He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [208]
Sethos and Percy were removed on litters and carried to the ambulance Emerson had commandeered—“just in case,” as he explained. Ramses kept insisting he could ride and Nefret kept telling him he could not, which was obviously the case; even Risha’s smooth gait would have jolted his back unbearably and the ropes had cut deep into his wrists. He was still on his feet and still arguing when Emerson and I left them, but two of the soldiers were closing in on him, and Nefret assured me they would get him to one of the motor vehicles, with or without her active participation.
Emerson and I took the horses back, leading the one I had ridden. We went slowly, for we had a great deal to talk about. When we arrived at the house we found the others already there. Ramses had insisted on seeing David, who was still deep in a drugged slumber but, Nefret assured us, no longer in danger. After Emerson had left for Cairo, she and I got to work on Ramses, and a nasty job it was. None of his injuries was life-threatening, but there were quite a lot of them, ranging from bruises and cuts to the bloody marks of the whip.
It was not long before Nefret told me to leave the room. She was very nice about it, but I could see she meant it, and the look I got from Ramses indicated he was of the same opinion. So I went to my own room and sat there for a time, feeling very odd. I supposed I would get used to it. There comes a time in every mother’s life . . .
Ramses slept most of the day, and I snatched a little nap. It felt strange to lie down with a mind at ease, vexed to be sure by a number of unanswered questions, but free of the anxiety that had tormented every waking and sleeping moment. I do not believe Nefret slept at all. I managed to persuade her to bathe and change her crumpled, filthy, bloodstained garments. I had barely time to adjust the pillows that propped Ramses on his side, and inspect his back (it was, as I had expected, green), and indulge myself in a few small demonstrations of maternal affection (which did not disturb him in the slightest, since his eyes remained closed throughout) before she was back. She had left her hair to hang loose, and she was wearing the pale-blue sprigged muslin frock which, I now realized, someone other than Emerson must have admired.
So I took myself off again, without having to be told, and whenever I chanced to look in—which I did from time to time—she was sitting in the chair by the bed, her hands folded, her eyes fixed on his sleeping face. Since it was obvious I was not wanted, I went to sit with David, relieving Fatima of that duty. She was not at all keen on being relieved, but when I asked her to prepare a tray for Nefret she bustled off.
David was awake. He gave me a smile and held out his hand. “Thank you for rescuing me, Aunt Amelia. Every time I opened my mouth she tried to shove a spoon into it.”
He was full of questions. I answered the most important, knowing that nothing would better assist his recovery than the knowledge that those he loved were safe and the danger over.
“So it was Nefret—and you—who saved the day,” he murmured.
I shook my head. “It might be described as a joint enterprise. If you had not made a heroic effort to reach us—if Nefret had not known where to go—if Emerson had not convinced Russell he must not delay . . .”
“And if Sethos had not acted when he did! I don’t understand that part, Aunt Amelia. Who—”
“Later, my dear. You must rest now.”
It was late when Emerson returned. He refused my offer of dinner with a shake of his head. “I had a bite with Maxwell. Let us see if Ramses is awake and fit for conversation. He and Nefret will want to hear the news too, and there is no sense in repeating myself.”
Ramses’s door was ajar, as I had left it. I tapped lightly before looking in. He was awake; whether he was fit for conversation was another matter. Nefret knelt by the bed. He held her hands in his, and they were looking