Guardian of the Horizon (10 page)

Courtesy prevailed, however, and as we withdrew I contented myself with saying only, "You are on your way to Khartoum, I presume. It is a long, arduous journey. Is there anything that I can do to make it easier for you?" She lowered the fold of silk that had concealed her nose and mouth and looked at me in surprise. Ramses had understated the case. "Pretty" did not do the delicate features and tinted lips justice. Her skin was as fair as that of a southern European. The wide dark eyes were skillfully outlined with kohl. "Why should you offer to do that?" she asked. "Good," I said, pleased. "You are direct. I like that. Why, because you are a woman, and young, and a fellow human being. Nomatter how thoughtful your--er--father may be, he is a man, and men do not always understand the needs of women." My brief hesitation before the word "father" passed without comment. I felt certain Newbold had lied to me about the relationship and that the story he had told Ramses was the true one. Even he would not have had the temerity to introduce me to his concubine. Most ladies would have refused in withering terms. In that he did me an injustice, of course. "You are kind," she said again. "But I need nothing. Your son was kind to me too. Did he tell you that I came to him in his cabin?" "Yes, he did," I replied. The big dark eyes widened; I believe she expected the question would come as a shock, which it certainly would have done had Ramses not told us what had happened. It hadn't been easy for him. I understood why, of course, and now that I had seen the girl, I understood even better. He had been attracted, and tempted. Quite natural, in my opinion, and all the more credit to him for resisting. Unfortunately Nefret had not seen it that way, and I had to insist she apologize. "He said he intended to, but I wondered if he would have the courage." "No one could accuse my son of lacking in courage," I replied somewhat acerbically. "Nor in the instincts of a gentleman. Do you wish to be free of that man? I assure you that my husband and my son, to say nothing of myself, are capable of ensuring that, if you wish it." "Mother," said a voice behind me. Ramses walks like a cat, and I had been too interested in the conversation to notice him approaching. "Please come with me. Father is ready to leave." "I can't just yet," I explained, turning to meet a scowl almost as dark as one of his father's. "Mr. Newbold asked me to stay with-- er--the young lady until he comes back." Ramses looked round. It was certainly a rather rough crowd, and a noisy one, as would-be porters shoved and shouted, vying for the attention of the passengers. Torn between his chivalrous concern for females--instilled in him by me--and his obvious dislike of the young woman, he hesitated. The girl had not replaced her veil. "There are your friends, come looking for you," she said with unmistakable mockery. "Another . . . young lady." The young lady was Miss Campbell, accompanied, of course, by her brother. Miss Campbell was buttoned up to the chin, her prim white collar and cuffs wilted by the heat, and her hair concealed by a broad-brimmed hat. She looked miserably hot compared with Daria, in her loose garments and light head scarf--and her conspicuous respectability made the other girl look even less respectable. They eyed each other and then, as if a signal had passed between them, both turned and stared at Ramses. Mr. Campbell noisily cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Emerson, but would you be good enough to come and talk to those porters? I can't seem to make them understand me." "I'll come, sir," said Ramses, with relief. "Mother?" Daria murmured, "There is my . . . father coming. Thank you, Mrs. Emerson, for protecting me, though it was unnecessary." "You are welcome," I said. "Good-bye and good luck." Miss Campbell took out a limp white handkerchief and wiped her perspiring face. "Is she really . . . Oh dear. I feel rather . . ." "Come out of the sun," I said, putting an arm round her swaying form. "Your attire is quite unsuitable for this climate, you know." "It is suitable for her position," said Mr. Campbell, and let out a bleat of alarm as she sagged heavily against me. I could do no more than keep the girl from falling, for she was a dead weight. "Ramses," I gasped. After a wary glance at Mr. Campbell, who was wringing his hands ineffectually, Ramses lifted the young woman, who had gone quite limp. "Now what shall I do with her?" Ramses demanded. "There's no place to put her down." "Sit on that packing case and continue to hold her," I instructed. "Mr. Campbell, if you wish to be useful, open my parasol and hold it over her. Over her head, you silly man!" As I spoke, I unfastened Miss Campbell's collar, took the pins from her hat, removed that article of clothing, and began fanning her with it. Ramses had laid her as flat as possible, across his knees, one arm under her shoulders. Her head had fallen back