Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [62]
“Yes.”
“Wallahi, it is a dangerous route,” Masud muttered. “And many a caravan has been eaten up by the wild men of the hills along the way. They do not fear God. They are like birds; they live on the tops of mountains…”
“We made an agreement,” Emerson replied, monumentally calm. “If you are afraid to keep it…”
Zerwali let out a derisive laugh. “Yes, let the cowards depart. We are with you, Father of Curses.”
Masud turned on him with a snarl, and Emerson said, “There are no cowards here, and I will not allow quarreling among you. Go now. We will load the camels tomorrow, after they have rested.”
There was no further dissension, but I saw trouble ahead. When I mentioned this to Emerson he made a rude remark about forebodings and then went on, “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as you are so fond of saying, Peabody. We will deal with difficulties as they arise.”
The camels were brought in about midday and the loading was about to begin when Daoud spoke to Emerson. “We must bless the baggage, Emerson.”
“What? Oh, curse it,” said Emerson. “But, Daoud, there is no holy man—”
“I have brought him,” said Daoud. The wrinkled old man who had conducted Ali’s funeral service stepped forward, his fingers on the amber beads of a rosary. With a polite nod at Emerson, the old gentleman went from pile to pile of baggage, saying little prayers over each. Then he turned to the men who had gathered round him and raised his hands, palms up. “May God guide your steps. Allah yesadded khatak. May he give success to your undertaking.”
“It was a good thought, Daoud,” said Ramses, who, like myself, had seen the faces of the travelers brighten.
“Hmph, yes,” Emerson muttered. “Thank you, Daoud.” He rewarded the imam extravagantly and then ordered the loading to begin, courteously asking the advice of both Masud and Zerwali. When the loads had been carefully arranged and balanced, he rode back along the long line for a final check. He had hired a pair of riding camels which we were to use in turn, and several of the pack camels’ loads had been lightened to accommodate other riders. The men would walk most of the time, mounting a camel periodically in order to rest. A camel’s pace, of approximately two and a half miles per hour, is not hard to match.
Emerson came back, followed by Daoud.
“Ready, my dear?” inquired my spouse.
“As ready as I will ever be,” I replied, shifting position slightly. The new position was not much of an improvement. In my opinion there is no comfortable position on a camel. “But first, Emerson—I know you do not share my belief in Divine Providence, but—”
“Oh, good Gad, haven’t we had enough praying?” Emerson demanded. “Very well. Make it short.”
I bowed my head and murmured a few words, then turned to Daoud. “Will you say a blessing, Daoud?”
“I have already asked for His mercy, Sitt,” said Daoud calmly. “But one can never pray too much, is it not so?” His reverberant voice rose up over the grumbles of the camels (and, I am sorry to say, those of Emerson). “Praise be to God, the Master of the Universe, the Compassionate…”
Other voices joined his in the recitation of the Fatah. Ramses’s was among them, and I am not ashamed to admit that mine was also. It made a good impression on the men, but that was not why I did it.
It was a long night. The sun had been up for several hours before Emerson let out an exclamation and pointed. “There it is—the rock outcropping where we stopped last time after the first day’s journey. We’ll make camp there.”
I didn’t know how he could be so certain it was the same place. There were a number of outcroppings, for this was not the Great Sand Sea or the Sahara with their great rolling dunes, but a region of red and black hills interspersed with stretches of sand like pools of gold. However, I was more than ready to get off the cursed camel. Pride forbade I should admit weakness; I waved Ramses away when he offered me his hand to help me dismount—and waited until he had turned his back before I slid stiffly to the ground.
The men