The Last Camel Died at Noon (18 page)

For he had stiffened like a thoroughbred hound scenting an invisible prey. I sprang to my feet and stood beside him; but though I strained my sight to the utmost, I saw nothing in the direction in which he stared so intently.

'Something comes,' said Kemit.

He was fifty feet away before I could gather my wits and follow him. He could run like a deer. By the time I caught him up he was kneeling beside a prostrate figure. The brief twilight of the desert darkened the air as I too fell to my knees beside the body, but I saw immediately that the fallen form was, for once, not Reggie's. The dark robe and turban were those of an Arab.

Kemit's eyes were better than mine. 'It is the servant of the fire-haired one,' he said.

'Daoud, the Nubian? Help me to turn him over. Is he... ?'

'He breathes,' said Kemit briefly.

I unhooked the canteen from my belt and unscrewed the top. In my agitation I spilled more water on his face than into his parted lips, but no doubt the result was all to the good; almost at once the man stirred and moaned and licked his lips. 'More,' he gasped. 'Water, for the love of Allah...'

I allowed him only a sip. 'Not too much, it will make you ill. Rest easy, you are safe. Where is your master?'

The only answer was a tremulous whisper, in which I caught only the word 'water.' In my agitation I actually shook the poor fellow. 'You have had enough for now. Does your master follow? Where are the others?'

'They.' Black night covered his face and form, but his voice was stronger. I dribbled a little more water into his mouth, and he went on, 'They found us. The wild men of the desert. We fought... they were too many.'

Kemit's breath caught in a startled hiss. 'Wild men?' he repeated.

'Too many, I repeated. 'Yet you escaped, leaving your master to die?'

'He sent me,' the man protested. Tor help. They were too many. Some they killed... but not the master. He is a prisoner of the wild men of the desert!'

Lost In the Sea of Sand

'Slavers,' said Slatin Pasha.

The buzzing of a chorus of flies droned a dismal accompaniment to his words as he went on. 'We have done our best to stop that vile trade, but our efforts have only driven the ghouls who trade in human flesh farther from their customary routes. It must have been some such group who attacked Mr Forthright.'

'What does it matter who they were?' I demanded. 'The question is, what are the authorities going to do about it?'

We were in Slatin Pasha's tukhul at the military camp. Outside a crowd of people squatted patiently on the mats, waiting for his attention, but he had given our problem precedence.

The distinguished soldier coughed and looked away. 'We will, of course, mention the matter to any patrols that go into that region.'

'I told you this was a waste of time, Peabody,' said Emerson, rising.

'Wait, Professor,' Slatin Pasha begged. 'Don't misjudge me; I would do anything within my power to assist this unfortunate young man. But you of all people should understand the difficulties. We are preparing for a major campaign, and we need every man. Mr Forthright was warned that his search was both dangerous and futile, yet he persisted in going. I would not, even if I could, persuade the Sirdar to endanger more lives.'

I administered a gentle kick to the shins of my spouse in order to forestall the contemptuous response I saw hovering upon his lips. Slatin Pasha did not deserve our contempt. No man knew better than he the tortures of slavery among savage people. His distress and his helplessness were equally plain to see.

Once outside the tukhul, we turned towards the market. The flies were particularly bad that day; they clustered like patches of black rot on every piece of fruit and formed a whining cloud around the food stalls.

'I will leave you to make the necessary purchases,' I said to Emerson, 'while I beg an additional supply of camel ointment and other medications from Captain Griffith.'

I started to walk away, but Emerson caught me by the shoulder and spun me around. His eyes sparkled wickedly, and his cheeks were flushed with rising temper. 'Here - wait, Peabody. What the devil are you doing? You have plenty of the cursed medicine, you got a fresh supply last time we came here.'

'Only enough for a week,' I replied. 'It is important to have an adequate amount, Emerson; our lives may depend on the good health of the camels.'

The hand that held me tightened until it felt as if the fingers were digging into the bone. The eyes that looked deep into mine glowed like the purest blue water. Though the crowd of the suk jostled us on every hand, we might have been alone in the desert waste, no one seeing, no one hearing.

