The last camel died at noon, page 16
Manpower too was in short supply. The most reliable of the workers had been sent with Reggie, and their failure to return quite understandably acted as a deterrent to other volunteers.
Yet we persevered, as duty directed us, until we made a discovery that might well have marked the end of our endeavours. When Emerson went to look for Willoughby Forth's map, it was nowhere to be found.
'I tell you, Peabody, I put it in this portfolio,' Emerson roared, scattering the contents of the portfolio all over the tent. 'Don't tell me I am mistaken; I am never mistaken about such things.'
Years spent stumbling through the pitfalls of matrimony had taught me that it would be ill-advised to deny this ridiculous statement. In silence I stooped to pick up the papers, and Emerson continued, 'It must be found, Peabody. Though it is a frail reed upon which to risk our lives, it is better than nothing.'
'Daoud has agreed to guide us,' I said hesitantly.
'He's no more use as a guide than Ramses there. Less, in fact,' Emerson added quickly, as Ramses started to protest. 'If he were a Beduin, familiar with the desert, that would be one thing, but he told me he has lived all his life in Haifa. No, we must have the map. We dare not set forth without it!'
I started to reply, but something stopped me, like an invisible hand placed over my lips. I can truthfully claim that I seldom suffer from indecision. Such, however, was the case now. Before I could make up my mind, Ramses emitted the small cough that usually preceded a statement of whose reception he was not entirely certain.
'Fortunately, Papa, there is a copy of the map at hand. I took the liberty of tracing it before we left England.'
Emerson dropped the papers I had handed him and spun around to face his son. His face shone with delight. 'Splendid, Ramses! Run and fetch it at once. It is the last thing we need; we will set forth at dawn.'
With a sigh, I stooped to collect the papers again. The die was cast, our fate determined - but not by me. I too had a copy of the map.
The night before he left us Reggie had handed me a little packet of papers, requesting me in manly but faltering tones to refrain from mentioning it or opening it until after his departure. I knew what it must contain, and my own voice was a trifle unsteady as I assured him he could trust me to carry out his wishes, in the unhappy event that such action should prove necessary. When I did open the packet I found what I had expected - Reggie's last will and testament, written in his own hand. There were also two letters, one addressed to his grandfather and the other to Slatin Pasha. A copy of the map was attached to this last document; I assumed the letter itself expressed Reggie's hope that the military authorities would carry on his quest if he fell by the way.
Neither of the letters was sealed. I thought this a particularly delicate and gentlemanly touch on Reggie's part. Naturally I would never dream of reading such private communications, but under the present circumstances there was no honourable reason why I should have hesitated to admit I possessed a copy øf the map. Why did I hesitate? I knew the answer, as well as the Reader must. Without the map we dared not set forth. To supply the commodity that might doom us all to death was a responsibility I had lacked the fortitude to assume.
The first pale hint of sunrise touched the eastern sky as we prepared for departure. I had anointed the camels' healing sores and forced a dose of cordial - my own invention, compounded of strengthening herbs and a modicum of brandy - down their throats. (Emerson had expressed doubts about the brandy, but the camels seemed to like it.) The baggage, carefully balanced and padded, had been loaded upon their backs. I placed my booted foot upon the foreleg of my kneeling steed and swung myself into the saddle. Ramses was already mounted, perched like a monkey atop a pile of baggage. Emerson followed suit. We were ready.
I turned to survey the little expedition. Little it was; only a dozen camels, only five riders in addition to ourselves. One of them was Kemit. He had been the first to volunteer. In fact, he was the only one to volunteer; the others had only agreed after the payment of extravagant bribes. They were all silent; there was none of the cheerful talk, or song, or laughter with which they were wont to meet the day. The cold grey light cast a corpselike pallor upon their gloomy faces and those of the friends and family members who had come to bid them farewell.
Emerson flung up his hand. His deep voice rolled out across the empty waste. 'We depart with the blessing of God! Ma'es-salamehl'
The formal answer came in a ragged chorus. 'Nishuf wishshak fi kheir - May you be fortunate at our next meeting.' I detected a certain lack of conviction in the voices, however, and a woman's voice broke into soprano lamentation.
Emerson drowned her out with a sonorous rendition of an Arabic song, and urged his camel to a trot. Gritting my teeth - for the motion of a trotting camel is the most painful thing on this earth - I followed his lead. In a cloud of sand, accompanied by song, we thundered away.
As soon as we were out of sight of the others, Emerson allowed his camel to slow to a walk. I drew up beside him. 'Are we going in the right direction, Emerson?'
'No.' Emerson glanced at the compass and turned his beast slightly to the right. 'That was purely for effect, Peabody. A stirring departure, wasn't it?'
'Yes, indeed, my dear, and it has had the desired effect.' One of the men had continued the song ('When will she say to me, "Young man, come and let us intoxicate ourselves?"') and the others were humming along.
