She did not rise to greet me - I imagine it would have taken two or more strong men to hoist her to her feet - but she welcomed me in a high, chirping voice and indicated a nest of cushions that had been placed at her side. Conquering my amazement with my customary savoir faire, I bowed politely and sat down.

  Mentarit had not accompanied us, so I had to make do without an interpreter. This proved to be an asset rather than a handicap, for my blunders and peculiar accent delighted the ladies - Her Majesty most of all - and laughter broke the social ice. The laughter was good-natured; the queen chuckled just as merrily at her own attempts at an English greeting. I could not resist asking her age. After considerable discussion and counting on the fingers, of herself and her ladies, she informed me that she was thirty-two. I was incredulous at first, but upon reconsideration I realised she might have become a mother at the tender age of fourteen, as some unfortunate girls do in Egypt and Nubia even today. That would make Nastasen, and Tarek, who had been born in the same year, eighteen years of age - mere youths by English standards, but not by the standards of this society. They had probably 'cut off the sidelock of youth' before they reached their teens.

  Her Majesty's innocent curiosity and her excessive hospitality foiled further attempts to question her. Vast amounts of food and drink were pressed upon me. Though I did my best, for fear of seeming discourteous, I could not begin to emulate the consumption of the queen and her ladies, and my lack of appetite distressed Her Majesty. Pinching my arm and shoulder, she shook her head sympathetically. What sort of - was my husband, that he starved me?

  I could not think of an answer that would exonerate Emerson without insulting Her Majesty, so I flexed my muscles and smiled to show I enjoyed perfect health and happiness. This provided a useful distraction in turning the queen's attention to my attire. I had to display and explain the use of every object on my belt. The ladies of the court edged closer and all hung breathless on my words. My parasol was a great attraction; they understood its function, for they possessed sunshades of various kinds, but the mechanism fascinated them, and I had to raise and lower it a dozen times before they tired of it.

  I considered giving it to the queen, but decided I dared not part with any potential weapon. Instead, when she indicated that the audience was over by presenting me with an elaborate gold bracelet from her own wrist (it slid up clear to my shoulder and was loose even then), I gave her my mending kit. It was no great loss to me, and it proved an enormous success. The slim shining needles, the fine, coloured threads had already been admired, and as I bowed myself out I saw one of the ladies squinting desperately at a needle as she tried to thread it, while the beaming queen forced the silver thimble onto the tip of her little finger.

  The walk back relieved some of the distress resulting from my overindulgence in sweetmeats, but the sight of the table spread for the midday meal would not have stirred my appetite even had I not found a more attractive distraction in the presence of my husband. He scolded me for having been gone so long in such a cheerful voice that I realised he must have learned something of interest. He was in no hurry to enlighten me, however. Instead he held a chair for me and inquired how I had spent the morning.

  'Eating,' I replied, repressing an unseemly sound of repletion. 'I don't think I can force down another morsel."

  'Nor I.' Emerson eyed the bowls of stew and fresh fruit with loathing. 'Murtek was an assiduous host. Was it the High Priestess who entertained you, Peabody?'

  I explained. 'Emerson, you should see the queen,' I went on 'except for being prettier, she looks exactly like the Queen of Punt in the reliefs from Hatshepsut's temple! You remember her, a great rotund figure standing next to her tiny donkey?'

  'One of the many indications that the ancient Egyptians had a sense of humour,' Emerson agreed with a grin. 'The royal ladies of Meroe were constructed on similar lines. So you don't believe Her Majesty is another Agrippina or Roxelana?'

  His reference to the ambitious royal mothers of Rome and Turkey meant nothing to our attendants, but of course I understood what he was driving at. 'No. I managed to get in a few questions about her son and the succession; she replied simply that the god would decide, and I would swear she meant it. You know I am an excellent judge of character - '

  'Hmph,' said Emerson.

  'Furthermore, her extreme corpulence must make mental as well as physical exertion difficult. I wonder,' I went on, struck by a new idea, 'if that explains the size of the royal ladies of Meroe. Stuffing them like geese would be one way of keeping the women from interfering in affairs of state - and, I must confess, a more humanitarian method than assassination or imprisonment.'

  Emerson studied me speculatively. Then he shook his head with a certain air of regret. 'You and I both know obese individuals who are as energetic as anyone. And some of the Meroitic reliefs depict the queens spearing captives with girlish vigour and enthusiasm.'

  'True.' I forced myself to take a bite of stew. 'I doubt that adding a stone or two to my weight would change my character.'

  'I don't have any doubts on the subject,' Emerson declared. 'And I hope you will not be tempted to try the experiment. Did you learn anything more of interest from the lady?'

  'Not really. What about you?'

  'I cannot even look at food,' Emerson announced, pushing his chair away from the table. 'If you have finished, Peabody, come walk in the garden with me.'

