Guardian of the Horizon (13 page)

he joined us that evening, he was wearing the usual Bedouin garb of shirt and long calico drawers, with the voluminous woolen jerd wrapped round him to ward off the chill of the night air. He was accompanied by Masud, the Nubian, who was to accompany us, and from whom we had hired the majority of the camels. We had just returned from seeing poor Ali laid to rest, as was his due. When the brief service was concluded, Selim had been the first to turn away. Daoud's eyes were red-rimmed, but there was no sign of grief on Selim's face, only a fierce determination. It bore the same expression as he sat listening to the exchange of compliments between Emerson and Zerwali and Masud. Finally the latter got to the point. "It is said, Father of Curses, that our destination is farther distant than we believed." "I contracted with you for thirty marhalas (days' travel)," Emerson replied. "I did not inform you of our destination." Masud accepted this snub with a shrug, but persisted. "Is it to the southwest we go?" "Yes." "Wallahi, it is a dangerous route," Masud muttered. "And many a caravan has been eaten up by the wild men of the hills along the way. They do not fear God. They are like birds; they live on the tops of mountains . . ." "We made an agreement," Emerson replied, monumentally calm. "If you are afraid to keep it . . ." Zerwali let out a derisive laugh. "Yes, let the cowards depart. We are with you, Father of Curses." Masud turned on him with a snarl, and Emerson said, "There are no cowards here, and I will not allow quarreling among you. Go now. We will load the camels tomorrow, after they have rested." There was no further dissension, but I saw trouble ahead. When I mentioned this to Emerson he made a rude remark about forebodings and then went on, "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as you are so fond of saying, Peabody. We will deal with difficulties as they arise." The camels were brought in about midday and the loading was about to begin when Daoud spoke to Emerson. "We must bless the baggage, Emerson." "What? Oh, curse it," said Emerson. "But, Daoud, there is no holy man--" "I have brought him," said Daoud. The wrinkled old man who had conducted Ali's funeral service stepped forward, his fingers on the amber beads of a rosary. With a polite nod at Emerson, the old gentleman went from pile to pile of baggage, saying little prayers over each. Then he turned to the men who had gathered round him and raised his hands, palms up. "May God guide your steps. Allah yesadded khatak. May he give success to your undertaking." "It was a good thought, Daoud," said Ramses, who, like myself, had seen the faces of the travelers brighten. "Hmph, yes," Emerson muttered. "Thank you, Daoud." He rewarded the imam extravagantly and then ordered the loading to begin, courteously asking the advice of both Masud and Zerwali. When the loads had been carefully arranged and balanced, he rode back along the long line for a final check. He had hired a pair of riding camels which we were to use in turn, and several of the pack camels' loads had been lightened to accommodate other riders. The men would walk most of the time, mounting a camel periodically in order to rest. A camel's pace, of approximately two and a half miles per hour, is not hard to match. Emerson came back, followed by Daoud. "Ready, my dear?" inquired my spouse. "As ready as I will ever be," I replied, shifting position slightly. The new position was not much of an improvement. In my opinion there is no comfortable position on a camel. "But first, Emerson--I know you do not share my belief in Divine Providence, but--" "Oh, good Gad, haven't we had enough praying?" Emerson demanded. "Very well. Make it short." I bowed my head and murmured a few words, then turned to Daoud. "Will you say a blessing, Daoud?" "I have already asked for His mercy, Sitt," said Daoud calmly. "But one can never pray too much, is it not so?" His reverberant voice rose up over the grumbles of the camels (and, I am sorry to say, those of Emerson). "Praise be to God, the Master of the Universe, the Compassionate . . ." Other voices joined his in the recitation of the Fatah. Ramses's was among them, and I am not ashamed to admit that mine was also. It made a good impression on the men, but that was not why I did it. It was a long night. The sun had been up for several hours before Emerson let out an exclamation and pointed. "There it is--the rock outcropping where we stopped last time after the first day's journey. We'll make camp there." I didn't know how he could be so certain it was the same place. There were a number of outcroppings, for this was not the Great Sand Sea or the Sahara with their great rolling dunes, but a region of red and black hills interspersed with stretches of sand like poolsof gold. However, I was more than ready to get off the cursed camel. Pride forbade I should admit weakness; I waved Ramses away when he offered me his hand to help me