Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [13]
“The others they killed,” the boy said calmly, “but me they took alive.”
Yes, I thought sickly, they would. Most of the slaves were women and children and youths of both sexes. He was a handsome boy, and well-made. The older men would not bring so high a price, and they might be dangerous to their captors.
So was Merasen, as they were to learn.
When they searched his camel bags they found the rings of gold Tarek had given him to pay his way to England, and beat him to make him tell where he had gotten them. Though injured and frightened, he had wits enough to invent a convincing lie. He and his companions were treasure hunters, looters of ancient tombs. They had found this cache in a crumbling ruin far to the south, but there was nothing else there, they had taken it all. So the slavers left off beating him for fear of spoiling the youthful good looks that would bring a high price in the market, and ordered one of the women in the caravan to tend his wounds. He pretended weakness and meekness, biding his time until his wounds had healed and he had learned enough of their whereabouts and their destination to make escape feasible. The woman knew a little English and helped him to learn some Arabic. It was she who told him of the soldiers of England who fought the slavers and of the town on the Great River where they were stationed. By one means or another (and I thought I could guess one of those means), he persuaded her to help him get away, promising that if he found the soldiers he would guide them back and win freedom for her and the others. She passed on to him all she could learn from those who knew something of the region; and on a moonless night, when they were less than a day’s journey from the Great River, Merasen stole a camel and fled, leaving two men dead.
“I found the soldiers,” he said. “So I kept my word to the woman and had my revenge and my reward. They told me I was a brave lad and gave me money. It was not enough. I was on the Great River, but deep in the south, in the country they call Sudan. I worked, yes, and I stole, when it was safe to do it, but it took me many months to make my way here. If I have failed my king, it is on my head.”
The narrative had held us spellbound. Emerson had taken out his pipe, but had been too absorbed to light it. Now he cleared his throat. “You have not failed. Few men could have acted with such courage and wisdom.”
“Quite right,” I said, though it was clear that my commendation meant little as compared with that of Emerson. Hero worship brightened the young man’s face. Obviously the stories of Emerson’s prowess had become part of the folklore of the Holy Mountain, and I must admit that it would not have been necessary to enlarge them beyond the bare facts.
“Months,” Nefret said. “At least five months. And it will be another month before we—”
“We will discuss it later,” I said, for dusk was creeping into the room. “Ramses, will you show our guest to his room—a room—any room—and find him appropriate attire? I don’t care what, so long as he is more or less covered at dinner.”
“I’ll show him,” Nefret said, getting to her feet. “David’s clothes will fit him better than yours, Ramses, and he can have David’s room, at least for the time being. Is that all right, Aunt Amelia?”
“Yes, my dear, thank you for asking,” I replied.
She took him by the hand and led him out.
“Father,” Ramses began. Emerson held up a peremptory hand.
“Not here. Come to the library.”
Leaving Gargery pouting as he cleared away the tea things, we followed Emerson to the designated chamber. He went at once to a cupboard next to the fireplace and took out a heavy steel box, which he unlocked. After rummaging through the papers it contained, he removed a yellowing document and spread it out on the desk.
The three of us studied it in silence.