Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [67]
“And you,” said Emerson. “He said ‘treasures.’ Plural.”
“Oh, bah,” I exclaimed. “Don’t tease, Emerson, I really cannot endure your idea of humor just now. He couldn’t get much of a price for a—er—mature lady like myself.”
“Now there you are mistaken, my dear. There is one individual who would pay any price, including his fortune, his life, and his sacred honor.”
In the intense warmth of those keen blue orbs my vexation melted. I could even forgive him the florid rhetoric. One gets into a certain verbal pattern after speaking a formal language like Arabic. And I knew he meant every florid word.
“More than one,” said Ramses matter-of-factly. “Kemal’s primary purpose was robbery and abduction, though he would not have balked at killing a few people. We would have been taken prisoner and held for ransom. The drivers—those who survived—would have been left here without transport or water. Some of them might have made it back to the river.”
“Might,” Nefret repeated. “The man is completely without conscience!”
“Not at all,” said Emerson, smoking placidly. “His moral principles are different from ours, but he will not break them, always supposing one can pin him down in such a way that he cannot squirm out of a promise. I believe I have done that. Anyhow,” he added, smiling at Ramses, “that flamboyant gesture of yours wasn’t wasted. He has a very healthy regard for his own skin, and a very healthy respect for your marksmanship. It was quite a compliment for him to offer blood brotherhood.”
“It was a lucky shot,” Ramses said flatly. “But next time, if there is a next time, I am reasonably certain I can put the bullet into his body.”
“That’s horrible,” Nefret exclaimed.
“Not nearly as horrible as what might happen to you if you fell into his hands,” Ramses retorted. “You aren’t in jolly old England, Nefret, nor in Egypt, where your person is sacrosanct.”
“Now, now, don’t quarrel,” said Emerson. “There won’t be a next time. He was honor-bound not to betray the name of the man who sent him, but he dropped a few hints. It was Mahmud Dinar, the governor of Darfur. We would have been handed over to him, and he wouldn’t run the risk of taking English persons prisoner for the sake of a paltry ransom—or even for Nefret, though I expect he would regard her as a pleasant bit of lagniappe. He must be after Merasen’s gold, or rather the location of the place from which it came.”
“He would have questioned us,” Nefret murmured. “Torture?”
“Oh, yes,” said Emerson placidly. “And we would have told him.” His eyes moved from Nefret’s white face to Ramses, who sat with head bowed, staring at his clasped hands. “You owe Ramses an apology, Nefret;he was not being vindictive, he was being practical.”
After I had cleaned and bandaged the cuts on their palms, Emerson ordered us all to our tents. Though he had expressed confidence in the honor of his bandit friend, he took the precaution of arranging for sentries. He took the first watch himself. Nefret, who had spoken very little, went off without further comment, and as I watched her drooping little figure vanish into her tent, I decided I would have to have a word with her if she did not snap out of it. We could not afford girlish qualms or sulks. It was so unlike her! I supposed she was still upset about Merasen—unwilling to accept the evidence of his treachery and resentful of the rest of us for suspecting him. Especially, and unfairly, of Ramses. He had been quite right to scold her.
Sleep did not come easily, but stern self-discipline prevailed. I did not even hear Emerson return. When I woke, later in the afternoon, he was snoring placidly beside me. I crawled over him and went out, to find most of the men in the same state of somnolence, and Ramses standing guard behind a convenient camel.
“All quiet?” I inquired.
“I assure you, Mother, that if it had not been, you would have been made aware.” His eyes, squinted against the glare of light, continued to sweep the