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By Root 1353 0

made haste to erect the tents, for there was not much shade, and that little would shrink as the sun rose higher. Selim started a small fire to boil water for tea, and we gathered round it to eat bread and extremely warm oranges and soft goat cheese that would be rancid before the day was over. From now on we would subsist on the basic supplies of desert travelers: rice and flour, baked into unleavened bread, sugar and tea, with a handful of dates now and then. The dates were not the sweet, soft fruit to which we were accustomed; the camels lived on them when there was no fresh fodder available, and we ate them only for nourishment. I had packed some tinned food—tomatoes and bully beef and fruit—but the weight of such items prohibited excess.

Physical fatigue sent me quickly to sleep, but I woke gasping for breath after what seemed only a brief nap. It was later than I had thought; the sun had sunk down the west, brightening one side of the tent. Emerson sat cross-legged nearby, writing in his notebook. Perspiration trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto the paper, but he went on with his scribbling as placidly as if he had been in his study at Amarna House. Whereas I felt like Saint Lawrence on his griddle, toasted on front, back, and both sides.

“Ah, awake, are you?” he inquired when I stirred. “Did you have a good sleep? Dear me, you appear a trifle warm. Would you like a drink?”

“I would like a cold bath,” I croaked. “But I will settle for a sip of water and a damp cloth.”

Emerson supplied these luxuries, and after I had wiped my face and throat I felt quite myself again. I looked out the open flap of the tent and saw that the others were stirring. The red rays of the declining sun turned the baked ground into a fair imitation of the infernal regions. A hot wind blew hair into my eyes.

“Did you sleep at all?” I asked, removing the pins and shaking out my heavy locks.

“It was too hot.”

“Oh, really?”

Emerson looked up. Seeing what I was doing, he came to my side and lifted my hair, spreading it across his big hands.

“Not now, Emerson,” I mumbled through a mouthful of pins.

“Just helping to dry it, my dear. The sun will be down soon, and then the air will be delightfully cool. A perfect night for a ride in the moonlight.”

“What a poet you are, Emerson.”

Emerson grinned. “Don’t swallow your hairpins, Peabody.”

After a supper of tinned peas, tinned beef, and bread baked on hot stones, we reloaded the camels and were ready to ride when the moon rose. The effect is quite magical; in the clear, dry air of the desert, the light of the lunar orb is so bright one can see almost as clearly as by day, and the stars blazed with diamond fire. The ground that had been a sullen red was now silver. I felt quite refreshed, but Emerson was not inclined toward conversation, so for a while we rode side by side in silence and I contented myself with admiring the strong outline of his profile and the glimmer of moonlight in his black hair. We stopped once to stretch our stiff limbs and have a sip of water, and then we went on…and on…and…

A hard hand closed over my upper arm. “Here now, Peabody,” said Emerson, in some alarm. “If you fall asleep you will topple off the damned camel. I’ll take you up with me, shall I?”

“No, thank you,” I said, my energy restored by the suggestion. If there is anything more uncomfortable than riding a camel, it is riding in front of someone who is riding a camel. “I am wide awake now. Quite a refreshing little nap. Thank you, for looking out for me, my dear.”

“I was about to indicate a point of interest. Over there.”

They shone as if luminescent, bleached to a pearly white by moonlight—a pile of tumbled bones. We had seen the remains of a few small animals, gazelle and hare and antelope, but these were not those of a small animal. They had been stripped bare by predators of some kind. Reflected moonlight twinkled in the empty sockets of the skull as we passed.

“A camel?”

“Not just any camel,” said Emerson. “One of ours. Formerly one of ours, I should say. The first of the lot to die.”

“Not