The Last Camel Died at Noon (14 page)

These poetic thoughts were rudely swept away by Emerson blundering towards me. He can move as quickly and quietly as a cat when he chooses; on this occasion he did not choose, because he was not in the humour for a social engagement. I must say that he seldom is.

'Is that you, Peabody?' he called. 'It is so dark I can scarcely see where I am going.'

'Why didn't you bring a lantern?' I inquired.

'We won't need it; the moon will be up soon,' said Emerson, with one of those bursts of striking illogic of which men constantly accuse women. 'Where is Ramses? If we must do this, let's get it over with.'

'I am ready, Papa,' said Ramses, lifting the flap of the tent. 'I took pains to make myself as tidy as possible, given the circumstances, which are not conducive to the easy attainment of that condition. I trust, Mama, that my appearance is satisfactory.'

Since he was only visible as a dark shape against the darker interior of the tent, I was hardly in a position to make a valid judgment. I suggested that he light a lantern, not so much because I wanted to inspect him - further delay would have driven Emerson wild - but because night had fallen and the roughness of the ground made walking difficult, particularly for a lady wearing thin-soled shoes. So equipped, we set out. At my request, Emerson gave me his arm. He likes me to lean on his arm, and since Ramses preceded us with the light, he was able to make a few gestures of an affectionate nature, which further soothed his temper, so much so that he made only one rude remark when he saw the elegant arrangements Reggie had made for our reception.

Candles graced the table, which was covered with a cloth of gay printed cotton. This must have been purchased at the suk, for I had seen others like it there. The pottery dishes had come from the same source, but I felt sure the wine had not; even the enterprising Greek merchants had not imported expensive German hock. The carpet on which the table had been placed was a beautiful antique Oriental, its deep wine-red background strewn with woven flowers and birds. I could only admire the taste that had chosen the best of the local crafts, and the kindly care that had taken so much trouble for guests. People make fun of the British for maintaining formal standards in the wild, but I am of the school that believes such efforts have a beneficial effect not only upon the participants but upon the observers.

Ahmed's cooking lived up to his master's claims and the wine was excellent. Emerson unbent so far as to take a glass, but he refused the brandy Reggie offered at the conclusion of the meal, despite the latter's urging. Out of politeness I joined the young man, and was pleased to observe that he was as abstemious as I, restricting himself to a single glass of brandy. 'It will keep,' he said with a smile, as Ahmed carried the bottle away. 'But perhaps I should share it with my men - a special treat, on the eve of their holiday -'

Emerson shook his head, and I said emphatically, 'On no account, Reggie. Liquor is one of the curses the white man has introduced into this country. The military authorities, quite rightly, keep a strict control over the amount of alcohol that is brought in. It would be doing these poor people a disservice to introduce them to drunkenness.'

'That is no doubt correct, Mama,' said Ramses, before Reggie could reply. 'But does not that view smack somewhat of condescension? Alcoholic beverages were not unknown before Europeans came here; the ancient Egyptians were particularly fond of both beer and wine. Even young children - '

'Beer and wine are not as harmful as spirits,' I said, frowning at my son. 'And all of them are harmful to young children.'

Emerson was beginning to fidget, so I thanked Reggie for his hospitality and we started back towards our tents. The moon had risen. It was only halfway to the full, but its light was bright enough to make the lantern unnecessary. The soft silvery rays of the goddess of the night cast their spell of magic and romance. (The wine may have had a certain effect as well.) Emerson's pace quickened, and I was not reluctant to be hurried along. We left Ramses at his tent with affectionate, though somewhat abbreviated, good-nights, and made haste to reach our own.

There is nothing like strenuous physical exercise to induce healthful slumber. I slept soundly that night. It was no ordinary, audible noise that roused me, but something I took to be a voice, penetrating my dreams with the shrill insistence of a cry for help. It summoned me with that imperative instinct which nestles deep within a mother's breast, oft-tried though it may have been. I tried to answer; my voice died in my throat. I attempted to rise; my limbs were weighted down.

The weight shifted, and Emerson, cursing sleepily, rose to hands and knees. He was gone before I could stop him, but I took comfort in the fact that he was wrapped in one of the loose native robes, the sudden drop in temperature during the night having apparently prompted this departure from custom. My own nightgown was voluminous enough to be modest, if not exactly suitable for walking abroad; I paused only long enough to slip my feet into my boots and snatch up my parasol before rushing in pursuit of my husband.