and she looked quite pretty and pathetic with her loosened hair framing her face and her lips half parted. I fully expected Campbell to protest, not only the loosening of the girl's clothing but the intimate proximity of a young man; however, he obeyed my orders without comment, his face anxious. Perhaps, I thought, it has finally dawned on the idiot that he is risking her health, even her life. She was showing signs of returning consciousness when Nefret came hurrying toward us. "What on earth . . ." she began. "It is just the heat, I think," I said, as, with an exclamation of concern, she bent over the young woman. "Get some water." The application of this substance to face and throat soon brought Miss Campbell round. When she became aware of her position, a deep blush warmed the pallor of her face and she tried feebly to stand. "Mary . . . Mary, dear," her brother cried, attempting to support her. "Lord, we are in your hands. Help us, guide us!" "You would be better advised to ask me for help," I said irritably. "I presume you have made no arrangements for lodgings here? No, I didn't suppose you had. Take your sister to the government rest house, get her out of those hot clothes, and apply copious amounts of water internally and externally. Ramses will carry her if she cannot walk." "Daoud," Ramses said shortly. "Oh," I said. "Yes, that would be better." We got them off with their luggage, such as it was--two suitcases and a small valise. Daoud carried the girl as easily as if she had been a kitten, his large friendly face wearing a reassuring smile. When he came back to announce they had settled in, Emerson-- who had completely ignored the little drama--was ready to proceed. Our packing cases had been stored, except for our bags, which our own fellows had taken in charge. "Peabody, my dear, I expect you are anxious to--er--change your clothing and bathe." "I bathed this morning," I retorted. "Not much of a bath, inmuddy water in a basin, but I doubt the government rest house here offers more elegant facilities." "Who said anything about the rest house?" Emerson offered me his arm. "Oh, no, Emerson," I said firmly. "Not your dear old friend Mahmud--what was his name?" "El Araba," said Emerson. "I don't know why you should protest, my dear. He was most hospitable. However, the poor old fellow is dead these many years." "Well, wherever we are going, let us go," Nefret said impatiently. "I want to make Hassan comfortable, and I refuse to deliver him to the hospital until I have seen what it's like." Wadi Haifa marks the border between Egypt and the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan; once a bustling military depot, it was now a pleasant, placid little town, capital of the mudiria (province) of the same name. We left the German tourists arguing with the station master and proceeded on foot toward the center of town, which boasted a hospital and several government buildings. Over one of them, a low structure of whitewashed mud brick shaded by trees, flew the British and Egyptian flags. My spirits rose at the sight. "Is the mudir an old friend, Emerson?" I inquired hopefully. "Good Gad, no," said Emerson, as shocked as if I had implied he was well acquainted with Satan. "The mudirs are all British officials. The local ma'mur is Nur ed Din, splendid fellow, met him while he was running guns to Kordofan. His place is down this way." We were expected and were greeted with flattering enthusiasm by the ma'mur himself. The Nubians are a very clean people; the only exceptions I have known happened to be friends of Emerson's, which says more about my husband's notions of sanitation than about his friends. The ma'mur's house was spacious and tidy enough to suit even me, with thick walls of mud brick, some of which were adorned with elegant painted designs. His servants led us to a pleasant little suite of rooms reserved for guests, which included an actual bath chamber and several sleeping chambers. We got Hassan settled in one of them; he was full of morphine and only vaguely aware of his surroundings. "There," said Emerson. "Isn't this better than the cursed government house? Plenty of privacy, you see." He gave me a meaningful smile. "And no cursed missionaries singing hymns." Ramses had picked up his suitcases and gone off to find a room for himself. He was back almost at once, sans luggage. "You'll never guess who I found," he said. "That's not difficult," retorted Emerson. "I told Merasen to meet us here and asked the ma'mur to look after him. Where is he?" "He was asleep. Bare and innocent as a baby. I took the liberty of waking him and announcing our arrival. He'll be along as soon as he puts on some clothes." Merasen professed himself as delighted to see us, and indeed his broad smile and deep bows confirmed it. He had arrived in Haifa only two days before us. When Emerson inquired why it had taken him so long, he replied with wide-eyed candor that he had stayed over for a few days in Aswan, "to see the