'I won't let you come, Peabody,' said Emerson.

'Your tone lacks conviction, my dear Emerson. You know you can't prevent me.'

Emerson let out a groan so deep and heartfelt that a passing woman robed in dusty black forgot the modesty of her sex and turned a startled look upon the suffering foreigner. 'I know I can't, Peabody. Please, my dearest, I beg you - I implore you... Think of Ramses.'

'I trust,' said my son coolly, 'that no such consideration will affect your decision, Mama. I fail to see that we have any other course than the one Papa has evidently decided upon; and it would be as impossible for me to remain behind as for Mama to be parted from Papa. I am sure I need not trouble you with an expression of excessive emotion in order to convince you both that my feelings are as profound and as sincere as -'

I took it upon myself to stop him, since I knew he would go on talking until his breath gave out. 'Pedantic little wretch,' I said, attempting to conceal my own emotion, 'how dare you appeal to affection in order to have your own way? It is out of the question, Ramses; you cannot come with us.'

'Us?' said Emerson. 'Us? Now see here, Peabody -'

'That is settled, Emerson. Whither thou goest, I fully intend to go, and I won't entertain any further debate on the subject. As for young Master Ramses - '

'What alternative do you propose, Mama?' inquired that individual.

I stared at him, at a loss for words. He stared unblinkingly back at me. Never before had he looked so much like his father. His eyes were deep brown instead of brilliant blue, but they held the same saturnine expression I had often seen in Emerson's when he backed me into a verbal corner.

For the alternatives were, to say the least, limited. Ramses could not be left alone at the excavation site, or in the army camp. Even if we could persuade the authorities to send him back to Cairo, via military transport - which was improbable -I did not believe that a full army corps, much less a single officer, could control him. If I could get his solemn promise not to run away... But even as the idea occurred to me I realised its futility. In a matter as serious as this, Ramses would not equivocate or prevaricate; he would simply refuse to give me his word. And then what? I felt fairly certain the army would not agree to putting him in irons.

'Curse it,' I said.

'Damnation,' said Emerson. Ramses, wisely, said nothing at all.

A certain amount of equivocation on my part was necessary before we were able to start out. We had to borrow some of the army camels I had been tending, for no others were to be had at any price. This meant that our expedition had to be kept a secret from the military authorities. They might not have attempted to stop us from going, but they certainly would have objected to our unauthorised use of their property.

Manpower too was in short supply. The most reliable of the workers had been sent with Reggie, and their failure to return quite understandably acted as a deterrent to other volunteers.

Yet we persevered, as duty directed us, until we made a discovery that might well have marked the end of our endeavours. When Emerson went to look for Willoughby Forth's map, it was nowhere to be found.

'I tell you, Peabody, I put it in this portfolio,' Emerson roared, scattering the contents of the portfolio all over the tent. 'Don't tell me I am mistaken; I am never mistaken about such things.'

Years spent stumbling through the pitfalls of matrimony had taught me that it would be ill-advised to deny this ridiculous statement. In silence I stooped to pick up the papers, and Emerson continued, 'It must be found, Peabody. Though it is a frail reed upon which to risk our lives, it is better than nothing.'

'Daoud has agreed to guide us,' I said hesitantly.

'He's no more use as a guide than Ramses there. Less, in fact,' Emerson added quickly, as Ramses started to protest. 'If he were a Beduin, familiar with the desert, that would be one thing, but he told me he has lived all his life in Haifa. No, we must have the map. We dare not set forth without it!'

I started to reply, but something stopped me, like an invisible hand placed over my lips. I can truthfully claim that I seldom suffer from indecision. Such, however, was the case now. Before I could make up my mind, Ramses emitted the small cough that usually preceded a statement of whose reception he was not entirely certain.

'Fortunately, Papa, there is a copy of the map at hand. I took the liberty of tracing it before we left England.'

Emerson dropped the papers I had handed him and spun around to face his son. His face shone with delight. 'Splendid, Ramses! Run and fetch it at once. It is the last thing we need; we will set forth at dawn.'

