The last camel died at noon, page 12
'Just so you don't run into the line of fire, as you have been known to do,' I said sternly. 'You spend far too much time interfering in other people's business, Ramses. Come and give me a hand; there are several hours of daylight left and I want to have a closer look at those small piles of debris south of number four. I suspect they may have been queens' tombs - for even in Gush, where women enjoyed considerable power, the ladies were shortchanged in the matter of pyramids.'
Emerson decided to join us, and we spent a most enjoyable hour poking around the rubble and arguing about where the burial chambers might be. Ramses, of course, had to disagree with me and his father. 'We cannot assume,' he claimed, 'that because the burial chambers in Egyptian pyramids were, for the most part, under the superstructure, that such was the case here. Remember Ferlini's description of the chamber in which he found the jewellery that is now in the Berlin Museum - '
'Impossible,' I exclaimed. 'Lepsius agrees with me that Ferlini must have made a mistake. He was no archaeologist -'
'But he was there,' said Ramses. 'Herr Lepsius was not. And with all due respect, Mama - '
'Hmmm, yes,' Emerson said quickly. 'But, my boy, even if Ferlini did find a burial chamber in the upper portions of one pyramid, that could have been an exception to the general rule.'
His attempt at compromise failed, as such efforts generally do. 'Nonsense!' I exclaimed.
'That is not the point, Papa, if you will excuse me,' said Ramses.
The debate continued to rage as we walked back to our tents. Few families, I venture to assert, share so many agreeable interests as ours, and the freedom and candour with which we communicate our opinions to one another only adds to our mutual pleasure.
I had brought along one good frock just in case - for one never knows when one may encounter persons of a superior social status. It was a simple evening dress of eau-de-Nil spotted net, the bodice cut low and square, the skirt flounced, with pink silk roses trimming the flounces and the short puffed sleeves. By allowing Emerson the privilege, which he much enjoys, of buttoning me into the frock, I managed to persuade him to wear a jacket and change his boots for proper shoes, but he refused to wear a cravat, claiming that he had taken up archaeology as a career primarily because a cravat was not part of the official costume for that profession. However, as I had to admit when he pressed me, Emerson's personal appearance is so striking that the absence of a particular article of clothing does not diminish the effect in the least.
I then went in search of Ramses, for it was safe to assume he would wash only the parts of him that showed. As I trailed my eau-de-Nil flounces across the sandy ground, wincing as pebbles pressed through the thin soles of my evening slippers, I could almost have wished that Emerson had not placed the boy's little tent so far from our own. His reasons for doing so were excellent, however, and on the whole the advantages far outweighed the disadvantages. (Even in the light of what happened soon afterwards I maintain that opinion.)
Ramses had not washed even the parts that showed. He was perched on a campstool in front of the packing case that served as desk and table combined. It was littered with scraps of paper and he was busily scribbling in the battered clothbound notebook that accompanied him everywhere.
He greeted me with his usual punctilious courtesy, more becoming a grave old gentleman than a little boy, and begged for another minute of delay so that he could finish his notes.
'Oh, very well,' I said. 'But you must hurry. It is rude to be late when one is invited to dine. What notes are those, that are so important?'
'A dictionary of the dialect spoken by Kemit and his friends. The spelling is, of necessity, phonetic; I am using the system derived from -'
'Never mind, Ramses. Just make haste.' Looking over his shoulder I saw that he had arranged the vocabulary by parts of speech, leaving several pages for each. None of the words was familiar to me, but then my knowledge of the Nubian dialects was extremely limited. I was happy to observe that Kemit's instruction had not included any words to which I could take exception, with the possible exception of a few nouns applying to certain portions of human anatomy.
When Ramses had finished he offered me his campstool, which I took outside, lowering the tent flap as I left. Several years earlier Ramses had requested the privilege of privacy when he performed his ablutions or changed his clothing. I was perfectly happy to accede to this request, for washing small dirty squirming boys had never been a favourite amusement of mine. (The nurserymaid in charge of Ramses at the time had made no objection either.)