dismount--and waited until he had turned his back before I slid stiffly to the ground. The men made haste to erect the tents, for there was not much shade, and that little would shrink as the sun rose higher. Selim started a small fire to boil water for tea, and we gathered round it to eat bread and extremely warm oranges and soft goat cheese that would be rancid before the day was over. From now on we would subsist on the basic supplies of desert travelers: rice and flour, baked into unleavened bread, sugar and tea, with a handful of dates now and then. The dates were not the sweet, soft fruit to which we were accustomed; the camels lived on them when there was no fresh fodder available, and we ate them only for nourishment. I had packed some tinned food--tomatoes and bully beef and fruit--but the weight of such items prohibited excess. Physical fatigue sent me quickly to sleep, but I woke gasping for breath after what seemed only a brief nap. It was later than I had thought; the sun had sunk down the west, brightening one side of the tent. Emerson sat cross-legged nearby, writing in his notebook. Perspiration trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto the paper, but he went on with his scribbling as placidly as if he had been in his study at Amarna House. Whereas I felt like Saint Lawrence on his griddle, toasted on front, back, and both sides. "Ah, awake, are you?" he inquired when I stirred. "Did you have a good sleep? Dear me, you appear a trifle warm. Would you like a drink?" "I would like a cold bath," I croaked. "But I will settle for a sip of water and a damp cloth." Emerson supplied these luxuries, and after I had wiped my face and throat I felt quite myself again. I looked out the open flap of the tent and saw that the others were stirring. The red rays of the declining sun turned the baked ground into a fair imitation of the infernal regions. A hot wind blew hair into my eyes. "Did you sleep at all?" I asked, removing the pins and shaking out my heavy locks. "It was too hot." "Oh, really?" Emerson looked up. Seeing what I was doing, he came to my side and lifted my hair, spreading it across his big hands. "Not now, Emerson," I mumbled through a mouthful of pins. "Just helping to dry it, my dear. The sun will be down soon, and then the air will be delightfully cool. A perfect night for a ride in the moonlight." "What a poet you are, Emerson." Emerson grinned. "Don't swallow your hairpins, Peabody." After a supper of tinned peas, tinned beef, and bread baked on hot stones, we reloaded the camels and were ready to ride when the moon rose. The effect is quite magical; in the clear, dry air of the desert, the light of the lunar orb is so bright one can see almost as clearly as by day, and the stars blazed with diamond fire. The ground that had been a sullen red was now silver. I felt quite refreshed, but Emerson was not inclined toward conversation, so for a while we rode side by side in silence and I contented myself with admiring the strong outline of his profile and the glimmer of moonlight in his black hair. We stopped once to stretch our stiff limbs and have a sip of water, and then we went on . . . and on . . . and . . . A hard hand closed over my upper arm. "Here now, Peabody," said Emerson, in some alarm. "If you fall asleep you will topple off the damned camel. I'll take you up with me, shall I?" "No, thank you," I said, my energy restored by the suggestion. If there is anything more uncomfortable than riding a camel, it is riding in front of someone who is riding a camel. "I am wide awake now. Quite a refreshing little nap. Thank you, for looking out for me, my dear." "I was about to indicate a point of interest. Over there." They shone as if luminescent, bleached to a pearly white by moonlight--a pile of tumbled bones. We had seen the remains of a few small animals, gazelle and hare and antelope, but these were not those of a small animal. They had been stripped bare by predators of some kind. Reflected moonlight twinkled in the empty sockets of the skull as we passed. "A camel?" "Not just any camel," said Emerson. "One of ours. Formerly one of ours, I should say. The first of the lot to die." "Not a good omen, Emerson," I said, remembering how the cursed beasts had perished one by one, leaving us stranded. "You and your omens! It is a good sign. We are on the right track." Leaving the desolate heap of bones behind, we went on until the stars faded and the sky began to lighten. We were making good time, better than we had on our first trip, but Emerson gave no indication of halting. The sun rose behind us, sending our shadows leaping forward across the ground. One elongated outline grew more rapidly and I saw that Ramses had come up beside us. "Father. Look there." At first it was only a little puff of pale yellow, but it soon expanded, like a moving cloud. "It is a sandstorm?" I asked apprehensively. "Worse," said Ramses. "Can you tell how many?" Emerson asked. "No. They're still too far away." "Hmph," said