Children of the Storm (36 page)

“Good Lord.” Sethos came to an abrupt halt. “You never told me. Must I call Ramses out for seducing my daughter?”

“You can hardly suppose Ramses would take advantage of a fourteen-year-old girl,” I exclaimed indignantly. “She made the advances to him. I should not have to tell you that he behaved impeccably.”

“No, he’s a gentleman,” Sethos agreed, with a cynical twist of the lips. “Well, that is most interesting, but it isn’t as strong a motive as seeking revenge for her mother’s death.”

“I have already discussed that with her, and I believe I am safe in asserting that she has reached—or is on the way to reaching—a proper understanding. Moreover, it would have been impossible for a girl that age to carry out such a complex scheme. She certainly could not have been Hathor, since the most recent appearance of that lady occurred when Maryam was with Ramses, and Mrs. Fitzroyce told me she was here in Luxor when Hathor made her first appearance.”

The carriage we had hired was waiting for us on the road. I accepted the hand he offered to help me in. In my opinion it is not a betrayal of one’s feminist principles to accept such gestures graciously.

“We will discuss this later,” I went on, as the carriage rattled into motion. “With everyone present. It is time for a council of war!”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

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Emerson sent the men home earlier than usual that afternoon. His wife had not returned, nor had Nefret turned up.

Ramses went at once to the clinic. There were two people in the waiting room, a very pregnant girl of about fourteen, and a child racked with an incessant dry cough. Nisrin was with them, looking very professional in a tightly wound white headcloth and a man’s galabeeyah that had been shortened at the hem and the sleeves. “Nur Misur is very busy, but I will let you go in,” she announced.

“Kind of you,” Ramses said, and went through into the surgery.

To his surprise, the patient was Daoud. He gave Ramses a sheepish smile and Kadija, standing over him with folded arms, said, “Marhaba, Ramses. Tell this stubborn man to show Nur Misur his hand. I had to make him come to her.”

Finding himself outnumbered, Daoud obeyed.

“It needs to be stitched,” Nefret said, inspecting the ugly gashes that ran across his large palm and the insides of his fingers. “How on earth did you do this?”

Daoud mumbled something. Kadija said, “Someone left a hegab—a charm—lying in front of the house, and Daoud, fool that he is, picked it up.”

“It was a fine hegab,” Daoud protested. “Large and silver, with red stones. I would have asked who had lost it. But when I closed my hand over it, it cut me.”

“What did you do with it?” Nefret asked.

“I buried it,” Kadija said. “It was a holy thing, but broken. Sharp as a razor along two sides.”

Nefret selected an instrument and bent closer. “It’s a good thing you did. There’s something metallic deep in the wound. Hang on, Daoud.” She exchanged the probe for tweezers and before long she had it out—a needlelike bit of metal half an inch long. “Good heavens, Daoud, this must have hurt badly. Why didn’t you come to me right away?”

“I put the ointment on it,” Daoud said defensively.

That was obvious. His palm was green.

“That probably prevented an infection,” Nefret said, with a nod at Kadija. “Well, now we know why the owner discarded it. Let me make sure there are no other broken pieces embedded.”

Daoud sat like a large brown statue while she cleaned the cuts and put several neat stitches into them before bandaging his hand.

“Change the dressing every day,” she said to Kadija, giving her a box of bandages. “I don’t have to tell you what to watch out for.”

“No, Nur Misur. Thank you.”

“How does it feel to be back in harness?” Ramses asked, as Nefret cleaned her instruments and put them away.

“Wonderful. I should have done this ages ago. Nisrin, show in the next patient, please.”

“Have you been at this all day?” he asked. “Can I help?”

“No, thank you. If you want to do something useful, go and play with the children.”

That puts me in my place, Ramses thought. Baby-tender. The children were gathered in the courtyard. His advent was greeted with cries of relief from the adults who were present, and cries of welcome from his daughter, who ran to him holding out her arms. He picked her up. She jabbered imperatively at him, her black eyes bright and demanding.

“Mama has been busy with a poor sick man,” he said, assuming that was what she wanted to know. Apparently that was only part of it; she tugged at his shirt and dug her knees into his midriff. He had learned to interpret that gesture. He helped her climb up onto his shoulders.

“High time you got here,” said Lia. “As usual, you men left us to do the hard work.”

