David was the first to speak. "Yes. Quite a coincidence."

"And that is all it is," Emerson declared with considerable vehemence. "Coincidence is the foundation of all the occult sciences-coincidence, and the desire to believe. One fortuitously accurate guess is remembered by the gullible, while a thousand inaccurate predictions are forgotten. Even if the date proved to be . . ." His voice trailed off.

"What is the date, Uncle Walter?" Nefret asked.

Walter looked at the paper. "Third month of Akhet, day nineteen. In modern terms . . . Impossible to say offhand. As you are all aware, the Egyptian calendar consisted of three hundred and sixty-five days, but since the solar year is actually longer than that, the Egyptians were one day off every four years or so. It would be difficult to calculate the correspondence. One might try, of course . . ."

"One won't," declared Emerson. "It would be a complete waste of time. Gargery, what do you want? Don't bother removing the tea things now."

"It's no trouble, sir," said Gargery, collecting cups.

"Good of you to say so," said Emerson sarcastically. "I a.s.sure you, Gargery, you won't be missing a thing. We are discussing an ancient Egyptian text."

"Yes, sir. However, sir, I couldn't help overhearing-"

"d.a.m.nation!" Emerson shouted. "Eavesdropping again?"

"I happened to be pa.s.sing by the door, sir." Gargery's face took on an expression of hurt reproach. "That there calendar Mr. Walter was reading from-"

"Is a pack of nonsense," Emerson broke in.

"Well, sir, those Egyptians may have been heathens, but they knew things. It seems to me that you ought to read more of it and find out what else is going to happen."

Ramses cleared his throat. "Speaking of the papyrus, Father, I've been wondering if I might-"

"Curse it!" Emerson shouted. "d.a.m.n you, Gargery, how many times have I told you-"

"Father," Ramses said loudly. Emerson's bulging eyes followed the wave of his hand toward the corner where Sennia sat, rigid with shocked surprise.

"Oh," said Emerson. "Er. I didn't see you, Sennia. I apologize for my language. I-"

"You should apologize to Gargery," Sennia said severely. "He was only trying to help."

"That is quite all right, sir," said Gargery, with an infuriating smile. "I have said my say, as was my duty. Come along, Miss Sennia, it is time for your supper."

They went out together, holding each other's hands, and Emerson, still boiling with repressed fury, looked round for a victim. "See what you've done, Walter," he exclaimed. "Filling that child's head with nonsense!"

"It's Gargery's head that's the problem," Ramses murmured. "Father, I've been meaning to ask you-"

His father paid no attention. "And another thing, Walter. Will you kindly refrain, in future, from referring to our brother as-'er-Sethos'? Can't you p.r.o.nounce the word without stuttering?"

The injustice of this brought a flush to Walter's face, and he spoke up with unusual vehemence. "No, I cannot, Radcliffe. What sort of name is that for an Englishman and a Christian?"

"I don't know that he is a Christian," Emerson said, diverted. "Never asked."

"Didn't you ever ask his real name? Don't tell me he was christened Sethos."

"Thus far he has avoided our attempts to discover it," Emerson said grumpily. "Why the devil don't you ask him, if it is so important to you?" As far as he was concerned, that ended the discussion. He turned to me. "Isn't it time for these children to go to bed?"

"Past time," I said. "Nefret . . . Oh, she is still with Charla."

"Superst.i.tious idiot," his father muttered. He meant Gargery, as his next words made plain. "He'll tell Fatima and the rest of them about the cursed papyrus, and they'll wring their hands and find ominous omens all over the place. Probably want me to exorcise the evil spirits. d.a.m.nation! Oh-what was it you wanted to ask me, my boy?"

"It can wait." Ramses slung Davy over one shoulder. Davy, who favored unorthodox methods of transport, chuckled appreciatively. "I want to see how Charla is."

"Oh, good Gad," said Emerson in consternation. "I completely forgot the poor little creature. I will come too. Perhaps a few biscuits would cheer her up."

