Reggie carefully took one hand from the saddle and lifted his hat. The sunlight cast his features into strong relief and woke golden highlights from the smooth, oiled surface of his auburn hair. 'Farewell, Mrs Emerson - Professor - my young friend Ramses. If we do not meet again - '

  I let out a cry of distress. 'Don't harbour such thoughts, Reggie! Keep a stout heart, and faith in the Presence that protects the valiant. I will remember you in my prayers -'

  'Fat lot of good that will do,' growled Emerson. 'Don't forget what you promised, Forthright. If the cursed map is accurate, you should find the first landmark - the twin towers - at the end of your third day of travel. You can give it another day if you like - you have food and water enough for at least ten days - but then you must turn back. Failure to find the first landmark will prove the map isn't to be trusted. If you do find it - you won't, but if you do - you will send a messenger back to us at once.'

  'Yes, Professor,' Reggie said. 'We've been over that a number of times. I gave you my word, and even if I were inclined to break it, which I would never do, I hope I am sensible enough to know the risks attendant upon - '

  'He has been with us too long,' said Emerson to me. 'He is beginning to sound like Ramses. Very well, Forthright; if you are determined to go, why the devil don't you go?'

  This speech rather spoiled the emotional tone of our leave-taking, and a further pall was cast upon the occasion by Reggie's Egyptian servant, who broke into a weird keening wail, like a paid mourner at a funeral, as his master rode away. Emerson had to shake him to make him stop. The sun was high overhead and the moving figures cast no visible shadows. Slowly they dwindled until they vanished into a haze of heat and blowing sand.

  I had never seen Emerson drive the men as he did during the following days. We were short-handed, thanks to the fact that we had sent two of our most dependable men with Reggie, and the fact that Kemit's friends never returned from their 'day of rest.' When I questioned him about them, Kemit only shook his head. 'They were strangers in a strange land. They have returned to their wives and children. Perhaps they will come again...'

  'Oh, bah,' said Emerson, there being very little else to say. It was not uncommon for local workers to tire of labour or fall victim to Heimweh, but we had thought Kemit's men to be of stronger mettle.

  Ramses began badgering us to let him return to his own tent, claiming that (a), Emerson's snoring kept him awake, and (b), it was unlikely he would be 'called,' as he put it, again. The first claim was untrue (Emerson seldom snored); and the second was utterly without foundation. As a compromise Emerson had Ramses's tent moved near to ours, and occupied it himself. 'I may as well, Peabody,' he remarked gloomily. 'Being in such close proximity to you without being able to act upon my feelings has a deleterious effect on my health.' (This is a paraphrase of Emerson's speech; the actual words he used were more direct and thus inappropriate for the eyes of the reading public.)

  Fortunately for Emerson's health, mental and physical, we made a discovery that distracted him temporarily. It would have been a momentous event in any season and at any site, for the identification of a hitherto anonymous monument is of consuming importance. Here, after days of dull surveying and fruitless digging, it was as exciting as a tomb chamber full of treasure. The object itself was not impressive - only a weathered slab of stone - but Emerson at once identified it as the lintel of a small pylon-gateway. It was buried deep in sand, which had to be cleared away from its surface and its surroundings, for Emerson refused to move it - in fact, he declared his intention of covering it up again as soon as he had finished studying it and recording the position in which it had been found.

  Kneeling in the narrow trench, he carefully brushed away the last layer of sand from the surface. The men gathered around, as breathless with anticipation as we. If the worn marks on the stone proved to be hieroglyphs, the discovery would mean a sizable bonus for the lucky finder.

  Unable to endure the suspense any longer, I lay flat on the edge of the trench and looked down. This movement sent a shower of sand onto the stone and the bowed, bare head of my husband; he looked up, frowning. 'If you want to bury me alive, Peabody, go right on squirming.'

  'I beg your pardon, my dear,' I said. 'I will be careful. Well? Are they... Is it... ?'

  'They are, and it is - a royal titulary! The curved ends of the cartouches are quite clear.'

  He strove to speak calmly, but his voice quivered with emotion and his long, sensitive fingers brushed the stone as tenderly as a caress. 'Congratulations, my dear Emerson, exclaimed. 'Can you read the names?' (As I am sure I need not explain to my learned Readers, the kings of Egypt and of Cush had several names and titles; official monuments always carried at least two of them.)

  'I'll have to do a rubbing, and wait until the sun is at a better angle before I can be certain,' Emerson replied. 'This local sandstone is so cursed soft, it has weathered badly. But I think 'Leaning close, he blew gently on one section. 'I see an n sign with two tall narrow signs below; the first appears to be a reed leaf. Following are two long narrow signs, and then a pair of rush plants. Yes, I think I can hazard a guess. The signs match the ones given by Lepsius for King Nastasen.'

  Emotion overcame me. I leapt to my feet and let out a loud 'Hurrah.'

  Emerson replied with a volley of bad language (evidently my sudden movement had precipitated some amount of sand into the trench) and the men began to cheer and dance around. I turned to Kemit, who as usual stood aloof from the others, watching their display with an ironic smile.

