I do not care to be criticized for acts of Christian duty, and this certainly qualified. “And what if the woman was from the village and fleeing from abuse? I was attempting to save her life, as any of you would have done. It is a matter of altruism, Emerson. You are familiar with that concept, are you not?”

“Hmph.”

“So I suggest,” I said, “we analyze Sethos’s story. He claimed to have no knowledge of Herr Morgenstern’s whereabouts in Cairo, and followed us to Harun’s workplace. This implies he did not arrange to have a copy made of the Nefertiti statue, and only realized its significance in Abubakar’s shop.”

“He is a bl—blasted liar!” Emerson said hotly. “He would not have hired spies to watch Morgenstern if he was not up to his old tricks.”

“I agree,” said Nefret. “He must have heard rumors. The crews chatter like old women sitting in the shade, and there are always shiftless bystanders who are amenable to bribery.”

“Von Raubritter might have been equally amenable,” Ramses said, “but that does not explain his murder.”

“Sethos had no motive to kill him,” I said, keeping an eye on Emerson, who has been known to lose his temper whenever I have been obliged to come to Sethos’s defense, no matter how mildly. When his eyes narrowed, I stood up and said, “I am exhausted from the ordeal. Emerson, please do me the honor of escorting me to our cabin. Good night, dear children.”

It was possible that I had ruffled Emerson’s feathers, so I went about soothing them with womanly zeal.

Emerson, who had slept soundly, preceded me to breakfast. When I entered the dining room, Ramses gave me a baleful look as he seated me at the end of the table. “We have been discussing the Godwin brothers,” he said (as if I hadn’t anticipated as much). “Judas, Guy, and Cromwell are no longer threats due to their impulsive attempts to cause us harm. You must keep in mind, Mother, that two of them remain at large—Absalom and the oddly named Flitworthy.”

“So who was Absalom?” Nefret inquired as she buttered a slice of toast. “From the Bible, I seem to recall, but I do not know the details.”

I refilled Emerson’s coffee cup (he was not yet adequately caffeinated to engage in polite discourse), and then said, “Absalom was the third son of King David and renowned for his handsomeness, charm, and love of pomp and royal pretensions. Eventually he declared himself to be the king, raping his father’s concubines as a loathsome gesture of superiority. He fomented a rebellion that concluded with his death at the battle of the Wood of Ephraim.” I winced as I took a sip of coffee. “A most undignified death, one might say.”

“You must tell me what happened to him,” Nefret wheedled with an impish grin.