The building we had just left was situated on a steep hillside which had been cut into level terraces; as I had thought, it backed up against the cliff and extended into it. Trees and gardens filled the spaces below, with the flat roofs of other structures showing between them. To the right and left, as far as the eye could see, the terraced slopes were similarly occupied. Some of the buildings appeared to be (comparatively) modest in size, others were as large and sprawling as our own house. My attention was caught and held by one particular building that occupied a wide plateau midway up the steep cliffside. It was impossible to make out the details of its construction, but its size proclaimed it a structure of some importance, possibly a temple.

  But when I looked down at what lay immediately below me, on the valley floor, I saw what appeared to be a typical African village. A few of the houses were built of mud brick, with enclosed gardens, but the majority were rounded huts of reeds and sticks, like the Nubian tukhuls. The village occupied only a small part of the enclosed ellipse. A body of water surrounded by marshy areas filled the central section. The rest was laid out in fields and pastures. Every inch of land was in use; even the lower slopes had been terraced and planted.

  'Oh, dear,' I said. 'It is not the fabled city of Zerzura, is it?'

  Emerson shaded his eyes with his hand. 'Just so must large sections of ancient Meroe and Napata have appeared, Peabody. You don't suppose the working class lived in palaces, do you? What an astonishing place! You see how intensive is the cultivation; they may get two or three crops a year. Even so, I don't understand how they can feed themselves. They must trade for foodstuffs with other peoples farther west. And perhaps limit their population by means of - '

  'One method or another,' I interrupted - for I preferred not to think of certain of those methods. 'Where does the water come from?'

  'Deep springs or wells. I imagine the valley floor is considerably lower than the desert beyond. You'll find the same thing at Kharga and Siwa and the other northern oases, except, of course, for the surrounding cliffs. Not the healthiest of climates, Peabody; you observe that the huts of the humble are down below, while the homes of the upper classes are on the slopes, above the miasmatic air of the swamp.' He turned to Murtek, whose amiable countenance was set in a frown of concentration as he attempted to follow our conversation. 'Where is your house, Murtek?'

  The old man extended his arm. 'There, honoured sir. You see its roof.'

  He went on to point out other spots of interest. The dwellings of the two princes were widely separated; they were located on the slopes to our right and left, as were the dwellings of other nobles. 'And that?' Emerson asked, indicating the massive structure across the valley.

  I had been right. The building was a temple - the house of the gods and those who served them, as Murtek put it. 'Will you go there?' he asked. 'Or stay in this place; here is air, a space to walk oneself in.'

  There was no need for consultation on that point; having got so far, we were determined to go on. I was about to cast my vote for a visit to the temple when Murtek spoke again. 'To the house of the Prince Nastasen, to the house of the Prince Tarek, to the house of the Candace (the Meroitic title of the Queen)? All, all is free to you, honoured sir and madam. All good, all beautiful places where the honoured persons wish to go.'

  'All good, all beautiful places,' Emerson repeated, fingering the cleft in his chin. 'Hmmm. But that is not a good, beautiful place, is it?'

  He pointed to the village.

  'No, no, it is not the place for the honoured persons,' Murtek exclaimed, visibly agitated. 'You do not go there.'

  'I think we will, though,' said Emerson. 'Peabody?'

  'Whatever you say, Emerson.'

  I was not really sure why Emerson was so determined to visit the nastiest, least-interesting part of the city, but I knew -as Murtek apparently did not - that opposition was the surest way of strengthening my husband's resolve. Murtek did everything he could to dissuade him, to no avail. He lost a second argument when he tried to order litters for us, but when Emerson demanded the guards be dismissed, Murtek dug in his heels. That, no. That was forbidden. If any harm or offence came to the honoured guests, he would be held responsible.

  Emerson gave in with a great show of disgust, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his blue eyes. He had gained more than he had hoped - more than I had expected.

  Stairs descended steeply to a landing from which other stairways and paths led off, some to the other houses on the hillside, some to the valley below. A broad roadway led, by winding and elevated ways, towards the temple. Murtek made one last attempt to persuade us to take this path, but when Emerson refused he threw up his hands in despair and gave in. Preceded and followed by our guards, we descended the stairs to the valley floor.

  The heat and humidity increased with every downward step, and so did a strong unpleasant smell. Its main component was that of rotting vegetation, but there were interesting undercurrents of cattle and human excrement and unwashed bodies of various species. Seeing me wrinkle my nose, Murtek reached into the breast of his robe and produced a little bundle of flowering herbs, which he presented to me with a bow. He pressed another such bouquet to his own prominent nasal appendage, but Emerson and Ramses refused the ones he offered them. Mine certainly did very little to overcome the stench.

  At the bottom of the stairs we found ourselves in what was apparently the High Street of the village. The paths leading off to right and left were as narrow and winding as animal trails, paved with mud and puddles of stagnant water. The main thoroughfare was wide enough for the three of us to walk abreast, but I was glad I had changed into boots. The surface squelched underfoot. It was comical to see Murtek mincing along, holding his long skirts up with one hand and pressing the nosegay to his face with the other.

