He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [209]
However, I felt certain they would be anxious to hear Emerson’s news. I coughed. I had to cough several times before Nefret tore her eyes from his. Until I saw her do it, I had always thought that a somewhat exaggerated figure of speech.
“A touch of catarrh, Mother?” Ramses inquired.
“Very amusing, my dear. I am glad to see you yourself again.”
“Near enough. Nefret won’t let me get up.”
“Certainly not.” I settled myself comfortably in the chair Nefret had left, since it did not appear that she intended to return to it.
“I want to see David again,” Ramses insisted.
“Perhaps in the morning. What he needs now is rest. So do you, but your father thought you might want to know what has been going on.” I added pointedly, “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“How inconsiderate,” Ramses said. “Please sit down, sir. I presume the Canal is safe, or you would have mentioned it.”
“They got across,” Emerson said. “At Serapeum and at Toussoum. Our reserves didn’t arrive until a few hours ago, but by then a counterattack had cleared most of the enemy off the East Bank. It was the Indian infantry brigades who saved the Canal. You knew they would, didn’t you?”
“I thought they would. Well, that is good news. Have they had any luck tracking the Turk and his friend?”
Emerson shook his head. “No, they got clean away. Presumably Percy made such a nuisance of himself that they abandoned him and headed for Libya. They won’t want for help along the way. You were right about the chap in the yellow robe; it was the Sherif el Senussi himself.”
“I cleverly deduced that after the Turk called him by name,” said Ramses gravely.
“They’ve got a line on the Turk too,” Emerson said. “He fits the description of Sahin Bey, who has been missing from his usual haunts recently.”
“Good God.” Ramses’s eyes widened. At least one of them did; the other was half-closed by purpling bruises. “He’s become something of a legend in Syria. One of their top men, and high in Enver’s favor. I can’t believe he’d take a personal hand in our little affair.”
“Little?” Emerson’s brows drew together and he spoke with considerable vehemence. “The entire Turkish strategy was based on their expectation of an uprising in Cairo. Without it, they hadn’t a prayer of crossing the Canal. You and David . . . What are you smiling about?”
“Something Sahin Bey said to me. It doesn’t matter. So, are we in line for parades, the cheers of the populace, and the personal thanks of the sovereign? David deserves all of it.”
“Ha,” said Emerson eloquently. “However, David will be on his way to England, vindicated and pardoned, as soon as he can travel. I was sorely tempted to telegraph Lia this evening, but I didn’t want to raise her hopes until . . . The boy will be all right, won’t he?”
“The prospect of seeing her and being present at the birth of his son is the best medicine he could have,” I said.
No one spoke for a while. Emerson got out his pipe and made a great business of filling it. Nefret had settled down on the floor beside the bed. She was still holding Ramses’s hand. He didn’t seem to mind.
I suppose we were all reluctant to talk about the rest of it. Great issues of battle and war are remote, almost impersonal, but the other unanswered questions cut too close to the bone.
Nefret was the first to break the silence.
“Percy?”
“He died on the way to hospital,” Emerson said. “Nefret, it wasn’t you who killed him.”
“No? I meant to, you know.” A shadow of that remote, inhuman look passed over her face. Her blue eyes were clear. Guilt over Percy’s death would not come back to haunt her. She had stopped him in the only way she could, and if ever an individual deserved death, it was he.
Women are much more practical about these things than men.
“Oh,” Emerson said. “Er. Well, he’d been hit twice in the chest. A heavier-caliber bullet would have killed him outright. One of the twenty-twos must have nicked an artery. He bled to death.”
“And Sethos.” I sighed. “He redeemed himself