The Last Camel Died at Noon (17 page)

The young man's dedication and courage moved me greatly - and surprised me too, if I must be candid. Evidently it took him a while to make up his mind, but once he had made a decision, he stuck to it. Though Emerson never said so to Reggie, he was also favourably impressed. He admitted as much to me, the night before Reggie's scheduled departure, as we reclined in our tent engaged in conversation. (Conversation being the only thing in which we could engage, since Ramses now shared our sleeping accommodations. Emerson had reacted to this situation more calmly than I had expected; the only sign of perturbation he displayed was to smoke his wretched pipe incessantly.)

'I never thought he'd stick to it' were Emerson's precise words. 'Blasted young idiot! I am tempted to cripple him a little, to keep him from carrying out this harebrained scheme.'

'Is it really very dangerous, Emerson?'

'Don't ask stupid questions, Peabody; you know how it maddens me when you pretend to be an ordinary empty-headed female. Of course it is dangerous.'

A fit of coughing prevented me from replying. Emerson was smoking, and the atmosphere in the tent was rather thick. After a moment Emerson went on, 'Forgive me, Peabody. My temper is a trifle short these days.'

'I know, my dear. I too feel the pangs of remorse. For if we had not forgotten ourselves in the heat of enthusiasm, and had maintained our original scepticism about Mr Forth's quest for the lost civilisation, Reggie might not have decided as he did. One might even say that he is taking this step to prevent us from risking our lives in the attempt. There could be no nobler'

'Oh, do be quiet, Peabody,' Emerson shouted. 'How dare you say I feel remorse? I feel none. I did everything I could to dissuade him.'

I put my hand over his lips. 'You will wake Ramses.'

'Ramses is not asleep,' Emerson mumbled. 'I don't think he ever sleeps. Are you asleep, Ramses?'

'No, Papa. The event of the morrow must induce in any thoughtful person the most serious reflections of wonder, doubt, and inquiry. Yet every possible precaution against disaster has been taken, has it not?

Emerson did not reply, for he was occupied in nibbling gently on my fingers. The sensations thus produced were quite remarkable, and indicated how effectively a talented and imaginative individual can overcome the limitations posed by the presence of a small, unsleeping child.

'Yes, indeed, Ramses,' I replied somewhat abstractedly. 'Mr Forthright has sworn to turn back immediately if he does not find the first of the landmarks indicated on the map, and his camels are the best... !'

'Is something wrong, Mama?' Ramses asked in alarm.

I will not describe what Emerson was doing; it has no part in this narrative. 'No, Ramses,' I said. 'Quite the contrary. That is... stop worrying, and go to sleep.'

But of course he did not, and after Emerson had gone as far as he could go without attracting Ramses's attention, he had to leave off. Long after his steady breathing betokened his surrender to Morpheus, I lay awake staring up at the dark canopy of canvas above me and asking myself the same question Ramses had asked. Had every possible precaution been taken? Only time would tell.

The caravan was supposed to set forth at dawn, but nothing ever happens on schedule in the East; it was nearer midday when Reggie at last mounted his camel. It lurched to its feet in the awkward way these beasts have; Reggie swayed and clutched the pommel with both hands. Emerson, standing beside me, let out a sigh. 'He'll fall off before he has gone a mile.'

'Hush,' I murmured. 'Don't discourage him.'

At least the camel was in good condition. It was one of the prized white racing meharis beloved of the Beduin, and how Emerson had persuaded its owner to part with it I dared not ask. The other beasts were the best of the ones I had been tending. The military authorities had flatly refused to lend any of theirs, but after seeing how effective my medications had proved, several of the local sheikhs had brought their animals to me for attention, and exorbitant payments had induced them to hire the beasts out to Reggie. Four of them were loaded with food and water. The latter, of course, was the most vital commodity; it was carried in goatskins, each containing slightly over two gallons. Four servants accompanied Reggie. Three were local men; the fourth was Daoud, one of Reggie's Nubian servants. He was a singularly unprepossessing fellow, with a huge dirty black beard and a cast in one eye, but I could forgive him his looks because of his loyalty to his master. The other servants had flatly refused to go.