sights." Observing, from Emerson's expression, that this was not well received, he reached into the breast of his galabeeyah and produced a handful of coins. "Here is the rest of the money you gave me, Father of Curses." "Your expenses were heavy," said Emerson dryly. "I bought gifts." Again he dipped into a pocket. "For Nefret and the Sitt." Strings of beads, very pretty and very cheap. Nefret and I went off to inspect the hospital. It consisted of two widely separated buildings, the smaller of which was the native hospital. I daresay the doctor was doing his best, but we declined his kind offer to add another bed to the overcrowded ward. The flies were as thick as raindrops in a brisk shower, and the temperature was in the high nineties. When we returned I summoned the others, including Selim and Daoud, to a council of war. "The first thing is to make arrangements for Hassan," I said, as Emerson dispensed whiskey. (He had assured me our host had no objection to our indulging in this deplorable practice so long as we did it in private.) "The hospital is impossible. He must be sent home as soon as he is able to travel, andone of us must stay with him. I wouldn't trust a stranger, however well intentioned, to look after him properly." "I can't," Nefret said wretchedly. "You know I can't, Aunt Amelia." "But you can tell Ibrahim what to do," said Selim. "And give him medicines." Among the medicines, I felt sure, would be the green ointment made by Daoud's wife Kadija from a secret recipe passed down by the women of her Sudanese family. Hassan would have demanded it even if Nefret had not come to believe in its efficacy. So it was agreed. After Selim and Daoud had gone off to discuss the matter with the others, I said soberly, "We will now be without two of our men. Was it an accident?" Nefret looked up. "Hassan said someone pushed him. He couldn't tell who. He may have been mistaken." Ramses was stretched out on the soft cushions of the divan. He was as agile as an eel underwater. Only that, and the fact that the crocodile had been busy with Hassan, had saved him from serious injury, but I suspected he had not come out of the encounter entirely unscathed. He had refused to allow me or Nefret to examine him. However, he had accepted a pot of the green ointment before he went to his room to change his wet clothing. "There was a great deal of pushing and shoving," he said without raising his head. "It is an odd coincidence, though." "And too cursed many suspects," Emerson muttered. "Ramses mentioned several groups of people who might be aware of our ultimate goal, and by Gad, two such persons have already turned up. The Great White Hunter and the military, in the person of that fellow who, by another strange coincidence, was at the camp when Reggie Forthright was confiding in all and sundry. The only ones we haven't encountered are representatives of the Egyptological community and the slavers!" "You could hardly expect the latter to show themselves," I said. "My dear, a number of highly respectable persons deal on the sly with slave traders." "You aren't suggesting that those stout German tourists are among them, are you?" "I don't like their looks," Emerson grumbled. "They are too stereotypical to be genuine. As for the missionaries--" "You always suspect missionaries." "That is because religious persons always use God as an excuse for unprincipled acts," Emerson retorted. We dined with the ma'mur that evening and, as courtesy demanded, stuffed ourselves with lamb and rice and couscous, dates, and heaven knows what else. Repletion did not prevent Emerson from taking full advantage of our newfound privacy. The following day we sallied forth to visit the market. These markets are fascinating, and very enjoyable once one gets over European squeamishness about bloody carcasses of butchered animals swarming with flies, and streets littered with a variety of refuse. Our purchases were limited by practicality; any perishable item, such as fruit and vegetables, would have rotted before we reached Meroe. Nefret indulged herself in a few strips of bright fabric, declaring that as soon as we were away from civilization she intended to return to native costume. While we were drinking tea in a cafe, at the invitation of the Greek proprietor (an old friend of Emerson's), a procession went by, heading for the mosque. The personage of chief importance was riding a handsome black stallion and was escorted by several guards wearing gaudy uniforms and carrying long lances with gold-and-green pennants fluttering from their tips. Unlike the guards, who were upstanding, sturdy men, he was fat and puffy around the face, which was marred by deep lines of overindulgence and temper. Next to him rode a younger man, dressed as richly in silk and brocade. Emerson said, "Hell and damnation!" Emerson's normal speaking tones are quite loud, and he did not bother to lower his voice. The older man turned his head. I had the feeling that he had been aware all along of our presence; his
