A River in the Sky (5 page)

He reached for her as she stumbled, but Mansur, on her other side, was quicker. “Take care, lady,” he said softly, his hand closing over her arm.

Increasingly intrigued by the odd pair, Ramses said, “I can show you an easier way, a little longer, but not so difficult. Where is your camp located? Or are you staying in the village?”

Mme von Eine’s lips parted in a smile. It gave her face a warmth that was very attractive—and, because Ramses was his mother’s son, suspicious. Apparently he had passed some sort of test. Or had he failed one, in a way that gave her satisfaction?

“Not in the village, but nearby,” she said.

“This way, then. Mind your footing.”

She turned and addressed a sharp rebuke to the two uniformed men, who were slouching along behind, kicking at scraps of rubble.

“I should have told them to stay below,” she remarked through tight lips. “They and their fellows are a nuisance, but the authorities insisted I take them with me. For protection, they said.”

“This part of the region is safe enough,” Ramses said. “But some of the tribes to the north and west can be unruly at times.”

She ducked that implied question too, confining her answer to a brief “So I have heard. We mustn’t keep you from your work any longer. I know the way from here.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Ramses said truthfully.

L
IKE
E
MERSON
, I
DID NOT
believe for a moment that Major Morley was in German pay. The Germans were obviously attempting to ex
tend their influence in the region, but I doubted they were desperate enough to employ such a dullard. However, our agreement to investigate the major provided Emerson with an excuse to do what he wanted to do, as well as a means of accomplishing that aim. Getting permission to work anywhere in the Ottoman Empire was a tedious, frustrating procedure, which could take months and necessitate a personal visit to Istanbul. Emerson had been assured that this problem would be dealt with. Furthermore, working in Palestine would solve the problem of where we were to excavate that winter and would give Emerson an excuse to “drop in on” Reisner and criticize his procedures.

As a loyal Englishwoman I felt obliged to respond to a personal appeal from the sovereign. (To be sure, the appeal had not been to me, but Emerson and I are as one.) However, my own motives were also mixed. Nefret had been correct about Ramses; if he could get in trouble, he would, and we had not heard from him for some time. The area was unfamiliar to me, and fraught with interest. I shared Emerson’s skepticism about the historical validity of some events described in the Old Testament, but by the time of Christ a plethora of documentary evidence verified the accounts of the Evangelists. To a devout Christian like myself, the idea of walking the streets the Saviour had walked, viewing the Mount of Olives and the site of Golgatha, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and other sacred spots, had an irresistible appeal.

The arrangements were not quickly concluded. In the course of the week following Morley’s visit, Emerson was back and forth to London several times. I occupied the time refreshing my knowledge of Scripture. Since in my opinion a rational approach to the Bible is at best confusing and at worst impossible, I had never approached it from the point of view of a historian concerned only with verifiable facts. My research confirmed this opinion.

When Emerson returned from his final visit to London I was in
the library. The weather was damp and dreary and I was on the verge of dozing off when the door burst open. I had not expected him back so early. He shook himself like a large damp dog and seated himself behind his desk.

“It is all settled,” he announced. “We will leave for Jaffa in two weeks.”

“We?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows. “You and your humble followers, you mean?”

Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin. “Now see here, Peabody, you know I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. Really, Emerson, you ought to know better than to try those tactics on me. They have never succeeded and they never will.”

“But I enjoy seeing your eyes flash and your lip curl,” said Emerson. “Come now, Peabody, you knew perfectly well how this would work out. You are making lists.”

“And if I have?”

“May I see them?”

“If you will show me yours.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. “I never make lists, and I keep my notes in my head. I intended to confide fully in you as soon as the arrangements were complete. What did you do with your damned lists? They weren’t in your desk, or under the mattress, or—”

“I keep them with me at all times,” I replied, removing a few folded papers from my pocket. “And the next time you search my desk, please don’t make such a mess.”

Grinning, Emerson held out a large calloused hand.