  Thus far we had said nothing that was not already known to our attendants, but I could see he had matters of a private nature to discuss, and I tried to think of a tactful manner of escaping our entourage An invitation to partake of the food which we had scarcely touched distracted the men; when the ladies would have followed us, I sent them to look for Ramses. He had been missing the entire morning, so my maternal concern was not entirely feigned.

  'Well?' I demanded, as we strolled by the pool. 'Did you see Tarek?'

  'No. I was informed that both princes were busy with affairs of state. However, Murtek received me cordially and kept me the entire morning. I like the old fellow, Peabody; his is the mind of a true scholar. He was the only adult who had the intellectual curiosity to learn English from Forth, and question him about life in the outside world.'

  'Murtek's English is not as good as Tarek's.'

  'Murtek was handicapped by learning the language late in life. A youthful tongue twists itself around strange sounds more readily. Tarek's intelligence is certainly of a high order; according to Murtek he was Forth's prize pupil, going on with his studies after many of the other young people had lost interest and dropped away. Murtek did the same, and he spoke of Forth with what sounded like genuine affection. He possesses that rare and admirable quality of intellectual curiosity - love of knowledge for its own sake. You should have heard some of the questions he asked me, about our government, our history, even our literature. At one point I actually found myself trying to explain Hamlet's "too solid flesh" soliloquy.'

  'Shakespeare?' I cried. 'Emerson! Do you realise what this means? Did Murtek show you the book?'

  'No, why should he? He...' Emerson stopped and stared at me. 'Good Gad, Peabody, you must think me a complete idiot. I was so fascinated by encountering a mind of that calibre, the connection never occurred to me. Forth must have had a copy of Shakespeare with him; how else would Murtek know of it?'

  'There are other possibilities, I suppose,' I admitted. 'The Bard has been in print, in various editions, for a good many years, and Mr Forth can't be the first outsider to have come here. This may have been a coincidence. Murtek did not actually show you the volume in question, and my nocturnal visitor told me to await a messenger.'

  'Yes, but circumstances may have changed,' said Emerson, looking chagrined. 'I don't know how the devil Robin Hood managed to get in here the first time; he may not be able to do it again. I learned quite a lot more about the political situation from Murtek. He said nothing that could be viewed treasonable - his attendants and mine were hanging on every word - but I feel sure he expected me to have sufficient intelligence to understand the implications. You know, of course, that in ancient Egypt the distinctions we make between politics and religion were meaningless. The king was a god and the priests were also state officials.'

  'What has that to do with the situation here?'

  'It has everything to do with it. Over the centuries, as was the case in Egypt, Amon took over the powers and attributes of other gods - Re, Atum, Min - the one with the enormous - ' 'Yes, Emerson, I am familiar with the process. It is called syncretism.'

  'Correct. Well, Osiris is the one god Amon could never quite manage to assimilate. The two are so completely different -Amon-Re the great and powerful king of the gods, remote and awe-inspiring; Osiris the suffering redeemer, who died as ordinary mortals do, and who lived again. His devoted wife Isis, the divine mother, also has great popular appeal.

  'The other gods - Bes, Bastet, Apedemak, the old lion god of Cush - have their followers here, but only two cults really matter - that of Amon-Re, as represented by that sour-faced old villain Pesaker, and that of Osiris and Isis - whose high priest is our friend Murtek.'

  'I see. That explains the strange configuration of the images we saw last night - Aminreh, Isis and Osiris, instead of one of the usual divine families.'

  'It also explains the disagreement between Pesaker and the Priestess of Isis over our humble selves.' Emerson stretched, sending muscles rippling under his thin linen shirt. 'Flattering, isn't it, to be fought over by a pair of gods?'

  'You mean by their mortal representatives, Pesaker and Murtek - for the High Priestess of Isis undoubtedly spoke for the latter. It is the same old humdrum power struggle, Emerson; do we assume that Amon supports one of the princes and Osiris the other?'

  'I wish it were that simple. Both princes must want the support of Amon; it is his priests who determine the choice of the god. Both priests want a prince they can control. I expect there is a good deal of bargaining, bribery, blackmail, and intimidation going on behind the scenes. But that was not the most interesting information I gained today, Peabody. Murtek is a sly old fox - he would not have survived in this hotbed of intrigue if he were not - but as he walked me to the door he dropped a remark that went through me like a jolt of electric current.'

  'Well?' I demanded.

  The curtain of green vines behind us rustled. It was only a breeze, which caressed my cheeks gently, but Emerson took my hand and raised me to my feet. 'Let us stroll, Peabody.'

  'It is unworthy of you to prolong the suspense this way, Emerson!'

  'I don't want to be overheard.' Emerson put his arm around my waist and drew me closer. 'Peabody - there is another white man here!'

  Emerson had to stifle my questions by drawing me behind a flowering shrub and placing his lips firmly on mine. It was a refreshing interlude in every sense, and when at last I was free to speak I was able to appreciate why he had acted as he had.

  'You didn't pursue the matter - ask who the man was, and where he lives?' I whispered.

