I had learned enough about the terrain we would have to cover to conclude that stout boots and trousers were de rigueur. It was a pleasure once again to assume my working costume, with its many pockets and belt of useful accoutrements. I selected the stoutest of my parasols, made to my specifications with a heavy steel shaft and somewhat pointed tip, and proceeded to the dining salon, where I found that Emerson had ordered for me and was already halfway through his meal. He paced up and down (to the annoyance of patrons coming and going), talking to himself while I took my time about eating. The rapid consumption of food is detrimental to the digestive processes.

Having finished, I persuaded my impatient spouse to sit down and addressed our little group. “You all know where we are going today.”

Plato looked up from his plate. “Where?”

“Do we have to take him with us?” Emerson addressed the table at large. It was obvious from Daoud’s and Selim’s dour expressions that they were against the idea, but, as always with Emerson, Nefret’s emphatic “Certainly” won out. Emerson sighed.

“Very well. See here-er-it is time you made yourself useful. We are going to Siloam, where I intend to begin excavations. You claim to be well acquainted with the earlier archaeological excavations there. I will wish to discuss the current situation with you after we return, so stay on the qui vive and don’t go wandering off again. And if I find you have nothing useful to contribute…”

He left the sentence unfinished, perhaps because he couldn’t think of an appropriate threat. I certainly could not.

Selim had offered to arrange for donkeys, but we all declined except Mr. Plato, whom I overruled. Given the narrow streets and abundance of obstructions, animal and human, we could cover the ground more quickly on foot. Emerson and Daoud led the way, clearing a path through the crowded streets. It was still early morning when we stood on the Hill of Ophel looking down on the site of our future labors.

Behind us, high on its platform, the great golden dome of the Noble Sanctuary rose against the azure vault. The steepening slope before us was a jumble of broken walls, natural crevices, and gaping pits that might once have been tombs. The houses of the small village of Silwan spilled down the southern slope.

“There it is,” said Emerson, pointing. “The pool of Siloam. It is fed by a spring carried here through the ancient water tunnel.”

“Where is the entrance to the tunnel?” I asked, shading my eyes with my hand. “Emerson, I would like very much to explore it. I remember reading the description of the gentleman who was the first to explore it thoroughly-Mr. Warren, I believe-when it was silted up almost to the roof and the explorers had to slide through on their stomachs carry ing candles in their mouths!”

“I am not at all surprised that you should find the idea attractive, Peabody,” said my husband. “Given your penchant for crawling through the bat-infested substructures of pyramids. However, you will have to postpone that pleasure. It seems that Morley has got there first.”

People swarmed like ants around the pool and its environs. A number of them were filling waterskins and climbing back up the hill toward the city, for the pure spring water was reputed to have healing qualities. More to the point for us, one end of the area was closed off by ropes and barricades, and surrounded by armed men.

“Is that his aim, then?” I asked, as we descended. “To excavate the tunnel?”

“It may come to that,” said Emerson, taking my arm. “Where would the temple treasure be hidden but under the Haram, which is on top of Herod’s temple, which is supposed to be on top of the temple of Solomon? Morley won’t be allowed to dig at the base of the Haram, so he will try to come at it from below, like earlier explorers. They sank shafts deep into the ground and then drove tunnels horizontally toward the base of the Mount.”

One of the guards came running toward us, waving his rifle and shouting. He stopped short at a burst of extremely bad language from Emerson. My spouse’s command of Egyptian insults is as remarkable as the power of his voice. A rain of small pebbles rattled down the slope. As the guard stared, eyes wide, Daoud, towering over the rest of us, added his comments. “Do you know to whom you speak, son of a camel? This is the mighty Father of Curses, and his chief wife the Sitt Hakim, who brings the dead back to life, and his daughter the Light of Egypt. Beg his forgiveness lest he strike you blind and deaf.”

The guard had been joined by another, equally unkempt, individual, who appeared to be in command of the squad. He also appeared to have better sense than his subordinate, for he addressed Emerson politely. “You must have permission to be here, effendi. By order of the governor, Azmi Bey Pasha.”

Emerson took the firman from his coat pocket and held it up. “I have permission. By order of the Sublime Porte.” He didn’t give the guard time to read the document, supposing he had been able to do so, but put it back in his pocket. “You may tell your Mudir that Emerson Effendi is here and will return.”

He turned his back on the guards and took my arm. We walked on together, and Emerson said, “My tentative plan, Peabody, is to begin work at the other side of the hill, just there, where you see the foundations of what looks like a wall. The first step is to lay out a grid system.”

“The first step,” I corrected, “is to find a house. We cannot carry our supplies back and forth every day. The terrain is too difficult.”

“What about those confounded tents you dragged all the way from England?”

“Where do you propose we set them up? The whole area is swarming with people. We wouldn’t have a moment of privacy.”

“Not like Egypt, is it?” I could see that I had already lost his attention; his eyes were fixed, with greedy intensity, on the stretch of uneven tumbled stones that, in my humble opinion, looked nothing like a wall. “By all means, Peabody. I leave the domestic arrangements up to you.”

We had already collected a little crowd of followers, mostly men and half-naked children. The local costume was simple, if not becoming: a shirt belted at the waist with a leather pouch attached to the belt, an abba (loose robe) over that, and a white tight-fitting cap wound round with a colored scarf to form a sort of turban. Leather slippers completed the ensemble. Some of the men were hoping for work; they had recognized us as archaeologists. The others had been drawn by pure inquisitiveness-a basic human trait. Turning, I addressed the gathering. “We wish to hire a house. If any man knows of a good place, let him come here and talk to me.”

An animated babble of conversation ensued among the members of the audience. I seated myself upon a rock-there were plenty of them around-with an expression of gracious amiability, but for a while no one seemed brave enough to approach closer. Selim and Plato had gone on with Emerson, leaving Nefret and Daoud with me. “Step back a bit,” I said to Daoud. “I believe you make them uneasy.”

“They must show proper respect,” Daoud rumbled.

“They do, they are, they will. Back off, Daoud, and stop scowling. They are simple, friendly people who mean us no harm.”

It was at that moment that a large muscular man, waving a pistol, with a large knife and even larger sword stuck through his sash, came sliding down the slope straight at me.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

She freed herself from his grasp and pushed past him, closing the door behind her. “Don’t be a fool,” she said quietly. “I am here to help you.”

The torch had gone out when he took hold of her. She switched it on again, shielding it with her hand.

“Why?” Ramses asked.

“Why do I offer to help you? Because I need your help.” Completely composed, she seated herself on the divan and gestured him to join her. She was wearing a loose dark robe, her hair covered with a scarf of black lace. “You need not fear being overheard,” she went on. “Mansur is asleep-I made sure he would sleep soundly-and the man at the listening post understands very little English.”