Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [73]
“Sister and brother were terms of endearment,” said Emerson, finishing the sentence his brother had begun. “A lover spoke of his sweetheart as his sister.”
“And this,” said Walter in a low voice, “is a love poem.”
“Splendid,” exclaimed Lucas. “Read it to us, Master Walter, if you please.”
Lucas had insisted that we be informal; but his address of Walter by the childish title was certainly meant to provoke. On this occasion it had no effect; Walter was too absorbed in his studies.
“I can only make out a few lines,” he said. “You ought not to have unrolled it, Lord Ellesmere; the break goes through part of the text. However, this section reads:
I go down with thee into the water
And come forth to thee again
With a red fish, which is—beautiful on my fingers.
“There is a break here. The lovers are by the water; a pond, or the Nile. They—they disport themselves in the cool water.”
“It doesn’t have the ring of a love poem to me,” Lucas said skeptically. “If I offered a fish, red or white, to a lady of my acquaintance as a love offering, she would not receive it graciously. A diamond necklace would be more welcome.”
Evelyn moved slightly in her chair. Walter went on, “This is certainly a lover speaking. He is on one side of the river—
The love of the sister is upon yonder side;
A stretch of water is between
And a crocodile waiteth upon the sandbank.
But I go down into the water, I walk upon the flood;
My heart is brave upon the water
It is the love of her that makes me strong.”
There was a brief silence when he stopped speaking. I don’t know which impressed me more—the quaint charm of the lines or the expertness with which the modest young man had deciphered them.
“Brilliant, Walter,” I cried, forgetting propriety in my enthusiasm. “How inspiring it is to realize that noble human emotions are as ancient as man himself.”
“It seems to me not so much noble as foolhardy,” said Lucas lazily. “Any man who jumps into a river inhabited by crocodiles deserves to be eaten up.”
“The crocodile is a symbol,” I said scornfully. “A symbol of the dangers and difficulties any true lover would risk to win his sweetheart.”
“That is very clever, Miss Amelia,” Walter said, smiling at me.
“Too clever,” growled Emerson. “Attempting to read the minds of the ancient Egyptians is a chancy business, Peabody. It is more likely that the crocodile is a typical lover’s extravagance—a boast that sounds well, but that no man of sense would carry out.”
I was about to reply when Evelyn fell into a fit of coughing.
“Well, well,” Lucas said. “How happy I am that my little offering has proved to be so interesting! But don’t you think we ought to make plans for tonight? The sun is almost down.”
It was one of the most stunning sunsets I had ever beheld. The fine dust in the atmosphere produces amazing conditions of light, such as our hazy English air does not allow. There was something almost threatening about the sunset that evening; great bands of blood-red and royal purple, translucent blue like the glaze on ancient pottery, gold and amber and copper streaks.
I asked Lucas whether his crew might not help us guard the camp, but he shook his head.
“Evidently they met some of the villagers today. Your crew has also been infected, Miss Amelia. I would not be surprised if all of them fled.”
“They cannot do that,” I exclaimed. “I am paying them! Nor do I believe that Reis Hassan would abandon his trust.”
“He would have some excellent excuse,” Lucas said cynically. “Adverse winds, threatening weather—any excuse for mooring elsewhere.”
I was aware, then, of someone beside me. Turning, I beheld Michael, whom I had not seen all day.
“Sitt Hakim”—for so he always addressed me—“I must speak to you alone.”
“Certainly,” I said, although I was surprised at his request and at his interruption of our conversation.
“After dinner,” Lucas said, giving the poor fellow a sharp look. Michael shrank back, and Lucas added, “Michael, or whatever your name is, you are not needed. My men will serve the meal. I promised them they might