  Emerson shook his head. 'Murtek went on talking, with scarcely a pause, and the cursed courtiers gathered around us. It was very craftily done, a casual reference to something the other white man" had told him recently; even if it had been overheard, it might have been no more than a slip of the tongue.'

  'Could it be Willoughby Forth after all? If they lied about his death -'

  Emerson cut off my voice by squeezing the breath out of me. 'Keep calm, Peabody, I beg you. I believe that to be highly unlikely. You have forgotten another candidate.'

  'Of course,' I breathed.

  I had not forgotten poor Reggie Forthright, and I trust the Reader has not. We had discussed his sad fate on several occasions, but had been forced to trust in Fate, the Good Lord, and the military (not necessarily in that order) for his deliverance, since there was nothing we could do. Now the truth burst upon me like a blinding revelation and I wondered why the possibility had not occurred to me earlier.

  'The wild men of the desert,' I said. "The same "wild men" who succoured us, perhaps ? But we saw no trace of him along the way.'

  'He could have been off course by as little as fifty yards and we would have missed those traces. Inept as he was in all other ways, I would not be surprised to learn that he could not read a compass. Don't count on its being your friend, though, Peabody. Many people were reported killed or missing during the Mahdist rebellion.'

  'No matter who it is, we must see him. I think you are right, Emerson; dear old Murtek meant us to know this, and to act upon it. But how?'

  One of the ladies appeared at the entrance to the garden. Emerson directed such a hideous scowl at her that she squealed and retreated. 'Thus far fortune seems to favour the bold. In other words, I shall simply demand to be taken to "the other white man." We'll see what comes of it.'

  The lady had come to tell us Ramses had been found - or rather, had returned of his own accord. He was seated at the table finishing off the food left from luncheon and feeding scraps to the cat. The cat was sleek and clean as ever; the boy was covered with dust and cobwebs. When I ordered him to go and wash, he protested that he had washed - his hands. Upon inspection they proved to be several degrees cleaner than the rest of him, so I did not insist.

  'Where have you been?' I asked. 'We have been looking all over for you.'

  Ramses stuffed a huge piece of bread in his mouth and waved a hand towards the back part of the building. I took this to mean that he had been engaged in his self-appointed project of copying the wall paintings and inscriptions. I gave him a stern lecture on table manners - for his had deteriorated markedly under the influence of our attendants - and on the rudeness of hiding from people who were searching for him.

  Emerson had gone at once to the guards to put his plan into effect. He returned, scowling and muttering.

  'They prevented you from leaving?' I asked.

  'Not at all.' Emerson dropped heavily onto a chair. 'They professed not to understand what I was talking about.'

  'Perhaps they did not, Emerson. The poor fellow may be a closely guarded prisoner.'

  'Or a figment of my imagination,' Emerson muttered, fingering the cleft in his chin. 'No; no, confound it, the words were perfectly clear. Now what do we do?'

  Ramses requested elucidation, and his father obliged. 'Most interesting,' said Ramses, fingering his own chin. 'It would seem to me that one might now request - or demand - information from someone higher in authority.'

  'Precisely what I was about to suggest,' I said. 'One of the princes?'

  'Both of them,' said Ramses.

  So we put our heads together and composed a miniature Rosetta Stone, with the message in both English and Meroitic. Once we had settled the phraseology to our mutual satisfaction, I made a copy, and Emerson carried both of them to the guards.

  'No difficulty about that, at any rate,' he said upon returning. 'I was assured they would be promptly delivered. Now all we can do is wait.'

  'I am getting very tired of saying and doing that,' I declared. 'Waiting is not our style, Emerson. I yearn to act. A bold stroke, a coup d'etat - '

  'I suppose you could march into the village waving your parasol and call the rekkit to arms,' Emerson replied, reaching for his pipe.

  'Sarcasm does not become you, Emerson. I am quite serious. There must be some way we can increase our prestige, inspire awe and terror... Emerson! Is there by chance an eclipse of the sun imminent?'

  Emerson took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at me. 'How the devil should I know, Peabody? An almanac is not standard equipment on an African expedition.'

  'I should have thought of it,' I said regretfully. 'From now on I will make certain I carry one. It would be so convenient -an eclipse, I mean.'

  'So would the arrival of the Camel Corps with pennons flying,' remarked Emerson, upon whose sense of humour delay seemed to have a deleterious effect. 'Curse it, Peabody, astronomical effects don't occur so conveniently, and total eclipses of the sun are fairly uncommon. What put such a fool notion into your head?'

  Twice during the afternoon I went to the anteroom to ask if there had been a message for us. I was assured that when such a thing arrived it would be promptly delivered. Emerson's calm, as he wrote busily in his journal, only increased my impatience, and I was pacing the floor, hands behind my back, when finally I heard the slap of sandals and ringing of weapons that betokened the approach of the guards - not one, but several, to judge by the sounds.

 

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