The source of the disturbance was, as I might have expected, near the tent of Ramses, where I saw a singular tableau. One body lay prone upon the ground. Another stood over it, fists on its hips. A third, smaller form sat, pallid and immobile as a limestone statue, several feet away.

'Peabody!' Emerson bellowed.

I put my hands over my ears. 'I am just behind you, Emerson, you needn't shout. What has happened?'

'The most extraordinary thing, Peabody. Look here. He's done it again! This is ridiculous. It's one thing to collapse at the slightest provocation, or none at all, I was becoming accustomed to that; but to wake people up in the middle of the night - '

'It is not a faint this time, Emerson. He is wounded -bleeding.'

It was not until my fingers actually touched the sticky wetness that I realised the truth. Like Emerson, Reggie wore a native robe, but his was dark blue in colour 'Light, Emerson,' I exclaimed. 'I must have light. Ramses, fetch the lantern. Ramses? Did you hear me?'

'I will light the lantern,' Emerson said. 'The poor lad is a trifle dazed still, after having been wakened so abruptly.'

I went to Ramses. Even when I bent over him he seemed to be unaware of my presence. I took him by the shoulders and shook him, insisting that he speak to me. (And I must say it made rather a change for me to ask Ramses to talk instead of trying to get him to stop.)

He blinked at me then, and said slowly, 'I think I was dreaming, Mama. But I came when you called.'

The chill that seized my limbs was not the product of the cold night air. 'I did not call you, Ramses. Not until just now. You called me.'

'How very odd.' Ramses stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Hmmm. We must discuss this situation, Mama, and compare our impressions of what occurred. Is that Mr Forthright lying there on the ground?'

'Yes, and he is more in need of my attentions than you seem to be,' I replied, considerably relieved to find that Ramses was himself again. 'Bring the lantern here, Emerson.'

Emerson let out a startled exclamation when the lamplight illumined the fallen man. 'I beg your pardon, Peabody, I thought you were up to your usual... Ahem. He does seem to have bled rather profusely. Is he dead?'

'No, nor likely to die, unless the wound becomes infected.' I turned Reggie onto his back and opened the robe to expose an arm and shoulder more admirably muscled than one might have expected. 'It is not so bad as I feared. The bleeding seems to have stopped. And - good heavens! Here is the weapon that wounded him. It was under his body.'

I picked it up by the haft and handed it to Emerson. 'Curiouser and curiouser,' he muttered. 'This is no native knife, Peabody, it is good Sheffield steel and bears the mark of an English maker. Could he have fallen on it?'

'Never mind that now, Emerson. He ought to be carried to his tent, where I can attend to him properly. Where the dev -the deuce are his servants? How could they sleep through such a racket?'

'Drunk, perhaps,' Emerson began. Then a voice from the darkness said quietly, 'I am here, Lady. I carry him.'

So it happened that the first sight to meet Reggie's eyes was the tall form of Kemit, advancing into the circle of lamplight. A sharp cry burst from the lips of the wounded man. 'Murderer! Assassin! Have you returned to finish me off?'

'Mr Forthright, you are becoming a bore,' Emerson said impatiently. 'My thanks, Kemit; I can manage him.' He lifted the young man into his mighty arms.

Reggie's head fell back against Emerson's shoulder. He had lost consciousness again. I had to agree with my husband; Reggie was becoming a bit of a bore, especially on the subject of Kemit. what had he been doing so far from his own camp in the middle of the night?

On hands and knees, his nose so close to the ground that he resembled a hunting dog on the trail of a rabbit, Ramses was examining the spot, hideously stained with blood, where Reggie had lain.

'Get up from there, Ramses,' I said in disgust. 'Your morbid curiosity is repugnant. Either return to your cot or come with me.'

As I had expected, Ramses chose to come with me. When we reached Reggie's tent, Ahmed was there, rubbing his eyes in an ostentatious and unconvincing fashion. 'Did you call, Effendi?' he asked.

'I certainly did,' said Emerson, who certainly had, his shouts having made the welkin ring. 'Confound you, Ahmed, are you blind as well as deaf? Can't you see your master is injured?