  'You see they live like rats,' he said around the flowers.

  'Quite,' said Emerson. 'But where are they?'

  There was not even a rat to be seen. Every window and door was closed by shutters or hangings of woven grass.

  'They work,' said Murtek, spitting out a leaf from his bouquet.

  'All of them? The women and children too?'

  'They work.'

  The women and children too, I expect,' said Emerson. 'But not all in the fields, surely? Where are the craftsmen - the potters, the weavers, the wood carvers?'

  But he knew the answer, and so did I. I had been in many such villages. The inhabitants spent most of the daylight hours out of doors, and always the advent of strangers attracted a crowd of the curious. Either these people were abnormally timid, or they had been ordered to stay away from us. Perhaps the mere appearance of armed guards sent them scuttling into their huts. Every now and then there would be a flicker of movement at one of the darkened windows, where some inhabitant more daring than the rest risked heaven only knew what terrible punishment to snatch a glimpse of the strangers.

  Finally the street opened out into a central space with a stone-rimmed well and a few palm trees. The houses around it were a little larger and better built than the ones we had passed; some had the appearance of shops. Woven mattings had been dropped to cover the entrances.

  'We go back now,' said Murtek. 'All is like what you see. It is nothing.'

  'We may as well, Peabody,' Emerson said. 'We have seen enough, I think.'

  I was about to agree when the hangings before one of the shops lifted and a small form wriggled under it. It was no bigger than a year-old English infant, but when it scampered towards us, the dexterity of its movements informed me that it must be two or three years old. He, I should say, instead of it; there was no mistaking his gender, for his small brown body was unclothed except for a string of beads. His head had been shaved, leaving a single lock on the left side.

  Murtek sucked in his breath. The child stopped. His finger went to his mouth. One of the spearmen stepped forward, lifting his weapon, and a woman burst out of the shop. Snatching up the child, she crouched and turned, shielding him with her body.

  With a mighty crack Emerson's fist struck the would-be assassin square in the nose, sending him reeling back. I kicked the soldier in front of me in the shin, slid past him, and ran to stand before the mother and child. So great was my anger and agitation that my speech, I fear, was not entirely appropriate.

  'Shoot if you must this old grey head,' I shouted. 'But touch this mother at your peril!'

  'Very nice, Peabody,' said Emerson breathlessly. 'Though I have yet to see a grey hair on your head. I expect you pluck them out, eh?'

  'Oh, Emerson,' I cried. 'Oh, curse it! Oh, good Gad... Murtek! What the devil do you mean by this?'

  It was necessary for someone to take command, for Murtek had covered his eyes with his hands and the soldiers were milling around in a shocking display of military disorder. One of them bent over the fallen form of his comrade, whose face was drenched in blood; another waved his spear uncertainly at Emerson, who ignored him with magnificent aplomb.

  Murtek peered out from between his fingers. 'You live,' he exclaimed.

  'Yes, and mean to go on doing so,' said Emerson. 'Now, then, get along with you,' he added, pushing aside the spear that menaced him and giving the fellow a sharp shove.

  Murtek rolled his eyes heavenward. By now I knew enough Meroitic to understand his comments, which consisted mainly of heartfelt prayers of gratitude towards various gods. It was clear that he had not been lying when he told us he had been made responsible for our safety. 'But who would have thought they would risk themselves for one of the rekkit?' he ended.

  No one answered. Perhaps Murtek was rehearsing the explanation he would have to render to his superiors.

  Impressed by Emerson's air of command, the soldiers straggled sheepishly back into line. The man Emerson had struck was back on his feet. He had suffered nothing more serious than a nosebleed.

  Feeling a tug at my trousers, I turned to find the young mother clutching me around the knees. Ramses had taken the child from her; he was pulling at Ramses's nose, and the expression on my son's face compensated for a good many of the indignities he had inflicted on me.

  'Cast the shadow of your protection(?) upon me, great lady,' the little woman gasped. 'Wrap me in the - of your garments(?).'

  'Certainly, certainly,' I replied, trying to raise her to her feet. Murtek came tottering towards us.

  'Come, honoured madam. Come quickly. You have done a thing not permitted, very dangerous - '

  'Not until you give this woman your word she will be safe. I hold you responsible, Murtek. Be sure I will find out, by my magic, if anything happens to her.'

  Murtek groaned. 'I think you would, honoured madam I will swear by Aminreh.'

  He repeated the words to the woman. She glanced up; her face was streaked with tears, but the dawning light of hope that transformed it assured me that this was indeed a solemn oath. Still she did not rise, but showered innumerable kisses upon my dusty boots and tried to do the same to the sandals of Murtek. He jumped back as if she had been a leper - as, in social terms, she probably was. The strangest thing, though, was the way she behaved towards Emerson. She had knelt to me and kissed my boots; when Emerson approached, she flattened herself out like a doormat, face down in the dirt.

