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"Oh, surely you don't mean the old fellow was a martyr!" Alex scoffed. Never had Julie seen him so aggressive.

"Perhaps it's not possible for a modern mind to comprehend an ancient mind so easily," Elliott conceded. "I wonder if the opposite is true. Whether a man of ancient times, brought to life again, in this era, could understand our values."

"You're not so difficult to understand," Ramses said. "You've learned to express yourselves too well for anything to remain veiled or mysterious. Your newspapers and books tell everything. Yet you are not so different from your ancient ancestors. You want love, you want comfort; you want justice. That is what the Egyptian farmer wanted when he went out to till his fields. That is what the labourers of London want. And as always the rich are jealous of what they possess. And greed leads to high crimes as it always has."

He turned his eyes mercilessly on Henry, who was now staring back at him directly. Julie looked in desperation to Samir.

"Why, you speak of this era as if you have nothing to do with it!" Alex said.

"So what you're saying," Elliott said, "is that we're no better and no worse than the ancient Egyptian."

Henry reached for his drink and suddenly knocked it over. Then he reached for the wine and drank it down. His white face was now moist all over. His lower lip was trembling. He looked for all the world like a man about to be seriously ill.

"No, that is not what I'm saying," Ramses said thoughtfully. "You are better. Better in a thousand ways. And yet you're still human. You haven't found all the answers yet. Electricity, telephones, these are lovely magic. But the poor go unfed. Men kill for what they cannot gain by their own labour. How to share the magic, the riches, the secrets, that is still the problem."

"Ah, there you have it. Marxism, I told you," Alex said. "Well, at Oxford they told us Ramses the Second was a bloody tyrant."

"Be quiet, Alex," said Elliott dismissively. He turned to Ramses. "Why does this concern you so, these questions of greed and power?"

"Oxford? What is Oxford?" Ramses asked, glancing at Alex. Then he stared again at Henry, and Henry moved his chair abruptly backwards. He appeared to be hanging on to the table as if to steady himself. The waiters, meantime, had taken the fish away and were setting down the roast chicken and potatoes. Someone poured another drink for Henry, which he emptied at once.

"You're going to be ill," Elliott said to him under his breath.

"Wait a minute," Alex said. "You've never heard of Oxford!"

"No, what is it?" Ramses asked.

"Oxford, egomania, aspirin, Marxism," Elliott said. "Your head is in the clouds, Mr. Ramsey."

"Yes, like that of a colossal statue!" Ramses smiled.

"But you're still a Marxist," Alex said.

"Alex, Mr. Ramsey is not a Marxist!" Julie said, unable any longer to contain her rage. "And as I recall, your favorite subject at Oxford was sports, wasn't it? Boat races and football? You've never studied Egyptian history or Marxism, am I right?"

"Yes, darling. I don't know a thing about ancient Egypt," he conceded, a bit crestfallen. "But there is that poem, Mr. Ramsey, that poem about Ramses the Great by Shelley. You have heard it, have you not? Let's see, some damnable old teacher made me memorize it."

"Perhaps we should return to the question of the journey," Samir said. "It shall be very hot in Luxor. Perhaps you will want to go only as far as--"

"Yes, and the reasons for the journey," Elliott said. "Are you investigating the claims made by 'the mummy'?"

"What claims?" Julie asked weakly. "I don't know what you mean specifically...."

"You know. You told me yourself," Elliott answered. "And then there was your father's notebook, which I read, at your behest. The mummy's claim to be immortal, to have lived and loved Cleopatra."

Ramses looked down at his plate. Deftly he broke off a joint of the chicken and ate half of it in two quick, delicate bites.

"The museum will have to examine those texts," Samir said. "It's too early to draw conclusions."

"And is the museum content that you've left the collection locked up in Mayfair?" asked Elliott.

"Frankly," Alex said, "the whole thing sounded perfectly absurd to me. Romantic twaddle. An immortal being, living for a thousand years and then falling tragically in love with Cleopatra. Cleopatra!"

"I beg your pardon," Ramses said. He devoured the remaining chicken and wiped his fingers again. "At your famous Oxford, they said mean things about Cleopatra as well."

Alex laughed frankly and cheerfully.

"You don't have to go to Oxford to hear mean things about Cleopatra. Why, she was the trollop of the ancient world, a spendthrift, a temptress and an hysterical woman."