He emptied the remaining biscuits into his pocket. I did not object. Children have cast-iron stomachs. I had seen Charla devour a huge supper an hour after the latest such episode. (A handful of scarlet poinsettia leaves. The color red obviously attracted her.) In my opinion, Emerson had been extremely rude to Walter, and deserved to be put in his place. Instead of scolding him, I determined upon a more subtle form of punishment, which would have the additional advantage of arranging matters as I thought best. I waited until the following afternoon to put my scheme into effect. The first step was not accomplished without some little difficulty, for Emerson resisted my "suggestion" that we stop work early. It was not really a suggestion, though, and once he had got that into his head he did as he was told. We went straight to the Castle, where Cyrus awaited us.

I had not seen my old friend for several days, and was distressed to observe that his goatee showed signs of wear. He continued to tug at it as he showed us to his office, where he had made the arrangements along the lines I had tactfully proposed in my note. The mahogany table had been cleared and chairs arranged around it, with paper and pen set out neatly at each place. Cyrus offered me the chair at the head of the table, but I insisted he take it, adding, "I will just sit here at your right, Cyrus, and act as secretary. You have prepared an agenda, I presume?"

"Not exactly," said Cyrus, eyeing the papers I removed from my bag. "I sort of figured you would."

"A few notes," I said modestly.

"Hah," said Emerson, seated opposite me. "What I want to know-"

I rapped sharply on the table with my pen. "You are out of order, Emerson. We must have the committee reports first."

"Committees?" Emerson burst out. "What committees?"

"But before that, a few preliminary remarks from the chairman." I nodded at Cyrus.

"You better make them, Amelia," said Cyrus, trying not to smile as he glanced at Emerson's darkening countenance. "This was your idea."

I had expected he would say that, so I was able to begin speaking immediately, before Emerson could do so. "It has become evident to me, as it must have done to the rest of you, that we must define our aims and goals and decide how to allocate time and personnel most efficiently to the various projects presently underway. We are fortunate indeed to have so many talented persons with us-" I directed a series of smiles and nods at those persons. I got a few nods and smiles in return. From Emerson I got a silent snarl. Nefret, seated next to him, with her hand on his, was trying not to laugh. David had put his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands; his fingers covered his mouth, but I could see it twitching.

". . . but the very amplitude of the talent available renders organization imperative," I went on. "Otherwise we run the risk of dissipating our collective energy and wasting valuable time."

Ramses, who had been watching his father, said smoothly, "Well put, Mother. Have you by chance made a list of these projects?"

I took the hint. "Yes, certainly. These are not necessarily in order of importance, mind you, I simply jotted them down as they occurred to me. The princesses' treasure is first. M. Lacau will turn up again at any time and he has not had the courtesy to inform us of what he means to do. For all we know, he may demand we pack and remove everything. Therefore David and Evelyn should concentrate on finishing their copies of the most important objects. We are agreed on that, I expect? Good. I felt certain we would be. I suggest that after this meeting we adjourn to the storage rooms and go over the objects together. I trust that is agreeable to all of you? Good. One other question concerning the treasure requires to be considered, but I will postpone that until Cyrus is ready to make his report.

"The second project is the excavation and copying of the Deir el Medina tombs. The latter will have to be postponed until David and Evelyn are finished here, but in my opinion Cyrus should start making the preparations.

"Project number three is the inscribed material we have found-the ostraca and papyri. They should be collated, translated, and published."

I turned over a page, cleared my throat, and proceeded. "Project number four is, of course, the excavation of the village and its surroundings."

Even Nefret's touch could not control Emerson any longer. "I wondered when you would get round to that, Peabody," he burst out. "I have been under the naive impression that it was our primary purpose."

"There is no reason why you cannot proceed with the excavations, Emerson."

Emerson was so outraged he choked on the words he had been about to utter and began coughing violently. Raising my voice, I went on, "I suggest the following allocation of personnel. Ramses and Walter on the textual material; Evelyn and David on the princesses' treasure. That leaves you, Emerson, with Lia and Nefret, Selim and me-more than adequate, especially since Bertie will be working with us until the princesses' treasure has been sent off to Cairo, and Cyrus is ready to return to the cemetery. If we are agreed, I suggest we retire to the storeroom and evaluate the situation there."

"What about the committee reports?" Ramses asked, in a suspiciously m.u.f.fled voice.

I was ready for that. "As your father so cogently indicated, until now we have had no committees. We will have those reports at our next meeting."

I gathered my papers into a neat pile and stood up, indicating that this meeting was at an end. The others immediately followed suit-except for Emerson. As I pa.s.sed him on my way to the door, he said softly but distinctly, "I will have a few words to say to you later, Amelia."