  Emerson retreated, blushing furiously. 'I say, Peabody, this is cursed embarrassing. What the devil is wrong with her?'

  I bent over the little woman but she refused to move until Emerson spoke to her. He was so flustered he had a hard time finding the proper words. 'Arise, honoured lady - er - woman - oh, curse it! Fear not. You are well. Er - the young male child is well. Oh, come along, Peabody, I can't stand this sort of thing.'

  This last in English, of course. The woman must have understood something, for she hoisted herself to her knees. Covering her face as a sign of great respect, she addressed a brief speech to Emerson and, finally, indicated she was ready to retire.

  We had to detach the baby from the nose of Ramses, which made him yell lustily - the baby, I mean, not Ramses. The roars went on until they were muffled by the door hanging falling back into place.

  Murtek was not inclined towards conversation during the return trip, and for some time we also were silent, as we considered the dramatic incident and its possible ramifications. Finally Ramses (it would, of course, be Ramses) spoke.

  'Did you understand what she said to you, Papa?'

  Emerson would like to have claimed he had, but he is at heart an honest man. 'Did she call me her friend?'

  'That was one of the words she used,' said Ramses with insufferable assurance. 'The entire phrase was something like "friend of the rekkit." The word " rekkit" appears to be derived from the ancient Egyptian for "common people."'

  'Hmmm, yes,' said Emerson. 'Like other words in the speech of the nobility. The little woman appeared to be speaking a different form of the language. I confess I could hardly understand her.'

  'She and the servants we have seen are also different physically/ Ramses said. "They might belong to another race.'

  'They don't, though,' Emerson replied. Imprecision of speech always irritates him. 'That word is often misused, Ramses, even by scholars. However, there are subdivisions within races, and it may well be... Hi, Murtek.'

  He poked the high priest, who was trotting along ahead of us muttering under his breath. Murtek jumped. 'Honoured sir?'

  'Do your people mate with the rekkit?'

  Murtek pursed up his lips as if about to spit. 'They are rats. People do not mate with rats.'

  'Yet some of the women are not ugly,' said Emerson, giving the priest a man-to-man smirk.

  Murtek brightened. 'Does the honoured sir wish the woman? I will fetch her -'

  'No, no,' said Emerson, trying to conceal his disgust and giving me a sharp poke in the ribs to keep me quiet. 'I want no woman except the honoured madam.'

  Murtek's face fell. Shoulders bowed, he tottered on up the stairs.

  'Well, really,' I exclaimed indignantly. 'Apparently your interference would have been condoned, even approved, if you had wanted the woman for a concubine! To think that old reprobate would offer her to you like a pet cat! And in front of me, too.'

  'Monogamy is not universal, Peabody,' said Emerson, taking my arm as we began to ascend the steps. 'And I believe that in many societies women welcome additional wives, for com-panionship and help with domestic duties.'

  'That would not be my attitude, Emerson.'

  'I am not surprised to hear that, Peabody.' Emerson sobered. 'It appears you were right, though; the rekkit are little better than slaves. They may have been the original inhabitants of this oasis; the present ruling class is descended from Egyptian and Meroitic emigrants, and marriage between the two groups is forbidden, or at least discouraged. I don't doubt that there has been a certain amount of interbreeding, however.'

  'Men being what they are, I don't doubt it either,' I said sharply.

  'Peabody, you know I never have and never will - ' 'Present company excepted, of course,' I conceded.

  Murtek took leave of us with the forlorn air of one bidding a final farewell to a dying friend - or a dying man bidding a final farewell to his friends. He had aged ten years since we set out; two of the guards had to lift him into his litter.

  'Do you suppose we have really endangered him by our actions?' I asked, as we preceded the remaining members of the escort towards our rooms.

  Emerson replied with another question. 'Do you really care?'

  'Well, yes, rather. He is a pleasant old gentleman, and one can hardly blame him for failing to rise above the mistaken standards of his society.'

  'You should rather be concerned with whether we endangered ourselves.'

  'I suppose we did, didn't we?'

  'We didn't do ourselves any good,' said Emerson calmly.

  'We had no choice in the matter,' remarked Ramses in his most dignified manner. 'There was nothing else we could have done.'

  'Quite right, my son.' Emerson clapped him on the back. 'That being the case, we can only wait and see what consequences ensue. I have no doubt Murtek will report our adventure; he knows that if he doesn't, one of the guards will.'

  Mentarit pounced on me, clucking and shaking her head, and insisted I change my clothing, especially my boots, which were encrusted with various noxious substances. I made no objection, since I was all in a glow from excitement, exertion, and the horrid hot climate of the village. I was trying to mend a rent in my trousers - an exasperating task, for though I always carry needle and thread, I have absolutely no skill in sewing - when Ramses came in from the garden. Cradled in his arms was a huge brindled cat.

 

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