After perusing my lists, he pursed his lips and nodded. “As I expected, you seem to have matters well in hand. Are you certain you have taken into account the fact that we will be going directly to Jaffa?”

“Naturally. I assumed that we would, since it is the major port
for Palestine. Until I know how many of us there will be, I cannot calculate quantities properly,” I went on.

“I assumed you would already have settled that. You and I—You are allowing me to accompany you, I trust?”

“There is no need to be rude, Emerson. I presume you mean to take a crew of our trained men to act as supervisors, but the decision as to which and how many is yours. Selim, of course, and Daoud and…As I said, the decision is yours.”

Emerson’s well-cut lips twitched, whether from amusement or (more likely) the effort to repress a swearword, I could not determine.

“Selim and Daoud will suffice,” he said. “With you and me and Nefret and—”

“You propose to take a young, attractive woman into what you yourself have described as a dangerously unsettled region?”

“Come now, Peabody, you are only trying to make difficulties. It is no more unsettled than the Lost Oasis or more dangerous than the western desert.”

“I was unable to prevent her from joining us in that expedition, Emerson. She was determined—”

“And still is. She is of age, my dear. You can’t prevent her this time either. Anyhow, I will need her.”

Insofar as Emerson was concerned, that was that. He had no fears for Nefret’s safety; would he not be present to protect her from any danger that might arise?

Well, I would also be present. And Nefret was no spoiled miss of English aristocracy. She could use a knife with cold-blooded efficiency if the need arose. I was reasonably certain that if we did not allow her to accompany us, she would set out for Samaria by herself—and get there, too.

“Ramses, of course,” Emerson went on. “We will take him with us when we leave Samaria.”

“Have you informed Mr. Reisner that we will be visiting him, or do you intend to appear in a burst of glory, heralded, perhaps, by angelic trumpets?”

Emerson pursed his lips and appeared to ponder. “We could hire a troupe of local musicians to precede us. Drums instead of trumpets, dancing girls—”

“I was joking, Emerson.”

“No, you were being sarcastic. I admit,” said Emerson, baring his teeth, “it was not a bad effort. As a matter of fact, I have written Reisner. Yesterday.”

So had I. Ten days earlier.

“But, Emerson, suppose Mr. Reisner has not finished his season and doesn’t want Ramses to leave?”

“Reisner can hardly refuse my personal request,” said Emerson complacently. “We will need David too. A skilled artist and draftsman will be essential. Well! I believe we have settled the important points.” He pushed his chair back from the desk and made as if to rise.

Thus far I had succeeded in speaking quietly and rationally. The look of smug complacency on Emerson’s face caused my temper to snap. “We have barely begun,” I cried indignantly. “Where in Palestine do you intend to excavate? If, as I assume, that is our ostensible purpose, we will have to settle on a specific site. We cannot go wandering around the countryside like a party of pilgrims; nobody who knows you would believe for an instant that you have suddenly become a convert. You have kept me in the dark for days, Emerson, and I insist on answers to all my questions.” My breath control is admirable, but it has its limits; I was forced to pause at that point to inhale, and Emerson let his breath out in a roar.

“Hell and damnation, Amelia! How dare you imply—”

Fortunately for him, a knock at the door stopped him before he said something I would cause him to regret.

“Come in, curse it,” Emerson shouted, at the same decibel level as before.

The door opened just enough to allow Gargery to put his head in.

“There is a person,” he began.

Emerson let out another, even more emphatic, oath. “I told you we were not to be disturbed. Send him away.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but the person was somewhat insistent.”

Emerson leaped up from his chair. “Insistent, was he? I will teach him not to—”

“Just a minute, Emerson,” I said. “Who is this person, Gargery?”

“A police person, madam.”

