Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [56]
“I heard what the fellow said,” Walter replied. “I don’t blame you, Radcliffe; it was all I could do to control myself. I feel sure Mohammed is out to drive us away; your action was ill advised, but I don’t think it mattered.”
“I am amazed at his effrontery,” I exclaimed. “Doesn’t he realize what he risks from the authorities in opposing you?”
Emerson’s face darkened.
“Egypt is more unsettled than those complacent fools in Cairo realize. The mad dervish in the Sudan has stirred up the peasants; most Egyptians secretly yearn for his success and gloat at every British defeat. I wouldn’t give a shilling for the lives of foreigners here if the Mahdi should approach the First Cataract.”
“But surely there is not the slightest danger of that! Gordon is still making a valiant defense at Khartoum, and Wolseley’s expedition is about to relieve him. How can untrained native rebels succeed against British troops?”
Emerson’s answer was all the more convincing because I secretly believed it myself; but I would not give him the satisfaction of looking as if I agreed.
“Those untrained rebels have already massacred half a dozen British armies, including that of Colonel Hicks. I have the gravest fears for Gordon’s safety; it will be a miracle if the relief expedition arrives in time. The whole business in the Sudan has been a masterpiece of blunders from start to finish. In the meantime, we seem to be facing a minor rebellion here, and I won’t tolerate it.” Stumbling a little, he started walking.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “The camp is this way.”
“There are two other villages on the plain. If the men of Haggi Qandil will not work, we will try el Till and al Amarnah.”
“I fear it will be useless.” Walter caught up with his brother and tried to take his arm. Emerson shook it off. “Radcliffe, stop and listen; you aren’t fit to walk all over the desert today, and you can be sure that Mohammed’s story has reached the other villages as well. They battle among themselves, but they are of the same stock. Your efforts will not avail there any more than they did at Haggi Qandil.”
Emerson’s feet were dragging, but his chin was set stubbornly. I decided to end the matter before he fell flat on his face.
“Let him go, Walter,” I said. “You know he is too stubborn to listen to reason. What we need now is a council of war; we must consult Abdullah, and also Michael, who is an astute man. I can think of several things we might do, but we may as well wait until after your brother has fainted, then he won’t be in our way, arguing and shouting. I think we can drag him back to camp from here. If not, Abdullah and Michael can come for him.”
Emerson was still on his feet when we reached the camp. Walter took him into their tomb for restorative action; then we met for the suggested council of war.
This was the first time Michael had heard of what was happening. He spent his nights on the dahabeeyah, considering the three-mile walk trivial; as a Christian and a stranger he was not welcome in the village. Squatting on the rug at my side he listened without comment; but his fingers strayed to the gold crucifix around his neck, and he kept touching it throughout the remainder of the discussion. I asked him for his suggestions.
“Leave this place,” he said promptly. “I am protected from demons”—and his fingers closed over the crucifix— “but in this place are also evil men. The boat waits; we all go, the gentlemen too.”
“Surely you don’t believe in demons, Michael,” Evelyn said in her gentle voice.
“But, lady, it is in the Holy Book. God lets demons and afreets exist; how can we say the Holy Book is a lie? I do not fear demons, no, I am a true believer. But this is not a good place.”
Abdullah nodded vigorously. His faith was not Michael’s, but beneath both Christianity and Islam lie the dark superstitions of the pagan religion.
“Michael has made one of the proposals I intended to make,” I said, nodding at Michael, who beamed with gratified pride. “You must face the fact, gentlemen, that you can do no more