I had asked Emerson to join us when he was ready, so I was content to wait; the sunset was particularly brilliant that evening, a blaze of gold and crimson that contrasted exquisitely with the deepening azure of the zenith. Against this tapestry of living light the jagged contours of the pyramids stood out in dark outline, and as any thoughtful individual might do, I mused upon the vanity of human aspiration and the brevity of human passions. Once this tumbled wilderness had been a holy place, adorned with every beautiful and good thing (as the ancients expressed it). Chapels built of carved and painted stone served each stately monument; white-robed priests hastened about their duties, bearing offerings of food and treasure to be placed upon the altars of the royal dead. As the shadows deepened and the night crept across the sky, I heard the soft rush of beating wings. Was it the human-headed soul bird, the ba of some long-vanished pharaoh, returning to partake of food and drink from his chapel? No. It was only a bat. The poor ba would have starved long ages ago if it had depended on the offerings of its priests.
These poetic thoughts were rudely swept away by Emerson blundering towards me. He can move as quickly and quietly as a cat when he chooses; on this occasion he did not choose, because he was not in the humour for a social engagement. I must say that he seldom is.
'Is that you, Peabody?' he called. 'It is so dark I can scarcely see where I am going.'
'Why didn't you bring a lantern?' I inquired.
'We won't need it; the moon will be up soon,' said Emerson, with one of those bursts of striking illogic of which men constantly accuse women. 'Where is Ramses? If we must do this, let's get it over with.'
'I am ready, Papa,' said Ramses, lifting the flap of the tent. 'I took pains to make myself as tidy as possible, given the circumstances, which are not conducive to the easy attainment of that condition. I trust, Mama, that my appearance is satisfactory.'
Since he was only visible as a dark shape against the darker interior of the tent, I was hardly in a position to make a valid judgment. I suggested that he light a lantern, not so much because I wanted to inspect him - further delay would have driven Emerson wild - but because night had fallen and the roughness of the ground made walking difficult, particularly for a lady wearing thin-soled shoes. So equipped, we set out. At my request, Emerson gave me his arm. He likes me to lean on his arm, and since Ramses preceded us with the light, he was able to make a few gestures of an affectionate nature, which further soothed his temper, so much so that he made only one rude remark when he saw the elegant arrangements Reggie had made for our reception.
Candles graced the table, which was covered with a cloth of gay printed cotton. This must have been purchased at the suk, for I had seen others like it there. The pottery dishes had come from the same source, but I felt sure the wine had not; even the enterprising Greek merchants had not imported expensive German hock. The carpet on which the table had been placed was a beautiful antique Oriental, its deep wine-red background strewn with woven flowers and birds. I could only admire the taste that had chosen the best of the local crafts, and the kindly care that had taken so much trouble for guests. People make fun of the British for maintaining formal standards in the wild, but I am of the school that believes such efforts have a beneficial effect not only upon the participants but upon the observers.
Ahmed's cooking lived up to his master's claims and the wine was excellent. Emerson unbent so far as to take a glass, but he refused the brandy Reggie offered at the conclusion of the meal, despite the latter's urging. Out of politeness I joined the young man, and was pleased to observe that he was as abstemious as I, restricting himself to a single glass of brandy. 'It will keep,' he said with a smile, as Ahmed carried the bottle away. 'But perhaps I should share it with my men - a special treat, on the eve of their holiday -'
Emerson shook his head, and I said emphatically, 'On no account, Reggie. Liquor is one of the curses the white man has introduced into this country. The military authorities, quite rightly, keep a strict control over the amount of alcohol that is brought in. It would be doing these poor people a disservice to introduce them to drunkenness.'