expression did not alter nor did he stop, but the younger dignitary examined us curiously, turning his head and continuing to stare as he went past. "Now there," said Emerson, saluting him with an ironic flip of his hand, "is a fellow you should avoid if you can." "Another old friend of yours?" I asked. "That would be stretching it a bit. The last time I ran into him we ... er ... had a slight difference of opinion about--er--well, I was forced to incapacitate him and make a hasty departure from Darfur, where--" "It was about a woman, I suppose," I said. "You make me sound like some sort of philanderer," Emerson protested. "She was only a girl, who had been stolen from her young husband and her family. When she appealed to me, I had no choice but to help her." "I know, my dear," I said affectionately. Emerson's soft heart and chivalrous nature are immediately apparent to any female. So are certain other attributes of his, but I had sworn never to reproach him for anything he had done before we met. "Who is he?" Nefret asked. "Mahmud Dinar, the sultan of Darfur. The fellow next to him is his eldest son. He's the only independent governor in the Sudan-- a reward for his remaining loyal during the Dervish revolt. He pays a sizable tribute, though." "He looks as if he can afford it," Nefret remarked. "The slave trade pays well," said Emerson dryly. "He turns a blind eye and collects his cut. Well, well. The only ones we're missing are a journalist and an Egyptologist." When we returned to the ma'mur's house we found a message from the mudir, a Captain Barkdoll, inviting us to tea. "Shan't go," said Emerson, removing his hat and unfastening the remaining buttons of his shirt. "Oh, yes, we shall. I had intended to call on him. All open and aboveboard, remember? You may be sure that if we don't turn up he will come looking for us." Captain Barkdoll was young and very conscious of his authority. His mouse-brown hair looked as if it had been parted by a razor, and his mustache was so perfect it might have been painted on. Since he had no hostess, he asked me to pour, which of course I did. "You did not notify the Sudan agent in Cairo of your intentions, Professor Emerson," he began. "Why should I?" Emerson stirred sugar into his tea. "I don't need his permission to excavate at Meroe, and I certainly don't require assistance from fellows like you." Standing stiff as a poker, his cup in one hand and the other behind his back, Barkdoll pressed on. "I must ask you for a list of the supplies you brought and for your papers." Ramses, who was also standing, looked from his father to the young officer and allowed a faint smile to curve his mouth. He knew what was coming. "Papers be damned," said Emerson amiably. "You know who I am. Everybody knows who I am." "Are you aware, sir, that the importation of rifles and ammunition of .303 caliber is absolutely forbidden and that you require a license to hunt with other weapons?" Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward. "License A," he retorted with an audible sneer, "entitles the holder to shoot elephant, hippopotami, rhinoceros, giraffe, antelope, and any other unfortunate animal that passes by. We, sir, do not hunt." Barkdoll was, as I have said, quite young, and no match for Emerson's tactics. "Then what have you got in those damned long wooden cases?" he shouted. "I believe, sir," said Emerson in freezing tones, "that you have forgotten there are ladies present." The young man glanced at Nefret, who was trying to look shocked. At my insistence she had attired herself in a proper frock and flower-trimmed hat, and she looked like what she was not--an innocent, well-bred young English lady. "I--I beg your pardon. I didn't mean--" "How does it happen that you are familiar with the contents of our baggage?" Emerson demanded. "We are British citizens, sir, and are not accustomed to being spied upon by our own people." "No! I was told--" "Go down to the station, then, and rip the cursed boxes apart," Emerson shouted. "I will hold you personally accountable for any missing item or for any damage to our cameras and surveying equipment." "Really," I said, rising. "I had expected more courteous treatment from a British officer and a gentleman. Pray excuse us." Barkdoll wilted. "Naturally, Professor Emerson, if I have your --- "My word," said Emerson grandly, "is my bond. Come, Peabody." Once we had left the house, "What is in those cases, Emerson?" I inquired. "Rifles and ammunition of .303 caliber, of course," said Emerson, stamping along with his hands in his pockets. The ma'mur was more than happy to offer his hospitality to Hassan and Ibrahim for as long as they liked. Ibrahim was a quiet, easygoing older man, very much like his second cousin Daoud, and he listened intently and intelligently to Nefret's directions. We left him amply supplied with funds for the journey to Luxor, which would take place as soon as Hassan was able to travel. Thanks to Nefret's quick