  'Please, Kemit, fetch the thin paper and the magic drawing sticks,' I ordered. 'And one of the lamps.'

  Kemit turned his wide dark eyes on me. 'Nastasen,' he repeated.

  He pronounced it differently, but I understood. 'Yes, is it not exciting? This is the first pyramid we have been able to identify with its owner - the first anyone has identified.'

  Kemit murmured something in his own language. I thought I recognised one of the words from the vocabulary list Ramses had made. It meant 'omen' or 'portent.'

  I hope so,' I said, smiling. 'I hope it is a portent of more such discoveries. Hurry, Kemit, the sand is unstable and I don't like the professor to stay down there any longer than is necessary.'

  Well, we managed to clear the stone and record the inscrip-tion; it was, as Emerson had thought, the titulary of King Nastasen Ka'ankhre, one of the last rulers of the Meroitic dinasty. A stela belonging to this monarch had been obtained by Lespsius for the Berlm Museum. On it Nastasen claimed he had been given the crown by the god Amon, and described various military operations against an invader from the north, who may have been the Persian king Cambyses.

  It was a truly thrilling discovery and kept us busy for several days; but at the end of that time even the hope of further finds could not distract me from my worries about poor Reggie. Emerson's discovery had been made on the sixth day after the young man's departure. It was on that evening we might first have expected to see him if the map proved to be an ignis fatuus and he turned back, as he had promised.

  Darkness came with no sign of him. We did not mention him that evening, even Ramses displaying a tactful reticence I would not have expected from him. After all, I told myself, this was the earliest moment at which we might have expected him. Any number of causes might have delayed him or his messenger.

  But after two more days had passed without word, I began to fear the worst. Emerson put on a good show of unconcern, but every now and then, when he thought I was not looking at him, I saw the bronzed mask of control crack into lines I had never seen on that beloved face.

  On the evening of the eighth day I left camp, drawn out into the desert as if by a magnet. The western sky blazed with violent shades' of copper and amethyst; the last glowing rim of the sun clung to the horizon as if reluctant to leave the realms of the living for the dark abode of night. The brilliance of the sunset was caused by particles of blowing sand; I thought of the violent storms that could bury men and camels in the space of an hour. The worst of it was we might never know their fate. A rescue expedition would be folly, for if they had wandered off their course by as little as a mile, they might as well be halfway across the globe.

  The sunset colours faded - not only because the sun was sinking but because tears dimmed my eyes. I let them fall; their release would relieve my heartache.

  I became aware of a presence, not by any sound or movement, but by some more mysterious sense; turning my head, I saw Kemit.

  'You weep, Lady,' he said. 'Is it for the fiery-haired youth?'

  'For him and the other brave men who may have perished with him,' I replied.

  'Then spare your tears, Lady. They are safe.'

  'Safe!' I exclaimed. 'Then a message has come?'

  'No. But I speak the truth.'

  'You speak words of kindness, Kemit, and I appreciate your attempt to cheer me. But how can you possibly know their fate?'

  'The gods have told me.'

  He stood straight as a lance, his stalwart figure limned black against the fiery sky, and his voice and manner carried a conviction that assured me he, at least, believed what he had said. It would have been rude as well as unkind to point out I had heard nothing from my God, and that I regarded that source as somewhat more reliable than his.

  'Thank you, my friend,' I said. 'And render my thanks to your gods for their kind reassurance. I think we had best return now, it is getting... Kemit? What is it?'

  For he had stiffened like a thoroughbred hound scenting an invisible prey. I sprang to my feet and stood beside him; but though I strained my sight to the utmost, I saw nothing in the direction in which he stared so intently.

  'Something comes,' said Kemit.

  He was fifty feet away before I could gather my wits and follow him. He could run like a deer. By the time I caught him up he was kneeling beside a prostrate figure. The brief twilight of the desert darkened the air as I too fell to my knees beside the body, but I saw immediately that the fallen form was, for once, not Reggie's. The dark robe and turban were those of an Arab.

  Kemit's eyes were better than mine. 'It is the servant of the fire-haired one,' he said.

  'Daoud, the Nubian? Help me to turn him over. Is he... ?'

  'He breathes,' said Kemit briefly.

  I unhooked the canteen from my belt and unscrewed the top. In my agitation I spilled more water on his face than into his parted lips, but no doubt the result was all to the good; almost at once the man stirred and moaned and licked his lips. 'More,' he gasped. 'Water, for the love of Allah...'

  I allowed him only a sip. 'Not too much, it will make you ill. Rest easy, you are safe. Where is your master?'

  The only answer was a tremulous whisper, in which I caught only the word 'water.' In my agitation I actually shook the poor fellow. 'You have had enough for now. Does your master follow? Where are the others?'

  'They.' Black night covered his face and form, but his voice was stronger. I dribbled a little more water into his mouth, and he went on, 'They found us. The wild men of the desert. We fought... they were too many.'