The cool of morning gave way to warmth and then to excessive heat. We paused to rest during the hottest part of the day in the shade of a rock outcropping. Deserts vary as people do. The great sand sea of the Sahara, with its sterile golden dunes, was far to the north. Here the underlying skin of the planet was sandstone, not limestone, and the flat surface was broken by rocks and gullies that marked the course of ancient waterways. Late in the afternoon we set out again. Only when approaching darkness made travel impossible did we stop to make camp. We had seen no sign of anyone who might have preceded us, not even the bones of fallen men and camels that form grisly guideposts along such well-travelled routes as the Darb el Arba'in.
'We are off all the known caravan routes,' Emerson said, when I mentioned this later as we sat around the campfire. 'The nearest part of the Darb el Arba'in is hundreds of miles west of here; there is no known route between it and this part of Nubia. Still, I had hoped to find some sign of Forthright's passage - the dead ashes of a fire, discarded tins, or even the tracks of the camels.'
The stars blazed like gems in a sky as cold as airless space, a chill breeze ruffled my hair. We sat in reflective silence until the moon rose, casting strange shadows across the silvered sands.
The next day was a repetition of the first except that the terrain became even more arid and forbidding. In that waste any object would have stood out like a beacon; tracks, which Emerson identified as those of an antelope, were as plain as if they had been printed on the sand. But we saw no signs of man. That evening one of the camels showed signs of distress, so I gave it an extra dose of my cordial. In spite of this, it died during the night. I was not surprised; it had been the weakest of the lot. Leaving the poor creature lying where it had fallen, we pushed on.
By the afternoon of the third day the uncomfortable temperature changes, from unbearable heat by day to freezing cold by night, and our failure to find any traces of Reggie's caravan, were beginning to tell on even the hardiest. Sifting sand had rubbed our skins raw; those unaccustomed to riding were stiff and sore. The men rode in sullen silence. An ugly haze veiling the sun did not lessen the heat, but awoke dire fore bodings of sandstorm. I found myself falling into a kind of stupor as the camel plodded onward; it was hard to tell which ached more, my head or certain portions of my abused anatomy.
I was aroused from my semi-slumber by a shout. Dazed and dizzy, I echoed it in fainter tones. 'What? What is it?'
Emerson was too elated to note my enfeebled state. 'Look, Peabody. There they are! By heaven, the lunatic was right after all!'
At first the objects he indicated seemed only another mirage quivering as if viewed through water. They took on solider dimensions as we urged our beasts to a faster gait, and before long we had reached them: a pair of tall, rocky columns, like the twin obelisks marked on Mr Forth's map. They formed part of a larger group of tumbled stones, rising above their lesser fellows like crudely shaped pillars, or the gateposts of a ruined doorway.
'It was a structure of some kind,' Emerson declared, a short time later. The discovery had enlivened him; he looked as fresh and cheerful as if he had spent the day roaming English meadows. 'I can't find any traces of reliefs or inscriptions, but they may have been worn away by blowing sand. We'll make camp here, Peabody, though it is early. I want to do a bit of digging.'
In this activity he got scant help from the men. Groaning and protesting, they demanded an extra ration of water before they would consent to do anything at all, and they worked slowly and reluctantly. Only Kemit, looking more than ever like a bronze statue, pitched in with his usual zeal. At the end of an hour Emerson was rewarded by a few scraps of stone and pottery, and another shapeless ugly lump that brought a cry of rapture to his lips. 'Iron, Peabody - an iron knife blade. It is Meroitic, beyond a doubt. They were here - they passed this way. Good Gad, this is incredible!'
I inspected the corroded lump doubtfully. 'How do you know it wasn't lost by a modern explorer or wandering Beduin?'
'There are occasional rains in this region, in summer; but it would take centuries, nay, millennia, to reduce cold iron to this state. The Cushites worked iron; I have seen the black slag heaps around Meroe, like the ones at Birmingham and Sheffield.' Turning to the men, who squatted on the sand looking like piles of dirty laundry, he shouted cheerfully, 'Rest, my friends; we must make an early start.'
He appeared not to notice the sullen looks with which they obeyed him, it would never have occurred to Emerson that he could not command any group who worked for him. Nor, under ordinary circumstances, would any such doubt have entered my mind. But these circumstances were far from normal, and the discovery that had enraptured Emerson had precisely the opposite effect on the men. We had water for only about ten days. According to the map, seven or eight days of travel would bring us to a source of that vital fluid; but if the map had proved to be untrustworthy, common sense would decree that we turn back while we still had a sufficient supply for the return journey. The men had hoped we would not find the first landmark, and decide to give up. Well, I could sympathise with their point of view, but I felt a stirring of unease as I saw the ugly look one of them gave my unconscious husband. Daoud's willingness to return into the desert that had almost cost him his life had surprised and pleased me; he was a man of considerable stamina, for his recovery from his ordeal had been quicker than I had expected. However, he had turned sullen when Emerson rejected his advice on the route we should follow, and after repeated criticism from Daoud, Emerson had lost his temper. 'I am guided by the marks on the paper and the needle of the magic clock [i.e., the compass]. If your master followed your lead, it is no wonder we have found no trace of him!'
He added a few well-chosen expletives that put an end to Daoud's complaints. At least he did not complain to Emerson, but I had an uneasy feeling that he was undermining the con-fidence of the other men.