I didn't doubt that he would. It was an exhilarating thought.

FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.

Contrary to Ramses's expectations, he didn't have to invent excuses to keep his parents from joining them on their moonlight ride to Deir el Medina. His mother gave him a sentimental smile and murmured, "Enjoy yourselves, my dears." His father only grunted. Emerson had been brooding over his defeat, as he would consider it, and could hardly wait to get his wife alone. After dinner he hastily swallowed his coffee, announced that it was time to retire, and invited her to join him. They went out together, Emerson's face set in a lordly frown and his wife's bright with gleeful antic.i.p.ation.

"Why are they retiring so early?" Walter asked in mild surprise. "I plan to put in a few hours' work."

"We'll say good night too," Ramses said. "Since we probably won't be back until late. Don't let him strain his eyes over that papyrus, Aunt Evelyn, it's difficult enough to read in a good light."

"I won't," his aunt said, smiling.

THEY LET THE HORSES WALK, enjoying the cool night air and the quiet. The dark arch of the sky blazed with stars. "I told you they'd be glad to be rid of us," David said.

"I know why Father was," Ramses muttered. "Does she do that deliberately? Stir him up, I mean."

"Partly." Nefret chuckled. "Haven't you ever noticed how she looks at him when he's in a rage-eyes shining, trying not to smile? It's a game they've played for years; both of them know the rules and thoroughly enjoy the moves."

"I suppose so." Ramses knew how the game was played and how it would end, and although he approved in theory, he was still a trifle embarra.s.sed to think of his parents . . . "At any rate, she was her usual efficient self this afternoon. Laid it all out and got everybody to agree."

A flood of light spilled over the cliffs and spread across the landscape. Stones and sand, trees and houses sprang into existence as if an invisible painter's giant brush had washed them onto the darkness. The moon had risen.

It was impossible to think of it in any other way-impossible to visualize that luminous...o...b..as a ball of cold rock two hundred thousand miles away, or to believe that the surface on which they stood was imperceptibly but steadily turning. No wonder the ancients had viewed the lunar orb as a divinity.

By the time they reached the entrance to the valley of Deir el Medina the temple ruins glimmered with pale shadows. David let out a long breath of satisfaction. "In another half hour the light will be perfect. I won't even need a torch."

They left the horses near the shelter and picked their way over the fallen stones. Both men were loaded down, David with his drawing materials and Ramses with blankets and baskets of food and drink-a real picnic, as Nefret had declared. Either she had got over her nervousness about the place or she was determined to overcome it. Ramses had tentatively suggested they spend the night; she hadn't said yes or no, but the blankets were a hopeful sign. His spirits rose. They hadn't slept out under the stars for a long time-not since the children were born.

After casting back and forth for a while, with the other three trailing him and offering their opinions, David settled on a spot from which the view satisfied him. It was on the opposite side of the temple from which they had approached, just inside the enclosure wall and a little to one side. There wasn't a completely smooth surface anywhere, but they cleared away the larger and sharper of the bits of stone that littered the ground and spread the blankets. Nefret scattered the cushions she had brought from the shelter and subsided luxuriously onto them, motioning Lia to join her.

"You and I will loll," she declared. "And be waited upon. Ramses, will you open this?"

He took the tall slim bottle. "Wine?"

"Yes, why not? We can get a little drunk. All of us except David. He has to paint."

David had managed to set the easel up, bracing its legs with stones. "David too," he said with a laugh. "It might be just the inspiration I need."

"I presume you mean to employ a certain amount of artistic license," Ramses said, holding the bottle between his knees and removing the cork. "As temples go, this one is fairly dull."

"I'll add a broken obelisk or two, and perhaps a headless colossus." David began drawing with quick, sure strokes of his charcoal. He dashed off several sketches and then joined them.

The wine was pale as moonlight, cool and dry as the night air. They finished one bottle and David glanced at the dark ruins. "Inspiration, a fickle G.o.ddess, continues to elude me," he said. "Is there more wine?"