Ahmed gave a theatrical start. 'Wallahi-el-azem\ It is the young effendi. What has happened, Oh Father of Curses?'

Emerson proceeded to prove his claim to that title, to such effect that Ahmed soon had the lamps lit and his master's couch prepared. Reggie had brought a well-equipped medical kit. It did not take long for me to clean the wound and bandage it. It was hardly more than a shallow cut and did not even require stitching.

A little brandy soon restored Reggie to his senses, and his first words were an apology for having caused me such trouble.

'What the devil were you doing outside my son's tent in the middle of the night?' Emerson demanded.

'Taking a walk,' Reggie replied faintly. 'I could not sleep, I know not why; I thought some exercise might do me good. As I drew near the boy's tent, I saw... I saw...'

'Don't talk anymore,' I said. 'You need to rest.'

'No, I must tell you.' His hand groped for mine. 'You must believe me. I saw the tent flap open and a pale, ghostly form appear. It gave me quite a start until I realised it must be Master Ramses. Naturally I assumed he was - he felt the need...'

'Yes, go on,' I said.

'I was about to withdraw when I saw another form, dark as a shadow, tall as a young tree, glide towards the boy. Ramses went slowly towards it. They met - and the dark shape stretched out its arms to grasp the boy. The gesture broke through my naralysis of surprise, realising that danger threatened Ramses, I rushed to his aid. Needless to say, I had no weapon. I grappled with the man - for a man it was, with muscles like bands of rope, who fought with the ferocity of a wild beast.' The effort of speech had exhausted him, his voice faltered, and he said feebly, 'I remember nothing more. Guard the boy. He...'

I put my finger on his lips. 'No more, Reggie. You are exhausted by shock and loss of blood. Have no fear, we will watch over Ramses. May the grateful thanks of his devoted parents console you for your injuries, and may you sleep in peace, knowing that you -'

'Harrumph,' said Emerson forcibly. 'If you want him to rest, Amelia, why don't you stop talking?'

It seemed a reasonable suggestion. I instructed Ahmed to watch over his master and call me at once if any change in his condition occurred. As we retraced our steps I suggested to Emerson that Ramses had better spend the rest of the night with us.

'He may as well,' said Emerson. 'There is not enough of the night left for... Ramses, what have you got to say for yourself?'

'Quite a good deal, Papa,' said Ramses.

'I thought as much. Well?'

Ramses took a deep breath. 'To begin with, I have no recollection whatever of leaving my tent. I saw no mysterious dark form, I saw no struggle.'

'Ha,' Emerson exclaimed. 'Then Forthright lied.'

'Not necessarily, Papa. He may have exaggerated the ferocity of the struggle; I have observed that men do when they are attempting to prove their valour. What woke me was a summons, as I thought - a voice calling my name, with considerable urgency. I took it to be Mania's voice, and responded; but I have no clear memory of anything beyond that until Mama took me by the shoulders and shook me.'

We had reached our tent. I got out the extra blankets and made a sort of nest for Ramses beside our sleeping mats, but when I would have settled him on them, he resisted. 'One more thing, Mama. When you saw me searching the ground - '

'I suppose you were playing detective. A very silly habit of yours, Ramses; you are only a little boy, after all. You should have left that to Mama and Papa.'

'It occurred to me that if the assailant had left any clue, he might return and remove it before morning,' said Ramses.

'Criminals are not so careless as to leave incriminating evidence lying about, Ramses. You have been reading too many romances.'

'No doubt that is generally the case, Mama. But this criminal did leave evidence. I presume it was torn from his head in the struggle.'

From the folds of his voluminous white nightgown he produced an object that he offered for my inspection. It was a cap, of a type with which I was very familiar, though this example was a good deal cleaner than most of the ones I had seen on the heads of Egyptians. It was not a popular item of dress in Nubia, where most men preferred a turban.

'Hmph,' said Emerson, inspecting it. 'The pattern resembles some I have seen in Luxor. Could Forthright's assailant have been his own servant? He's an insolent sort of fellow.'

'Reggie would surely have recognised him,' I said, shaking my head. 'None of our men wear such a thing, but a clever malefactor might assume an object of attire as a disguise, or...'