“Not me,” David protested. He was on his hands and knees, giving Evvie a ride.

“Everybody but you,” Lia said.

The women looked as if they had had a hard time. Lia’s hair was in wild disorder, and Evelyn was leaning against the back of the sofa, her eyes half closed. Sennia was conspicuous by her absence. He couldn’t blame her; it wasn’t fair to expect her to play nursemaid. Maryam had been pressed into service, though. She seemed to have suffered less than the others, perhaps because she had concentrated her attention on Dolly. He sat close beside her, with her arm around him. She looked up from the storybook from which she had been reading, and smiled at Ramses.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

“Katherine was here for lunch,” his aunt replied in a faint voice. “She helped entertain them for a while, but she finally gave out. Walter is playing with his papyrus, your mother is attending a funeral and so is Sethos. I presume your father is still at his cursed dig.”

“An undeserved denunciation,” said Emerson, coming out of the house. “I am shocked to hear you use such language, my dear Evelyn.”

He made sure the door was firmly shut before he turned to meet the assault of the children. Charla was among them; she rappelled herself to the ground as soon as her grandfather appeared. “Have you had a good time?” he inquired.

Evelyn said carefully, “The children have been very active. Very.”

“They do seem a trifle restless,” Emerson conceded, gazing benevolently at the twins, who were clutching at his legs while Evvie tried to pull Charla away. “You have kept them cooped up too long. Young children need to run about and be kept busy.”

Emerson never needed as much rest as a normal person. His blue eyes were unshadowed and his smile broad and cheerful. He seemed to be unaware of the fact that several hostile looks were focused on him.

“Thank you for pointing that out to us, Emerson,” said his sister-in-law, snapping the words out. “No doubt you have a suggestion.”

“Hmmm. What do you say to a nice donkey ride?”

The shouts of approval of the children were not echoed by the adults. This activity would demand as much effort as their earlier exhausting supervision. However, Emerson swept all before him, and the affair was underway when his wife and Sethos returned.

“High time you lent a hand,” said Emerson, addressing both of them. “What took you so long?”

“I stopped by the clinic to see if Nefret needed my assistance,” his wife replied.

Sethos’s gaze had gone to his daughter, who was trotting along beside Evvie, holding on to the child. Evvie did not want to be held on to and said so, at length. Maryam laughed. “Don’t go so fast, then. I’ll not hold you if you let the poor donkey slow down to a walk.” She seemed to be having as much fun as the children, and Sethos’s hard mouth curved slightly as he watched.

The donkeys were the first ones to show signs of disaffection. “Enough,” Emerson declared, lifting Davy off his steed. It had come to a complete standstill and refused to move. “Run along and have a little rest before tea, eh?”

“They won’t, but I intend to,” Lia declared. “David?”

“I promised Maryam a riding lesson,” David said. “She’s been wonderful with Dolly.”

“He’s a dear little boy,” Maryam said, blushing prettily at his praise. “Reading to him is such a pleasure, he listens so intently and asks intelligent questions. I don’t deserve to be rewarded, and you must be tired, and . . .” Her smooth cheeks turned pinker. “To be honest, I’m a little afraid of horses.”

“All the more reason to become accustomed to them,” said her father. “Don’t you agree, Amelia?”

“By all means” was the brisk reply. “Our horses are pefectly gentle and well trained.”

“I’ll give her a lesson, if you’d rather, David,” Ramses said. “You’ve been with the little dears longer than I.”

David grinned and ran his fingers through his disheveled curls. Evvie had used his hair as reins. “I won’t refuse. You’re a better rider than I am, anyhow. She can take Asfur.”

“I haven’t the right clothes,” Maryam demurred.

“Don’t let them bully you into riding if you’d rather not,” Lia said pleasantly. “But you are welcome to borrow one of my outfits. I don’t know what to do about boots, your feet are so tiny. Perhaps Sennia’s would fit you.”

Ramses stopped by the kitchen and then went to the stable, where he found his father and Sethos inspecting the horses. “They are superb creatures,” said the latter. “Would you consider selling one?”

“To you?” Emerson asked suspiciously. “What for?”

“So I can ride it,” his brother explained.

Before Emerson could think of a sufficiently withering response, the girls joined them. From pith helmet to boots—Sennia’s, Ramses presumed—Maryam was properly attired and looking very pretty.