Ramses laughed and opened the second bottle. He hadn't felt so relaxed and happy for weeks. It wasn't only the wine, it was everything-the peace and silence, the stark beauty of the setting, the company of his best friends-including his wife-and the fact that his adored children and beloved parents were a long way away. Nefret was singing softly to herself. He caught a few words and recognized one of the sentimental ballads she favored. In her sweet voice, with moonlight glowing in her hair, the words didn't sound as ba.n.a.l as they should have. He had forgotten their ostensible purpose for being there, and David, stretched out on the blanket with his head on Lia's lap, had obviously lost interest in art, though the moon rode high and the facade of the temple was well lighted. Ramses wondered lazily which of them would be the first to propose that they separate. He reached for Nefret's hand, and then dropped it and jumped to his feet.

"What is it?" Nefret demanded.

"Someone's coming. Listen."

"Hathor?" David sat up.

"If it is, she's making the devil of a racket," Ramses replied.

The voices grew louder. They were coming closer, following the enclosure wall toward the entrance. He couldn't quite make out the words; the crunch of stone under feet or hooves drowned them out. Whoever they were, this was no surrept.i.tious approach by would-be thieves or cautious villagers hoping for a glimpse of the G.o.ddess. It could only be a party of tourists, looking for some unusual experience, egged on by one of the enterprising dragomen who had invented the Hathor story. Irritation overcame his initial surprise. He headed for the doorway, meaning to meet the party and run them off. As he left the enclosure he saw them coming toward him-two people on donkeyback, one in galabeeyah and turban, the other . . .

"Good G.o.d," he exclaimed, and ran forward to catch hold of the animal's bridle. "Maryam, what are you doing here?"

She was wearing the absurd flowered hat his mother had given her. She pushed it back from her face. "Have you seen him?" she gasped. "Is he here?"

"You mean Justin, I presume," said Nefret's cool voice from behind him. "What made you suppose he would come here?"

"He wanted to see the G.o.ddess. He's talked of nothing else all day. Thank goodness you're here! Please help us look for him."

"We've been here for several hours," David said. "We've seen no one."

"He could be hiding somewhere." Her voice rose. "He could have fallen, hit his head, he has no more sense than a child."

Ramses had to admit it was possible. The enclosure wall was climbable in several places, and the tumbled stones provided plenty of cover. He could imagine Justin crouching behind some of them, hugging himself in childish delight as he spied on them and waited for the epiphany of the G.o.ddess.

"Oh, very well," he said grudgingly. So much for his moonlight idyll. "Nefret, why don't you call him?"

He turned toward his wife, and bit off an oath when he saw that she was holding a bow. An arrow was nocked and ready. "For G.o.d's sake, Nefret! How did you-"

"Never mind," she cut in. "Are you two the only searchers? Where is the devoted Francois? Who is this man?"

The Egyptian was a stranger to Ramses too. He bowed over the donkey's neck and-of course-replied not to Nefret but to her husband. "I am a crewman on the Isis, lord. The others are searching the ruins on the other side of the wall."

"Justin would be inside the enclosure," Nefret said. "If he wanted a proper view."

Maryam shouted, so piercingly and unexpectedly that they all jumped. "Justin! Justin, where are you? Answer me!"

She dismounted, stumbled, and caught hold of Ramses's arm. In the distance Ramses heard others calling the boy, Francois's gruff, accented voice among them.

"Get the torches, David," Ramses said. "You and Lia go round to the left. We'll have to look behind every b.l.o.o.d.y boulder, the little devil is playing hide-and-go-seek. Nefret, will you please put that G.o.dd.a.m.ned bow down?"

"Language," said Nefret sweetly.

David started toward the place where they had left their supplies. Before he reached it a quavering cry from Maryam drew all eyes to the temple. "Look! There, between the pylons-a woman-shining-glowing-"

Ramses tried to free himself from her convulsive grip but she hung on, her fingers clenched. The figure stood in the gateway, pale as a shaped column of alabaster-but it was no statue, it moved, raised flowing sleeves. He thought he saw a glitter of gold. Something whistled past him; he flung himself around, breaking Maryam's grip, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the bow from Nefret.

Lia let out a gasp of incongruous laughter. "You killed her."

A crumpled shape lay on the ground where the figure had stood. When they reached it, they found an empty white robe, with Nefret's arrow caught in its folds. It took several more minutes to find Justin, stretched across a broken column base like an ancient sacrifice. His hands were folded on his breast and his upturned face wore an ecstatic smile.