and vigorous intervention, the wound was healing without any sign of infection, and Selim had already begun designing an artificial foot for Hassan. On Thursday we bade them farewell and betook ourselves to the railway station, where we found our goods undisturbed. All the passengers from the boat were there. There was nothing surprising or suspicious about that, since they were all on their way to places farther south. I exchanged a few pleasant words with Captain Moroney before he took his place in the train. Newbold nodded and tipped his hat, but did not approach us. He hurried his companion into one of the cars. Her face was veiled and her form completely concealed by her garments. The train was described as deluxe, with supposedly dust-proofdining and sleeping cars. Compared with my earlier travels by train in the Sudan, it was deluxe. There were actually windows in the carriages and reasonably good food to be had in the dining car. After luncheon we went back to our compartment, taking Merasen with us. I didn't want him swaggering up and down the train smirking at the women and inspiring the interest of people like Newbold. On the east ran a chain of bare, violet-colored hills and an endless stretch of stony desert, quivering with heat. The view was not inspiring and the cars were not, in fact, entirely dust-proof; I put my head on Emerson's shoulder and closed my eyes. I was just drifting off when Emerson got to his feet. "Sorry, Peabody," he said, as I tipped over sideways. "I did not realize you were asleep. We're almost there, so get your gear together." I sat up and stared out the window. There was nothing to be seen but sand, rock, and a few spindly palm trees. "What do you mean, we are almost there? Almost where? Not Meroe, it is at least--" "Abu Hamed," said Emerson. "Or, to be more precise, Station Number Ten, just outside Abu Hamed, where we connect with the branch line to Kareima." "Kareima," I muttered, being still somewhat befuddled by drowsiness. "What? Why?" Nefret handed me a dampened napkin. Though somewhat rumpled and glowing with perspiration, she was as bright-eyed as ... as I was not. "Wipe your face, Aunt Amelia. So we are going straight to Napata and Gebel Barkal instead of on to Meroe? Very clever, Professor!" "Well, I thought so," said Emerson modestly. "Throw any pursuers off the track, you see. They will be expecting us in Meroe, and by the time they realize we aren't there, we will be on our way. And if any of our fellow travelers get off here, we will know them for what they are." The dampened napkin was most refreshing. I looked from Emerson, who was smirking in a particularly annoying fashion, to Ramses, whose thin brown face, for once, betrayed his feelings. Theywere not those of surprise. Amusement, rather. As a rule I like seeing Ramses's imperturbable countenance soften. Not on this occasion, however. "You took Ramses into your confidence," I cried accusingly. "But not me. How could you, Emerson?" "No, Mother," Ramses protested. "Honestly. Father said nothing to me. It was, however, a predictable and logical course of action-- er--as you no doubt--um. I'll go and alert Selim and Daoud and the other fellows, shall I?" The train was slowing. I looked longingly at the seat, which opened into a nice comfortable bed, a bed which I was destined not to enjoy; and put on my hat. "Give Merasen a poke, will you, Nefret? Goodness, I believe that boy could sleep through a sandstorm." Since the railway to Abu Hamed cut across the arid desert, miles from the river, a series of wells had been sunk to supply needed water. Station Number Ten marked one of these. It merited no worthier name. There was nothing there except the station itself, a gray wooden building from which any paint had long since been scoured away by sand and sun. The train to Kareima was certainly not a train deluxe--in addition to the aged engine, there were only half a dozen carriages and a baggage car--but at least it was there, waiting for passengers, when we drew to a stop. The inevitable small merchants hawked fruit and water and sand-sprinkled bread. At my suggestion Ramses bought a supply of food and Nefret persuaded the dining-car steward to fill our water bottles with cold tea. The transfer of our by now mountainous heap of baggage took some time. A few of the other passengers took advantage of the delay to get off and stretch their limbs. Among them were the Germans, who strode up and down, swinging their arms as if they were running a footrace. Several men in native garb bargained with the food sellers. They were the only ones who boarded the Kareima train. While we waited, I saw a horse and rider, motionless atop a low dune some distance away. They were the most interesting objects in that dismal scene, and well worth looking at--figures of pure romance, the noble steed poised as if ready to break into a gallop, therider straight in the saddle. He was too far away for me to make out his features, but the sun, now past