Emerson. He yanked violently on the head rope of his camel, turning it. "You know what to do." "Yes, sir." Ramses set his beast to a trot and rode toward the end of the caravan. I do not approve of cruelty to animals, but the only way to get the attention of a camel is to whack it. The men needed no such inducement; they too had seen the approaching cloud and knew what it portended. With blows and shouts they formed the recalcitrant beasts into a rough circle and forced them to kneel. "Quite like the Old West, is it not?" I said to Nefret. "Camels instead of wagons, but it is the same principle, and--" "Get down, Peabody," Emerson said, reinforcing the suggestion with a push that made my knees buckle. "And pay attention." "Let me have one of those guns," I demanded. It was possible now to see moving forms in the dust, the forms of mounted men. "Not on your life," said Emerson. "Selim, Daoud, here, on my right. Ready, Ramses?" The armed men knelt behind their camels, their weapons aimed. Most of them had rifles, and some of the Bedouin prided themselves on their marksmanship. However, according to Emerson, they were inclined to exaggerate their skill, and many of the guns were old, verging on antique. We appeared to be outnumbered by at least ten to one. I crept closer to Emerson and took out my little pistol. "Don't fire until I give the word," said Emerson coolly. He repeated the order in Arabic. "That includes you, Peabody. Aim high, over their heads. On second thought, Peabody, don't fire at all. Ready? Now." A somewhat ragged volley shook the clear air. "Again," Emerson said. The second volley slowed them, but the leader came on. He was brandishing a weapon--not a rifle, a huge sword. So it was to be hand-to-hand fighting! I heard Nefret gasp and saw her grip the hilt of her knife. I wondered if Emerson would have the decency to shoot me after all hope had failed. I wondered if I could bring myself to shoot Nefret rather than let her endure the hideous alternative--capture and slavery in a Turkish harem. They might not bother taking me prisoner, since by their standards I was a trifle elderly, but Nefret was a prize worthy of a pasha. To my horror, Emerson suddenly bounded to his feet. Exposed from the waist up, he raised both arms and shouted something in Arabic. The leader was now so close I could make out his face-- hawk-nosed and bearded, decaying teeth bared in a ferocious fighting grin. The blade of the sword flashed as he whirled it over his head. Emerson dropped the rifle, folded his arms, and stood motionless. "Shoot," I shrieked. "Ramses, shoot the bas------the man immediately, do you hear me?" His finger was on the trigger and the gun was aimed at the rider's breast. Then it shifted, just a little, and he fired. The bullet struck the raised sword blade with a ring like that of a gong, and the weapon flew out of the rider's hand. With a howl of pain and surprise, he jerked at the camel's head rope and the beast veered off, followed by the rest of the attackers. They swept past in a cloud of sand. "Well done," said Emerson, giving his son a clap on the back. "Thank you, my boy, for ignoring your mother's hysterical order." "Yes, sir," Ramses said. He lowered the rifle and sat down rather suddenly. "It was a wonderful shot," Selim said. "Now what do we do?" "Wait," said Emerson, still upright. "Here, Peabody, what's the matter? You aren't going to faint, I trust." "No, I am going to kill you. How dare you, Emerson? How dare you frighten me so?" "I am beginning to suspect," said Ramses, wiping his wet forehead with his sleeve, "that my flamboyant gesture was unnecessary." "No, no, it was a nice added touch," Emerson said soothingly. "Well, let's make camp, shall we? Stand down, all of you," he added in resounding Arabic. "The Father of Curses will protect you." A short time later Selim, who had appointed himself sentry, let out a hail. "A rider approaches, Emerson." "Ah," said Emerson. "One man, Selim?" "Yes, Father of Curses. He stops. He holds up a white flag. Does that mean I cannot shoot him?" "I'm afraid so," said Emerson. "Keep him covered, though." "Aren't you going to invite him to join us for breakfast?" I inquired with, I believe, a pardonable touch of sarcasm. "Presently. I want my tea first. Is it ready?" I handed round the cups and went to join Selim. The envoy was the leader himself. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder and a sword stuck through his sash, but his hands were empty except for the makeshift flag of truce. Emerson continued to sip his tea. He was delaying for two reasons: first, to annoy me, and second, to assert his superiority over the envoy. Finally he stood up and stretched. "I am going with you," I said. "No, you are bloody well not. Good Gad, Peabody, how would it look to have a woman trailing at my heels?" "Ramses, then." Ramses, who had not risen, said evenly, "There is a kind of etiquette in these matters, Mother. He'll have to go alone. Not on foot, but unarmed."