Still, we had two more days before we reached the point of no return, and there were no overt signs of rebellion when we set out the next morning, even though during the night another camel had passed on to wherever camels go. There were enough left to mount all the men, and I took care to renew their medication.
The fifth day dawned hazy and still. The rising sun resembled m a swollen, blood-red balloon. The sandstorm passed to the south of our path, but the outlying skirts of it filled the air with fine grit that rubbed skin raw and clogged breathing. One of the camels collapsed shortly after we set forth after the midday rest period. Less than an hour later, a second dropped. If there had been a particle of shade to be found, I expect the men would have insisted on stopping, but they went on in the hope of finding a better place. Towards evening the wind turned to the north and the gritty air cleared, giving us some relief; and as the sun sank lower I saw a stark outline limned against the brilliance of sunset. It was not so much a tree as the skeleton of one, leafless and scoured bone-white by wind-driven sand. But it was unquestionably Forth's second landmark.
We camped in what might have been its shade if it had possessed any leaves. Bathing was out of the question, of course, but we spared a scant cupful of water to sponge off the sand that had formed a crust on our perspiring faces and limbs. A change of clothing, as well, afforded great relief. As the chill of the desert night closed around us, Emerson and I sat by the small fire on which our meagre evening meal was cooking. He had lit his pipe. Ramses was seated some distance away, talking to Kemit. Beyond them crouched our riding camels, grotesque shapes in the cold moonlight.
The men had placed their camp farther from us each night -a gesture whose significance did not escape me, but which I considered it best not to mention to them. When I mentioned it to Emerson, he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'They were the pick of a poor lot, Peabody. If I had had the time to send messengers to my friends among the Beduin... I don't know what they're complaining about, thus far matters have gone very well.'
'Except for the camels dying.'
'The weak have been winnowed out,' said Emerson sententiously. 'They were the weakest. The others appear healthy enough.'
'I saw Daoud haranguing the men this evening. They were gathered around him like conspirators, and he broke off when he saw me coming.'
'He was probably telling them a vulgar story,' Emerson said. 'Good Gad, Peabody, these womanish qualms are not like you. Are you feeling well?'
He reached for my hand.
Within it - figuratively speaking - lay the means of altering Emerson's set purpose. I was not feeling well. All I had to do was admit to the feverish malady that had afflicted me since the previous afternoon, and we would be on our way back to civilisation and a doctor as fast as Emerson could take me. But such a course was unthinkable. No one understood better than I the passion that drove him on into the unknown. Not only had Forth's map proved accurate, but the discovery of ancient remains substantiated the theory that along that hitherto unknown and unsuspected road had passed the merchants and messengers and the fleeing royalty of ancient Cush. I was as eager as Emerson to discover what lay at the end of that road. At least I would have been, if my head had not ached so much.
'Of course I am well,' I replied crossly.
'Your hand is warm,' said Emerson. 'You brought your medical kit, of course; have you taken your temperature?'
'I don't need a thermometer to tell me when I have a fever, and I know as well as any doctor what to do about it if I have. Don't fuss, Emerson.'
'Peabody.'
'Yes, Emerson.'
Emerson took my face between his hands and looked into my eyes. 'Take some quinine and go to bed, my dear. I'll dose the da - the cursed camels and bed them down for the night. If I am not entirely satisfied in the morning that you are in perfect health, I will tie you on a camel and take you back.'
Tears flooded my eyes at this demonstration of affection, one of the noblest ever made by man for the sake of woman. But my gallant Emerson was not forced to that agonising decision. Fortunately the men abandoned us during the night, taking with them the camels that carried most of our remaining food and water.
The effect of this admittedly disconcerting discovery made me forget my discomfort, and when our greatly reduced party gathered to discuss the situation, I felt almost as alert as usual. Kemit, whom Ramses had discovered lying unconscious amid the trampled sand and camel dung that marked the men's former camp, had refused to let me treat his wound. It was only a bump on the head, he said, and his sole regret was that the blow had prevented him from raising the alarm.
'It wouldn't have mattered,' I reassured him. 'We could not have forced them to go on; we do not use chains and whips, like the slavers.'
'No, but we might have - er - persuaded them to leave us food and water,' Emerson said. 'Not that I blame you, Kemit, you are a true man and you did your best. It is my cursed stupidity that is to blame for our plight; I should have kept one of the supply camels with us, instead of trusting the men with them.'
'There is nothing so futile as regret for what cannot be mended," I remarked. 'If a mistake was made we all share the blame.'
'True,' Emerson said, cheering up. 'Precisely what do we have left, Peabody?'
'Our personal possessions, changes of clothing, notebooks and papers, a few tools. Two waterskins - but both are less than half-full. A few tins, a tin opener, two tents, blankets...'
'Hmph,' said Emerson when I had finished. 'It could be worse, but it could certainly be better. Well, my dears - and my friend Kemit - what shall we do? There are only two possibilities, for we obviously can't remain here. Either we go on or we turn back - try to overtake those villains and force them to share the supplies - '