  Kemit's breath caught in a startled hiss. 'Wild men?' he repeated.

  'Too many, I repeated. 'Yet you escaped, leaving your master to die?'

  'He sent me,' the man protested. Tor help. They were too many. Some they killed... but not the master. He is a prisoner of the wild men of the desert!'

  Lost In the Sea of Sand

  'Slavers,' said Slatin Pasha.

  The buzzing of a chorus of flies droned a dismal accompaniment to his words as he went on. 'We have done our best to stop that vile trade, but our efforts have only driven the ghouls who trade in human flesh farther from their customary routes. It must have been some such group who attacked Mr Forthright.'

  'What does it matter who they were?' I demanded. 'The question is, what are the authorities going to do about it?'

  We were in Slatin Pasha's tukhul at the military camp. Outside a crowd of people squatted patiently on the mats, waiting for his attention, but he had given our problem precedence.

  The distinguished soldier coughed and looked away. 'We will, of course, mention the matter to any patrols that go into that region.'

  'I told you this was a waste of time, Peabody,' said Emerson, rising.

  'Wait, Professor,' Slatin Pasha begged. 'Don't misjudge me; I would do anything within my power to assist this unfortunate young man. But you of all people should understand the difficulties. We are preparing for a major campaign, and we need every man. Mr Forthright was warned that his search was both dangerous and futile, yet he persisted in going. I would not, even if I could, persuade the Sirdar to endanger more lives.'

  I administered a gentle kick to the shins of my spouse in order to forestall the contemptuous response I saw hovering upon his lips. Slatin Pasha did not deserve our contempt. No man knew better than he the tortures of slavery among savage people. His distress and his helplessness were equally plain to see.

  Once outside the tukhul, we turned towards the market. The flies were particularly bad that day; they clustered like patches of black rot on every piece of fruit and formed a whining cloud around the food stalls.

  'I will leave you to make the necessary purchases,' I said to Emerson, 'while I beg an additional supply of camel ointment and other medications from Captain Griffith.'

  I started to walk away, but Emerson caught me by the shoulder and spun me around. His eyes sparkled wickedly, and his cheeks were flushed with rising temper. 'Here - wait, Peabody. What the devil are you doing? You have plenty of the cursed medicine, you got a fresh supply last time we came here.'

  'Only enough for a week,' I replied. 'It is important to have an adequate amount, Emerson; our lives may depend on the good health of the camels.'

  The hand that held me tightened until it felt as if the fingers were digging into the bone. The eyes that looked deep into mine glowed like the purest blue water. Though the crowd of the suk jostled us on every hand, we might have been alone in the desert waste, no one seeing, no one hearing.

  'I won't let you come, Peabody,' said Emerson.

  'Your tone lacks conviction, my dear Emerson. You know you can't prevent me.'

  Emerson let out a groan so deep and heartfelt that a passing woman robed in dusty black forgot the modesty of her sex and turned a startled look upon the suffering foreigner. 'I know I can't, Peabody. Please, my dearest, I beg you - I implore you... Think of Ramses.'

  'I trust,' said my son coolly, 'that no such consideration will affect your decision, Mama. I fail to see that we have any other course than the one Papa has evidently decided upon; and it would be as impossible for me to remain behind as for Mama to be parted from Papa. I am sure I need not trouble you with an expression of excessive emotion in order to convince you both that my feelings are as profound and as sincere as -'

  I took it upon myself to stop him, since I knew he would go on talking until his breath gave out. 'Pedantic little wretch,' I said, attempting to conceal my own emotion, 'how dare you appeal to affection in order to have your own way? It is out of the question, Ramses; you cannot come with us.'

  'Us?' said Emerson. 'Us? Now see here, Peabody -'

  'That is settled, Emerson. Whither thou goest, I fully intend to go, and I won't entertain any further debate on the subject. As for young Master Ramses - '

  'What alternative do you propose, Mama?' inquired that individual.

  I stared at him, at a loss for words. He stared unblinkingly back at me. Never before had he looked so much like his father. His eyes were deep brown instead of brilliant blue, but they held the same saturnine expression I had often seen in Emerson's when he backed me into a verbal corner.

  For the alternatives were, to say the least, limited. Ramses could not be left alone at the excavation site, or in the army camp. Even if we could persuade the authorities to send him back to Cairo, via military transport - which was improbable -I did not believe that a full army corps, much less a single officer, could control him. If I could get his solemn promise not to run away... But even as the idea occurred to me I realised its futility. In a matter as serious as this, Ramses would not equivocate or prevaricate; he would simply refuse to give me his word. And then what? I felt fairly certain the army would not agree to putting him in irons.

  'Curse it,' I said.

  'Damnation,' said Emerson. Ramses, wisely, said nothing at all.

  A certain amount of equivocation on my part was necessary before we were able to start out. We had to borrow some of the army camels I had been tending, for no others were to be had at any price. This meant that our expedition had to be kept a secret from the military authorities. They might not have attempted to stop us from going, but they certainly would have objected to our unauthorised use of their property.

 

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