'That is no doubt correct, Mama,' said Ramses, before Reggie could reply. 'But does not that view smack somewhat of condescension? Alcoholic beverages were not unknown before Europeans came here; the ancient Egyptians were particularly fond of both beer and wine. Even young children - '
'Beer and wine are not as harmful as spirits,' I said, frowning at my son. 'And all of them are harmful to young children.'
Emerson was beginning to fidget, so I thanked Reggie for his hospitality and we started back towards our tents. The moon had risen. It was only halfway to the full, but its light was bright enough to make the lantern unnecessary. The soft silvery rays of the goddess of the night cast their spell of magic and romance. (The wine may have had a certain effect as well.) Emerson's pace quickened, and I was not reluctant to be hurried along. We left Ramses at his tent with affectionate, though somewhat abbreviated, good-nights, and made haste to reach our own.
There is nothing like strenuous physical exercise to induce healthful slumber. I slept soundly that night. It was no ordinary, audible noise that roused me, but something I took to be a voice, penetrating my dreams with the shrill insistence of a cry for help. It summoned me with that imperative instinct which nestles deep within a mother's breast, oft-tried though it may have been. I tried to answer; my voice died in my throat. I attempted to rise; my limbs were weighted down.
The weight shifted, and Emerson, cursing sleepily, rose to hands and knees. He was gone before I could stop him, but I took comfort in the fact that he was wrapped in one of the loose native robes, the sudden drop in temperature during the night having apparently prompted this departure from custom. My own nightgown was voluminous enough to be modest, if not exactly suitable for walking abroad; I paused only long enough to slip my feet into my boots and snatch up my parasol before rushing in pursuit of my husband.
The source of the disturbance was, as I might have expected, near the tent of Ramses, where I saw a singular tableau. One body lay prone upon the ground. Another stood over it, fists on its hips. A third, smaller form sat, pallid and immobile as a limestone statue, several feet away.
'Peabody!' Emerson bellowed.
I put my hands over my ears. 'I am just behind you, Emerson, you needn't shout. What has happened?'
'The most extraordinary thing, Peabody. Look here. He's done it again! This is ridiculous. It's one thing to collapse at the slightest provocation, or none at all, I was becoming accustomed to that; but to wake people up in the middle of the night - '
'It is not a faint this time, Emerson. He is wounded -bleeding.'
It was not until my fingers actually touched the sticky wetness that I realised the truth. Like Emerson, Reggie wore a native robe, but his was dark blue in colour 'Light, Emerson,' I exclaimed. 'I must have light. Ramses, fetch the lantern. Ramses? Did you hear me?'
'I will light the lantern,' Emerson said. 'The poor lad is a trifle dazed still, after having been wakened so abruptly.'
I went to Ramses. Even when I bent over him he seemed to be unaware of my presence. I took him by the shoulders and shook him, insisting that he speak to me. (And I must say it made rather a change for me to ask Ramses to talk instead of trying to get him to stop.)
He blinked at me then, and said slowly, 'I think I was dreaming, Mama. But I came when you called.'
The chill that seized my limbs was not the product of the cold night air. 'I did not call you, Ramses. Not until just now. You called me.'
'How very odd.' Ramses stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Hmmm. We must discuss this situation, Mama, and compare our impressions of what occurred. Is that Mr Forthright lying there on the ground?'
'Yes, and he is more in need of my attentions than you seem to be,' I replied, considerably relieved to find that Ramses was himself again. 'Bring the lantern here, Emerson.'
Emerson let out a startled exclamation when the lamplight illumined the fallen man. 'I beg your pardon, Peabody, I thought you were up to your usual... Ahem. He does seem to have bled rather profusely. Is he dead?'
'No, nor likely to die, unless the wound becomes infected.' I turned Reggie onto his back and opened the robe to expose an arm and shoulder more admirably muscled than one might have expected. 'It is not so bad as I feared. The bleeding seems to have stopped. And - good heavens! Here is the weapon that wounded him. It was under his body.'