With a sigh, I stooped to collect the papers again. The die was cast, our fate determined - but not by me. I too had a copy of the map.

The night before he left us Reggie had handed me a little packet of papers, requesting me in manly but faltering tones to refrain from mentioning it or opening it until after his departure. I knew what it must contain, and my own voice was a trifle unsteady as I assured him he could trust me to carry out his wishes, in the unhappy event that such action should prove necessary. When I did open the packet I found what I had expected - Reggie's last will and testament, written in his own hand. There were also two letters, one addressed to his grandfather and the other to Slatin Pasha. A copy of the map was attached to this last document; I assumed the letter itself expressed Reggie's hope that the military authorities would carry on his quest if he fell by the way.

Neither of the letters was sealed. I thought this a particularly delicate and gentlemanly touch on Reggie's part. Naturally I would never dream of reading such private communications, but under the present circumstances there was no honourable reason why I should have hesitated to admit I possessed a copy øf the map. Why did I hesitate? I knew the answer, as well as the Reader must. Without the map we dared not set forth. To supply the commodity that might doom us all to death was a responsibility I had lacked the fortitude to assume.

The first pale hint of sunrise touched the eastern sky as we prepared for departure. I had anointed the camels' healing sores and forced a dose of cordial - my own invention, compounded of strengthening herbs and a modicum of brandy - down their throats. (Emerson had expressed doubts about the brandy, but the camels seemed to like it.) The baggage, carefully balanced and padded, had been loaded upon their backs. I placed my booted foot upon the foreleg of my kneeling steed and swung myself into the saddle. Ramses was already mounted, perched like a monkey atop a pile of baggage. Emerson followed suit. We were ready.

I turned to survey the little expedition. Little it was; only a dozen camels, only five riders in addition to ourselves. One of them was Kemit. He had been the first to volunteer. In fact, he was the only one to volunteer; the others had only agreed after the payment of extravagant bribes. They were all silent; there was none of the cheerful talk, or song, or laughter with which they were wont to meet the day. The cold grey light cast a corpselike pallor upon their gloomy faces and those of the friends and family members who had come to bid them farewell.

Emerson flung up his hand. His deep voice rolled out across the empty waste. 'We depart with the blessing of God! Ma'es-salamehl'

The formal answer came in a ragged chorus. 'Nishuf wishshak fi kheir - May you be fortunate at our next meeting.' I detected a certain lack of conviction in the voices, however, and a woman's voice broke into soprano lamentation.

Emerson drowned her out with a sonorous rendition of an Arabic song, and urged his camel to a trot. Gritting my teeth - for the motion of a trotting camel is the most painful thing on this earth - I followed his lead. In a cloud of sand, accompanied by song, we thundered away.

As soon as we were out of sight of the others, Emerson allowed his camel to slow to a walk. I drew up beside him. 'Are we going in the right direction, Emerson?'

'No.' Emerson glanced at the compass and turned his beast slightly to the right. 'That was purely for effect, Peabody. A stirring departure, wasn't it?'

'Yes, indeed, my dear, and it has had the desired effect.' One of the men had continued the song ('When will she say to me, "Young man, come and let us intoxicate ourselves?"') and the others were humming along.

The cool of morning gave way to warmth and then to excessive heat. We paused to rest during the hottest part of the day in the shade of a rock outcropping. Deserts vary as people do. The great sand sea of the Sahara, with its sterile golden dunes, was far to the north. Here the underlying skin of the planet was sandstone, not limestone, and the flat surface was broken by rocks and gullies that marked the course of ancient waterways. Late in the afternoon we set out again. Only when approaching darkness made travel impossible did we stop to make camp. We had seen no sign of anyone who might have preceded us, not even the bones of fallen men and camels that form grisly guideposts along such well-travelled routes as the Darb el Arba'in.

'We are off all the known caravan routes,' Emerson said, when I mentioned this later as we sat around the campfire. 'The nearest part of the Darb el Arba'in is hundreds of miles west of here; there is no known route between it and this part of Nubia. Still, I had hoped to find some sign of Forthright's passage - the dead ashes of a fire, discarded tins, or even the tracks of the camels.'