Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [80]
“That was easier than I expected,” I remarked, after Ramses had translated. “We had better get some rest if we are to leave so early.”
“Not just yet,” said Emerson. “Ramses, tell him I must talk with our men first. I want his word, the word of an officer and—er—a devout follower of the gods—that no harm will come to them while we are away.”
“I am fair game, I suppose,” Newbold said with an ugly twist of his lips.
“Him too,” said Emerson regretfully.
He got the oath he had demanded. I recognized the word “Aminreh” and knew the officer had sworn by the chief god of the Holy Mountain, the most binding of promises.
By the time we had everything settled, darkness was complete and the moon had risen—a waning moon, which gave little light. Selim, indignantly refusing the assistance of the servants, started a nice little bonfire and began stewing tea—a commodity which was not included in the cuisine of the oasis. Emerson returned from his visit to our men, escorted by soldiers carrying torches. He had refused Ramses’s offer to come with him, remarking that he was beginning to pick up some of the language and that he knew the words for “protect,” “safe,” and “swear,” along with the essential pronouns.
“I made him swear again,” he announced, looking quite pleased with himself. “And say he would protect them and that they would be safe.”
Emerson does have a way of making himself understood, even in a language he speaks poorly.
“How did the men take it?” Ramses asked.
“Masud wasn’t well pleased,” Emerson admitted. He accepted a cup of tea from Selim and sipped it appreciatively. “I had to point out the obvious: that even though he and his men had rifles, it wouldn’t do them a particle of good to overpower the garrison, even supposing they could. They don’t know the way back. The others were less resistant. They had just gorged themselves on the first meat they have had for days, and some of them were washing their clothes. I assured them they would be paid for the days they spend here, and that seemed to satisfy them.”
“You seem pretty cheerful yourself,” I said. (Self-satisfied would have been closer to the mark.) “Emerson, are you sure we are doing the right thing?”
“What do you mean?” Emerson asked in surprise.
I lowered my voice and glanced over my shoulder, at the hut to which Daria had retired, pleading weariness. “Taking her with us.”
I was the recipient of three outraged stares—no, only two. Ramses’s fixed gaze was less condemnatory than speculative. “You don’t mean it, Aunt Amelia,” Nefret cried. Emerson shouted her down. “For God’s sake, Peabody, we cannot leave a defenseless young woman at the mercy of—”
I shouted him down. “Don’t bellow!”
Emerson subsided, simmering, and Ramses anticipated Nefret’s protest. “Mother meant nothing of the kind. We must take her with us, there is no question of doing otherwise. She was simply expressing doubts—doubts I share—as to Daria’s real motives.”
A peremptory gesture from me reminded Nefret that Newbold was nearby. Her voice was not loud, but it was acid-sharp.
“You’ve always been against her. I never thought I would find you so puritanical.”
Ramses made no attempt to defend himself against that unjust charge. “May I remind you,” he said patiently, “of what she said the night she came to my room. She said she had her own reasons for staying with Newbold. She rejected my offer of help.”
“She has changed her mind,” Nefret said. “Women are prone to that weakness, you know. Perhaps it was your charm that influenced her to change it.”
“That will be quite enough, Nefret,” I said. “I cannot think of any way in which she could constitute a danger to us, but I am in full agreement with Ramses that we must be on our guard. Trust no one, not even the innocent. That was what Abdullah—what Abdullah always said.”
“I don’t recall his ever saying that,” remarked Emerson.
“He said it to me.”
I spoke the literal truth. I never prevaricate unless it is absolutely necessary.
Seven
Newbold did not come