Reggie carefully took one hand from the saddle and lifted his hat. The sunlight cast his features into strong relief and woke golden highlights from the smooth, oiled surface of his auburn hair. 'Farewell, Mrs Emerson - Professor - my young friend Ramses. If we do not meet again - '

I let out a cry of distress. 'Don't harbour such thoughts, Reggie! Keep a stout heart, and faith in the Presence that protects the valiant. I will remember you in my prayers -'

'Fat lot of good that will do,' growled Emerson. 'Don't forget what you promised, Forthright. If the cursed map is accurate, you should find the first landmark - the twin towers - at the end of your third day of travel. You can give it another day if you like - you have food and water enough for at least ten days - but then you must turn back. Failure to find the first landmark will prove the map isn't to be trusted. If you do find it - you won't, but if you do - you will send a messenger back to us at once.'

'Yes, Professor,' Reggie said. 'We've been over that a number of times. I gave you my word, and even if I were inclined to break it, which I would never do, I hope I am sensible enough to know the risks attendant upon - '

'He has been with us too long,' said Emerson to me. 'He is beginning to sound like Ramses. Very well, Forthright; if you are determined to go, why the devil don't you go?'

This speech rather spoiled the emotional tone of our leave-taking, and a further pall was cast upon the occasion by Reggie's Egyptian servant, who broke into a weird keening wail, like a paid mourner at a funeral, as his master rode away. Emerson had to shake him to make him stop. The sun was high overhead and the moving figures cast no visible shadows. Slowly they dwindled until they vanished into a haze of heat and blowing sand.

I had never seen Emerson drive the men as he did during the following days. We were short-handed, thanks to the fact that we had sent two of our most dependable men with Reggie, and the fact that Kemit's friends never returned from their 'day of rest.' When I questioned him about them, Kemit only shook his head. 'They were strangers in a strange land. They have returned to their wives and children. Perhaps they will come again...'

'Oh, bah,' said Emerson, there being very little else to say. It was not uncommon for local workers to tire of labour or fall victim to Heimweh, but we had thought Kemit's men to be of stronger mettle.

Ramses began badgering us to let him return to his own tent, claiming that (a), Emerson's snoring kept him awake, and (b), it was unlikely he would be 'called,' as he put it, again. The first claim was untrue (Emerson seldom snored); and the second was utterly without foundation. As a compromise Emerson had Ramses's tent moved near to ours, and occupied it himself. 'I may as well, Peabody,' he remarked gloomily. 'Being in such close proximity to you without being able to act upon my feelings has a deleterious effect on my health.' (This is a paraphrase of Emerson's speech; the actual words he used were more direct and thus inappropriate for the eyes of the reading public.)

Fortunately for Emerson's health, mental and physical, we made a discovery that distracted him temporarily. It would have been a momentous event in any season and at any site, for the identification of a hitherto anonymous monument is of consuming importance. Here, after days of dull surveying and fruitless digging, it was as exciting as a tomb chamber full of treasure. The object itself was not impressive - only a weathered slab of stone - but Emerson at once identified it as the lintel of a small pylon-gateway. It was buried deep in sand, which had to be cleared away from its surface and its surroundings, for Emerson refused to move it - in fact, he declared his intention of covering it up again as soon as he had finished studying it and recording the position in which it had been found.

Kneeling in the narrow trench, he carefully brushed away the last layer of sand from the surface. The men gathered around, as breathless with anticipation as we. If the worn marks on the stone proved to be hieroglyphs, the discovery would mean a sizable bonus for the lucky finder.

Unable to endure the suspense any longer, I lay flat on the edge of the trench and looked down. This movement sent a shower of sand onto the stone and the bowed, bare head of my husband; he looked up, frowning. 'If you want to bury me alive, Peabody, go right on squirming.'

'I beg your pardon, my dear,' I said. 'I will be careful. Well? Are they... Is it... ?'

'They are, and it is - a royal titulary! The curved ends of the cartouches are quite clear.'

He strove to speak calmly, but his voice quivered with emotion and his long, sensitive fingers brushed the stone as tenderly as a caress. 'Congratulations, my dear Emerson, exclaimed. 'Can you read the names?' (As I am sure I need not explain to my learned Readers, the kings of Egypt and of Cush had several names and titles; official monuments always carried at least two of them.)