However, she was not pleased with Asfur. “It’s so big,” she said, stepping back as David’s mare turned mild eyes toward her. “Isn’t there a littler one?”

Emerson, who had gone with them to the stable, made soothing noises and looked as if he wanted to pat her on the head. Even Sethos’s smile lacked its usual touch of cynicism. “Arabians are smaller than most breeds,” Ramses explained. “And Asfur wouldn’t bolt if you lit a fire under her.”

“What about this one?” Maryam asked, moving down the line of stalls. “It’s very pretty.”

The filly, a granddaughter of the original pair, poked an inquiring nose over the bars. She was pure white, like the fabled unicorn, and, like all the other Arabians, as friendly as a domestic cat.

“I don’t know,” Emerson said doubtfully. “She’s young and still a bit frisky. What about Moonlight?”

“Can’t I have this one?” Maryam let out a little giggle as the filly nuzzled her shirtfront. “She likes me.”

“She’s looking for a treat,” Ramses said, handing her one of the sugar lumps he had got from the kitchen. “It’s all right, Father, I trained Melusine myself. She can use Nefret’s saddle.”

The stableman, who had watched with amused condescension, helped them saddle and bridle Risha, the filly, and Emerson’s gelding for Sethos, who had decided to join the party.

It was he who gave the girl a hand up and a few casual reminders. “Loosen up on the reins and relax. She’s accustomed to a light hand—isn’t that right, Ramses?”

They walked the horses up and down a few times, and then took the road to Gurneh. There were quite a few people about at that time of day, some on foot, some on donkeys or driving carts. Maryam let out a cry of alarm as a camel lumbered toward them, its long face set in the ineffable camel sneer.

“Keep the reins loose,” Ramses instructed. “She knows about camels, she’ll go round it. You’re doing fine.”

The camel having been successfully circumnavigated, Maryam relaxed. “This is fun. Can we go faster?”

“Not in this mob,” Ramses said. The closer they got to Gurneh, the more people they met. They obligingly moved aside, waving and calling out. Sethos had dropped behind. Suddenly Maryam cried, “Look! That man—”

She pointed. Before Ramses could identify the man she meant, the filly bolted.

It took Ramses several seconds to gather his wits and go after them. Melusine had left the path, striking off to the left, across the open desert. She was in full gallop, but Risha had no difficulty in catching her up and keeping pace with her. A quick glance told Ramses Maryam had dropped the reins and was clinging to the pommel. He leaned sideways and caught her round the waist.

“Get your feet out of the stirrups!” he yelled.

She’d already lost them. He lifted her up and onto his saddle. Responding instantly to his touch, Risha slowed and stopped. The gelding thundered past; having seen that his daughter was safe, Sethos went on in pursuit of the filly.

“You’re hurting me,” said a faint voice.

Ramses let out a long breath and loosened his tight grip. “Sorry. I had to.”

“I know.” She leaned back against his shoulder and raised a face rosy with heat and smeared with dust. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but there were no tears. “Thank you. Is the horse all right?”

“Your father has her. Maryam, I’m terribly sorry; I can’t imagine why she bolted, she never has before.”

“I must tell you something. I never have a chance to talk with you alone—” Feeling him stiffen, she went on in a rush of words. “No, no, it’s not what you think. I wanted to ask your forgiveness for the day I came to your room and tried to . . .” A darker flush of color ran up from her throat to her hairline. “I embarrassed you and made a fool of myself, but I was only fourteen and I know now that . . .”

He tried to help her out. “That I wasn’t worth all that fuss.”

“Oh, no. You’re a wonderful man; any woman would be proud . . . You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“A little. It’s forgotten, Maryam.”

“Now that I’ve seen you and Nefret together, I know you were meant for each other.” The long lashes fell, half veiling those extraordinary hazel eyes. “I’d like us to be friends. Cousins. Can we?”

“We are.”

Sethos came up, leading the filly. “All right, are you, Maryam?”

“Yes, sir. Thanks to Ramses.”

“Yes, it was quite a spectacular performance,” said Sethos. The smile was the one that always made Ramses want to hit him.

“She seems calm enough now,” Ramses said, inspecting the filly. “I can’t imagine what spooked her.”