F
ROM
M
ANUSCRIPT
H

Ramses had assumed that the accommodations available in villages like Sebaste would not be good enough for a lady of fastidious taste, but he was unprepared for the extravagance of her caravan. The camp was located on the bank of a little stream pleasantly shaded by locust and mulberry trees. In addition to a dozen or more Turkish soldiers, a small army of workmen was present, unloading packing cases and various articles of furniture from the wooden donkey carts. The largest of the tents—her personal quarters, no doubt—had already been set up; porters were carrying in rolled rugs, a mahogany table, and a number of large wooden crates. Did the lady insist that her table be laid with crystal and linen and fine china, like the British traveler Gertrude Bell? He had heard his mother’s biting commentary on Miss Bell’s aristocratic habits and activities. (At the time she had been scrubbing the walls of a house in Luxor with carbolic.)

Apparently the work wasn’t proceeding as rapidly as Madame had expected. She frowned and issued a curt order in Turkish to one of the uniformed guards. The man broke into a run, shouting in the
same language. The porters quickened their pace imperceptibly. They were a motley lot, their attire as diversified as their complexions. Their slowness and sour looks gave the impression that this was not a happy group of people.

He was about to speak when she turned and held out a gloved hand. “Good-bye. Thank you for your company.”

Ramses took her hand, wondering whether he was supposed to kiss it. He settled for bowing over it.

“It has been a pleasure, madam. Are you sure there is nothing more I can do to—”

“Thank you, no. Please give my regards to your distinguished parents.”

She left him standing with his mouth open and his extended hand empty. She had controlled the conversation, neatly ignoring the gambits he had tossed out in the hope of learning something about her travels, past and future. Why should she be so reluctant to admit she had visited Carcemish, or anyplace else, for that matter? If this was a professional pilgrimage, from one archaeological site to another, why had she avoided talking about them?

Obviously her caravan had only just arrived. She might have arrived before it—he could see several horses tethered near the stream—but she had gone straight to the tell, without stopping to rest or freshen up. Why the hurry? Why come at all, for that matter?

His mother claimed that idle curiosity was his besetting sin. She’d be right in this case; it was none of his business what the lady and her party were doing, or why. But he stood watching while a pair of veiled women emerged from her tent to greet her with bowed heads and hands raised in a gesture of respect. They must be her personal servants. A well-bred lady wouldn’t travel without them.

When he turned to go back, he saw a crumpled shape of pristine white on the ground just behind him. It was a handkerchief unadorned by lace or embroidery, but it certainly wasn’t one of his—too
small, too clean, of fine linen fabric. Looking back, he was in time to see the tent flap close.

With a shrug, Ramses put the handkerchief into his pocket.

He went back by way of the village. As he passed the mosque he saw a tall white-clad form slip into the door. None of the villagers was that tall. The man was Mme von Eine’s taciturn fellow traveler. He must have slipped away while Ramses was spying on the lady.

Stop looking for mysteries, Ramses told himself. Why shouldn’t the fellow take advantage of the opportunity for formal prayers? It was almost midday, and Madame obviously had no intention of moving on that day.

The thin voice of the muezzin came to his ears as he reached the tower. The men had been dismissed and Reisner and Fisher were seated in the shade, eating a frugal lunch. It was the same every day, unleavened bread, cheese, grapes and figs and olives.

“Did you get rid of the lady?” Reisner asked, offering the basket of food.

“I walked her back to her camp. What the devil was she doing here?”

“Damned if I know,” Reisner said placidly. “People do drop in for a variety of inexplicable reasons.”

“Is she really an archaeologist?”

“Damned if I know.”

“Her name is familiar,” Fisher said, digging into the basket. “One of the Germans mentioned it, I think—Winckler or Schumacher.”

The name of his predecessor at Samaria brought a scowl to Reisner’s face. He had been horrified at Schumacher’s sloppy excavation methods, and his vehement criticism had led to Schumacher’s dismissal from the site.

“She did seem to be interested in the Hebrew ostraca,” Ramses offered.

“Maybe she’s a philologist,” Fisher said.

“Modesty prevents me from mentioning that if that were her field I would have recognized her name,” Ramses said.

“Forget the damned woman,” Reisner said irritably. “I couldn’t care less who or what she is; we’ll never set eyes on her again. Unless,” he added, with a sidelong look at Ramses, “she invited you to call on her?”

“Why should she?”