the zenith, shone on his long robes and the folds of the white khafiya that covered his head. In one hand he carried a long lance. As I stared, raising my hands to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun, the man raised the lance and shook it in greeting or--which seemed more likely--menace. "Emerson," I said, tugging at his sleeve. "Look there." "Not now, Peabody, not now. Quickly, my lads, get those boxes aboard. Be careful with that one, Selim, it has the camera and plates. Well, Peabody, what is it?" The horseman had gone. "Nothing, Emerson." We took our places in the train. I have seen worse, though some of the windows would not open and others would not close. There were only two classes--first and worst. Except for our party, the train was almost empty, so we were able to spread out. Merasen announced he was going to find an unoccupied compartment and have a little sleep. "You may wake me when we arrive," he informed Selim, who curled his lip but refrained from retort. "How long?" I asked Emerson wearily. "Only ten hours or so." "You may wake me when we arrive," I informed him. I thought sleep would be impossible, because of the jolting and the insufferable heat. It did not seem to me that I slept; but suddenly, between one heartbeat and the next, I was in another place, a place I knew well. A cool breeze touched my face, and the sky was the pale, translucent blue that precedes the rising of the sun. That rising was behind me, for I faced west--the western cliffs of Thebes, with the stately ruins of Deir el Bahri to my left, and straight ahead the winding path that led to the top of the plateau and onward to the Valley of the Kings. I began to climb, as I had done so many times before. It is a steep climb and I was breathing quickly when I reached the top. And there, coming toward me with long strides, was a man, tall and straight, black-bearded, his turban snowy white, the long skirts of his galabeeyah wafting round him. "Turn, Sitt, and see the sun rise," he said. I pressed my hand to my heart. It was beating hard, and not withthe effort of the climb. "Abdullah. Is it really you? You look so young!" He stopped a few feet away and smiled, his teeth white against the unmarked black of his beard. "There is no time here, Sitt. It is a dream. Did you not know?" "The happiest dream I have had for many a month," I replied, and it was the truth. Joy filled me like water overflowing a cup, leaving no room for grief or surprise or doubt. I laughed aloud and held out my hands to him. Still smiling, he shook his head, and something told me I must not move closer, or touch him. "Turn, Sitt," he repeated. "And we will watch the sunrise again together." Of all the memories I had of Abdullah, this was the strongest, for as the years went on and his beard whitened, he found the climb harder. Being Abdullah, he would never have admitted it, so I had got into the habit of pretending I needed to stop and catch my breath before following the others to the Valley where we were working. To see the molten orb of the sun lift above the eastern cliffs across the river and watch the light spread across green fields and rippling water, ruined temples and modern villages was a glorious experience. I had sometimes thought that if I were allowed to return to the world of the living, this was the place I would choose. (After, of course, making sure Emerson was where I wanted him to be and the children were doing well.) I turned obediently and felt his presence close behind me. He whispered something that sounded like an invocation and I said, "Are you a sun worshipper, Abdullah? I always suspected you were something of a pagan." "Then so are you, Sitt Hakim. But let us not talk religion, which is a waste of breath. What in the name of God (whichever name it may be) has taken you on the road you now follow? Turn back before it is too late." "So you have returned to warn me, have you?" "I have. Though that too is a waste of breath," said Abdullah grumpily. "You do not heed warnings. You take foolish chances." "It wasn't my idea," I retorted, and laughed again, his scoldingand my defense were so wonderfully, realistically familiar. Impulsively I turned to face him. He moved back a few steps. "Why do you laugh like a silly girl, instead of listening to me?" he demanded, scowling. "Because I am so glad to see you. I have missed you, Abdullah." "Ah. Hmmm." He stroked his beard and tried not to smile. "The time allotted me is almost over, Sitt. If you will not turn back, at least take care. Trust no one, not even the innocent. You are followed by enemies, more than you know." Hot air replaced the cool breeze of a Luxor morning. I felt Emerson's arm round me and the wet cotton of his shirt under my cheek. So wonderful had been that vision that I was loath to see it vanish. Vision or dream--or something more?--it had taken away some of the pain of Abdullah's death. I smiled to myself, remembering his complaints. "She's smiling," said Nefret's