Emerson is not good at concealing his emotions. “Smug” might be too strong a word for his expression at that time, but not by much. He had refused to work at several of the most enticing sites in Egypt as a matter of principle (or possibly pure bullheadedness), claiming that sooner or later his expertise would be needed and that he would graciously yield to Maspero’s pleas that we return to Amarna. We both had a special affection for that site, where we had first met and (after an interval) become attached to each other in ways that should not require elucidation for my mature Readers. There were few places in Egypt that would have attracted him more. But his steely sense of duty (or pure bullheadedness) forbade the primrose path.

“Impossible,” my husband declared firmly, “in that we have an unfinished excavation at Zawaiet el’Aryan to complete.”

“But my dear fellow, what can Zawaiet el’Aryan offer in comparison with Amarna?”

In fact it had a great deal to offer: a Third Dynasty royal burial, to be precise. We had been unable to complete it the previous year because of the distressing events to which I have alluded.

“You excavated at one time at the Workmen’s Village at Amarna,” Maspero went on. “Why not return and finish the job? And, while you are there, search for a new tomb.”

“Aside from the commitment Emerson has mentioned,” I said, before he could offer an opinion that might not coincide with mine, “our staff is not complete. Our son and his friend David Todros are still in Palestine.”

Momentarily diverted, Maspero asked, “What is Emerson fils doing in Palestine?”

A truthful answer would have been “I wish I knew.” My annoying son had not refused to answer my questions, but his replies had been so vague and equivocal that I had been unable to pin him down. My fear was that he had got himself involved with the cursed British Secret Service. The Service was always trying to recruit archaeologists. They made ideal agents because they had a legitimate reason for being where they were—Egypt, Palestine, Turkey, Syria—and in most cases they spoke the local language. Ramses was a natural linguist; his German, Turkish, and Arabic were of native fluency. From early childhood he had lived part of the year in Egypt and was as much at home there as he was in England. In short, he was a perfect spy and I knew that British intelligence would give a great deal to enlist him.

And I would make certain that they did not succeed.

“He will be joining us soon,” I said with fervor. “At Amarna.”

Two

“We cannot abandon Zawaiet!”

When seen in print, this statement lacks a certain portentousness. When uttered in Emerson’s deep, resonant basso, it has the effect of a decree from on high. Very high.