who still had hopes of a jeweled reliquary or golden ornaments, the result was, to say the least, disappointing. The entire box was filled with a layer of mud or clay less than two inches deep.

“A box filled with mud?” Nefret said.

“Clay,” Ramses corrected. “Until a thorough soaking dissolved it, this was a clay tablet like the ones found at Amarna and in the Hittite archives. It bore a long inscription in cuneiform. I found a broken-off corner at Frau von Eine’s campsite at Sebaste, with a few signs intact.”

Emerson’s expressive countenance displayed a degree of distress it had not shown at the news of Mansur’s death. “It was a valuable artifact, now lost forever.”

“No,” Ramses said. “It was a forgery. My discovery of that scrap, which Mansur found on my person, made it necessary-at least in his opinion-for him to silence me.”

“Do you mean that all this,” Nefret said incredulously, “your kidnapping, his remorseless pursuit, his attempt to kill you-all because of a miserable scrap of clay tablet?”

“Not initially. Initially they reeled me in because I had learned a little too much from Macomber. Mansur was quite candid about that. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to make a solid case against them, but it might have interfered temporarily with their plans. Once they had accomplished their aim I could pass on the information without damaging them. But that aim had everything to do with the clay tablet. We assumed they wanted to find some talisman or icon under the temple. What they wanted to do was plant an artifact there-a written record dating from the period of Abraham. It might even have contained a prophecy, mentioning a kindly emperor from across the sea who would eventually free the land from its oppressors. Morley would find it, the location verified not only by Madame but by Morley’s workmen.”

“That is absurd,” I exclaimed. “No one would have believed such a preposterous claim, and any reputable scholar would have recognized the tablet as a forgery.”

Emerson had resorted to his pipe for comfort. “Reputable scholars might have denied its authenticity, but there are always other scholars who disagree-and people believe what they want to believe, never mind the evidence. If there is anything life has taught me, it is that there is no idea so absurd that someone will not accept it as truth, and no action so bizarre that it will not be justified in the eyes of a true believer.”

“And it would have been an excellent fake,” Ramses added. “She knew her cuneiform and her history. I don’t doubt she went to Boghazkoy on this expedition to collect enough of the right sort of clay, so even the material would be authentic. She was working on the tablet while she was at Samaria and a corner got broken off. That wouldn’t have destroyed the value of the tablet itself, but my testimony, that I had found the broken bit miles from Jerusalem and weeks before Morley was due to discover the tablet, would have been a devastating blow.”

“What about the box?” David asked, staring at the dismal object. “It’s obviously modern-or at least, recently made.”

“By a skilled craftsman in Sebaste,” said Ramses. “They’d have had an answer to that, though; the original container would have to be replaced not once but many times over the centuries.”

“It’s one of the wildest plots we’ve ever encountered,” David remarked.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Emerson grunted. “Several of Sethos’s little schemes were almost as bizarre. That is one thing we have to be thankful for, at any rate. No Sethos.”

The rain had begun to fall more heavily, so when Emerson dropped hints about his excavation I firmly forbade his leaving the house. “And Ramses,” I said, “must rest. No, Ramses, don’t argue. If you will not allow me to take your temperature, I must assume it is above normal. Nefret, is there any of the herb left?”

“Not much.” Nefret made a sudden lunge at Ramses and pressed her hand to his brow. “Yes, he is running a slight fever. I will prepare another dose. We may need more, though.”