“I’m more concerned about my husband’s reputation,” said Aida. “Besides, the family name dies with me. We had two sons, but both were killed in the wars.”

“Did your husband have anything else from Tutankhamen’s tomb?” asked Erica.

“Oh, no!” said Aida.

“Okay,” said Erica, “I will translate the papyrus and tell you what it says so you can decide what you want to do with it. I won’t say anything to the authorities. That will be up to you. But for now, don’t show it to anyone else.” Erica was already jealous of her discovery.

Emerging from Aida Raman’s house, she debated on how best to return to the hotel. The thought of walking five miles to the ferry landing oppressed her, and she decided to risk the trail behind Aida Raman’s house and walk to the Valley of the Kings. There she could surely get a taxi.

Although it was a hot and tiring climb to the ridge, the view was spectacular. The village of Qurna was directly below her. Just beyond the village was the stately ruin of Queen Hatshepsut’s temple, nestled against the mountains. Erica continued to the crest and looked down. The entire green valley was spread out in front of her, with the Nile snaking its way through the center. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Erica turned to the west. Directly ahead was the Valley of the Kings. From her vantage point Erica could look beyond the valley at the endless rust-red peaks of the Theban mountains as they merged with the mighty Sahara. She had a feeling of overwhelming loneliness.

Descending into the valley was comparatively easy, though Erica had to be careful about the loose ground on the steeper parts of the trail. The route merged with another path coming from the ruined Village of Truth, where Erica knew the ancient necropolis workers had lived. By the time she reached the floor of the valley, she was very warm and tremendously thirsty. Despite her wish to return to the hotel and get to work translating the papyrus, she walked toward the crowded concession stand for a drink. Climbing the steps of the building, she couldn’t help but think of Sarwat Raman.

It was an amazing story indeed. The Arab had stolen a papyrus because he was afraid it would spell out an ancient curse. He had been worried that such a curse would stop the excavation!

Erica purchased a Pepsi-Cola and found an empty chair on the veranda. She glanced around the structure of the rest house. It was made of local stone. Erica marveled that Raman had built it. She wished she could have met the man. There was one question in particular she would have liked to ask. Why hadn’t Raman found some way to return the papyrus after he learned it did not represent a curse? Obviously he did not want to sell it. The only explanation Erica could think of was that he had been afraid of the consequences. She took a large swallow of the Pepsi and pulled out one of the precious photos of the papyrus. The directives suggested it was to be read in the usual fashion, from lower right upward. She stumbled over a proper name at the beginning, almost not believing her eyes. Slowly she pronounced it to herself: “Nenephta… My God!”

Noticing a group of tourists boarding a bus, Erica thought that perhaps she could get a ride to the ferry landing with them. She put the photos back into her tote bag and quickly looked for the ladies’ room. A waiter told her the rest rooms were under the concession stand, but after finding the entrance, she was discouraged by the acrid smell of urine. She decided she could wait until she got back to the hotel. She ran down to the bus as the last passengers were getting on.

Standing at the edge of her balcony, Erica stretched her arms over her head and sighed with relief. She had finished translating the papyrus. It had not been difficult, although she was not sure she understood the meaning.

Looking out over the Nile, she watched a large luxury liner glide by. After her immersion in antiquity with the papyrus, the modern vessel looked out of place. It was like having a flying saucer land in the Boston Commons.

Erica went back to the glass-topped table she’d been working at, picked up the translation, and read it over:

I, Nenephta, chief architect for the Living God (may he live forever), Pharaoh, King of our two lands, the great Seti I, do reverently atone for the disturbance of the eternal rest of the boy king Tutankhamen within these humble walls and with these scant provisions for all eternity. The unspeakable sacrilege of the attempted plunder of Pharaoh Tutankhamen’s tomb by the stonecutter Emeni, whom we have rightfully impaled and whose remains we have scattered on the western desert for the jackals, has served a noble end. The stonecutter Emeni has opened my eyes to understand the ways of the greedy and unjust. Thus I, chief architect, now know the way to ensure eternal safety of the Living God (may he live forever), Pharaoh, King of our two lands, the great Seti I. Imhotep, architect for the Living God Zoser and builder of the Step Pyramid, and Neferhotep, architect for the Living God Khufu and builder of the Great Pyramid, used the way in their monuments, but without full understanding. Accordingly the eternal rest of the Living God Zoser and the Living God Khufu was disturbed and destroyed in the first dark period. But I, Nenephta, chief architect, understand the way, and the greed of the tomb robber. So it will be done, and the boy king Pharaoh Tutankhamen’s tomb is resealed on this day.

Year 10 of Son of Re, Pharaoh Seti I, second month of Germination, day 12.

Erica put the page down on the table. The word she’d had the most problem with was “way.” The hieroglyphic signs had suggested “method” or “pattern” or even “trick,” but the word “way” made the most sense syntactically. But what it meant eluded her.

Translating the papyrus gave Erica a great feeling of accomplishment. It also made the life of ancient Egypt come amazingly alive, and she smiled at Nenephta’s arrogance. Despite his supposed understanding of the greed of the tomb robber and the “way,” Seti’s magnificent tomb had been plundered within a hundred years of its closure, while the humble tomb of Tutankhamen had remained undisturbed for another three thousand years.

Picking up the translation again, Erica reread the section mentioning Zoser and Khufu. Suddenly she was sorry she’d not visited the Great Pyramid. At the time, she’d felt comfortably abstemious not rushing to the pyramids of Giza like all the other tourists. Now she wished she had. How could Neferhotep have used the way in constructing the Great Pyramid, but without full understanding? Erica stared off at the distant mountains. With all the mysterious meanings attributed to the shape and size of the Great Pyramid, Erica had uncovered another, more ancient one. Even in Nenephta’s time, the Great Pyramid was an ancient structure. In fact, thought Erica, Nenephta probably did not know much more about the Great Pyramid than she did. She decided to visit it. Perhaps by standing in its shadow or by walking within its depths she might comprehend what Nenephta meant by the word “way.”

Erica checked the time. She could easily make the seven-thirty sleeper to Cairo. With feverish excitement she packed her canvas tote bag with her Polaroid, the Baedeker, the flashlight, jeans, and clean underwear. Then she took a quick bath.

Before leaving the hotel she called Ahmed and told him she was going back to Cairo for a day or so because she had an insatiable desire to see the Great Pyramid of Khufu.

Ahmed was instantly suspicious. “There is so much to see here in Luxor. Can’t it wait?”

“No. All of a sudden I have to see it.”

“Are you going to see Yvon de Margeau?”

“Maybe,” said Erica evasively. She wondered if Ahmed could be jealous. “Is there something you’d like me to tell him?” She knew she was baiting him.