'I'll have to do a rubbing, and wait until the sun is at a better angle before I can be certain,' Emerson replied. 'This local sandstone is so cursed soft, it has weathered badly. But I think 'Leaning close, he blew gently on one section. 'I see an n sign with two tall narrow signs below; the first appears to be a reed leaf. Following are two long narrow signs, and then a pair of rush plants. Yes, I think I can hazard a guess. The signs match the ones given by Lepsius for King Nastasen.'

Emotion overcame me. I leapt to my feet and let out a loud 'Hurrah.'

Emerson replied with a volley of bad language (evidently my sudden movement had precipitated some amount of sand into the trench) and the men began to cheer and dance around. I turned to Kemit, who as usual stood aloof from the others, watching their display with an ironic smile.

'Please, Kemit, fetch the thin paper and the magic drawing sticks,' I ordered. 'And one of the lamps.'

Kemit turned his wide dark eyes on me. 'Nastasen,' he repeated.

He pronounced it differently, but I understood. 'Yes, is it not exciting? This is the first pyramid we have been able to identify with its owner - the first anyone has identified.'

Kemit murmured something in his own language. I thought I recognised one of the words from the vocabulary list Ramses had made. It meant 'omen' or 'portent.'

I hope so,' I said, smiling. 'I hope it is a portent of more such discoveries. Hurry, Kemit, the sand is unstable and I don't like the professor to stay down there any longer than is necessary.'

Well, we managed to clear the stone and record the inscrip-tion; it was, as Emerson had thought, the titulary of King Nastasen Ka'ankhre, one of the last rulers of the Meroitic dinasty. A stela belonging to this monarch had been obtained by Lespsius for the Berlm Museum. On it Nastasen claimed he had been given the crown by the god Amon, and described various military operations against an invader from the north, who may have been the Persian king Cambyses.

It was a truly thrilling discovery and kept us busy for several days; but at the end of that time even the hope of further finds could not distract me from my worries about poor Reggie. Emerson's discovery had been made on the sixth day after the young man's departure. It was on that evening we might first have expected to see him if the map proved to be an ignis fatuus and he turned back, as he had promised.

Darkness came with no sign of him. We did not mention him that evening, even Ramses displaying a tactful reticence I would not have expected from him. After all, I told myself, this was the earliest moment at which we might have expected him. Any number of causes might have delayed him or his messenger.

But after two more days had passed without word, I began to fear the worst. Emerson put on a good show of unconcern, but every now and then, when he thought I was not looking at him, I saw the bronzed mask of control crack into lines I had never seen on that beloved face.

On the evening of the eighth day I left camp, drawn out into the desert as if by a magnet. The western sky blazed with violent shades' of copper and amethyst; the last glowing rim of the sun clung to the horizon as if reluctant to leave the realms of the living for the dark abode of night. The brilliance of the sunset was caused by particles of blowing sand; I thought of the violent storms that could bury men and camels in the space of an hour. The worst of it was we might never know their fate. A rescue expedition would be folly, for if they had wandered off their course by as little as a mile, they might as well be halfway across the globe.

The sunset colours faded - not only because the sun was sinking but because tears dimmed my eyes. I let them fall; their release would relieve my heartache.

I became aware of a presence, not by any sound or movement, but by some more mysterious sense; turning my head, I saw Kemit.

'You weep, Lady,' he said. 'Is it for the fiery-haired youth?'

'For him and the other brave men who may have perished with him,' I replied.

'Then spare your tears, Lady. They are safe.'

'Safe!' I exclaimed. 'Then a message has come?'

'No. But I speak the truth.'

'You speak words of kindness, Kemit, and I appreciate your attempt to cheer me. But how can you possibly know their fate?'

'The gods have told me.'

He stood straight as a lance, his stalwart figure limned black against the fiery sky, and his voice and manner carried a conviction that assured me he, at least, believed what he had said. It would have been rude as well as unkind to point out I had heard nothing from my God, and that I regarded that source as somewhat more reliable than his.

'Thank you, my friend,' I said. 'And render my thanks to your gods for their kind reassurance. I think we had best return now, it is getting... Kemit? What is it?'