I picked it up by the haft and handed it to Emerson. 'Curiouser and curiouser,' he muttered. 'This is no native knife, Peabody, it is good Sheffield steel and bears the mark of an English maker. Could he have fallen on it?'
'Never mind that now, Emerson. He ought to be carried to his tent, where I can attend to him properly. Where the dev -the deuce are his servants? How could they sleep through such a racket?'
'Drunk, perhaps,' Emerson began. Then a voice from the darkness said quietly, 'I am here, Lady. I carry him.'
So it happened that the first sight to meet Reggie's eyes was the tall form of Kemit, advancing into the circle of lamplight. A sharp cry burst from the lips of the wounded man. 'Murderer! Assassin! Have you returned to finish me off?'
'Mr Forthright, you are becoming a bore,' Emerson said impatiently. 'My thanks, Kemit; I can manage him.' He lifted the young man into his mighty arms.
Reggie's head fell back against Emerson's shoulder. He had lost consciousness again. I had to agree with my husband; Reggie was becoming a bit of a bore, especially on the subject of Kemit. what had he been doing so far from his own camp in the middle of the night?
On hands and knees, his nose so close to the ground that he resembled a hunting dog on the trail of a rabbit, Ramses was examining the spot, hideously stained with blood, where Reggie had lain.
'Get up from there, Ramses,' I said in disgust. 'Your morbid curiosity is repugnant. Either return to your cot or come with me.'
As I had expected, Ramses chose to come with me. When we reached Reggie's tent, Ahmed was there, rubbing his eyes in an ostentatious and unconvincing fashion. 'Did you call, Effendi?' he asked.
'I certainly did,' said Emerson, who certainly had, his shouts having made the welkin ring. 'Confound you, Ahmed, are you blind as well as deaf? Can't you see your master is injured?
Ahmed gave a theatrical start. 'Wallahi-el-azem It is the young effendi. What has happened, Oh Father of Curses?'
Emerson proceeded to prove his claim to that title, to such effect that Ahmed soon had the lamps lit and his master's couch prepared. Reggie had brought a well-equipped medical kit. It did not take long for me to clean the wound and bandage it. It was hardly more than a shallow cut and did not even require stitching.
A little brandy soon restored Reggie to his senses, and his first words were an apology for having caused me such trouble.
'What the devil were you doing outside my son's tent in the middle of the night?' Emerson demanded.
'Taking a walk,' Reggie replied faintly. 'I could not sleep, I know not why; I thought some exercise might do me good. As I drew near the boy's tent, I saw... I saw...'
'Don't talk anymore,' I said. 'You need to rest.'
'No, I must tell you.' His hand groped for mine. 'You must believe me. I saw the tent flap open and a pale, ghostly form appear. It gave me quite a start until I realised it must be Master Ramses. Naturally I assumed he was - he felt the need...'
'Yes, go on,' I said.
'I was about to withdraw when I saw another form, dark as a shadow, tall as a young tree, glide towards the boy. Ramses went slowly towards it. They met - and the dark shape stretched out its arms to grasp the boy. The gesture broke through my naralysis of surprise, realising that danger threatened Ramses, I rushed to his aid. Needless to say, I had no weapon. I grappled with the man - for a man it was, with muscles like bands of rope, who fought with the ferocity of a wild beast.' The effort of speech had exhausted him, his voice faltered, and he said feebly, 'I remember nothing more. Guard the boy. He...'
I put my finger on his lips. 'No more, Reggie. You are exhausted by shock and loss of blood. Have no fear, we will watch over Ramses. May the grateful thanks of his devoted parents console you for your injuries, and may you sleep in peace, knowing that you -'
'Harrumph,' said Emerson forcibly. 'If you want him to rest, Amelia, why don't you stop talking?'
It seemed a reasonable suggestion. I instructed Ahmed to watch over his master and call me at once if any change in his condition occurred. As we retraced our steps I suggested to Emerson that Ramses had better spend the rest of the night with us.
