Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [28]
“Not exactly,” Nefret said. “The fellow broke down completely. He was weeping into his hands, and Ramses was patting him on the shoulder—leaving bloody prints all over his robe, I should add. He’ll probably keep it as a sacred relic.”
“Wait just a minute,” Emerson said, rubbing his chin. “I confess I am having some difficulty taking all this in. Asad. Wardani’s lieutenant? You had a sneaking sympathy for the fellow, I believe?”
“Yes.” Ramses leaned forward, cradling his glass in his hands. “He was the best of Wardani’s lot—a scholar, not a man of action, and the bravest of them all because he went on with the job despite his fear. He’d developed a certain . . . attachment to me. Only, of course, he didn’t know it was me. Can you imagine what a shock it must have been for him to learn he had been deceived by an impostor, that all his devotion and loyalty and—and admiration had been lavished on a man who had deceived him and betrayed the cause in which he believed? He had to do something to prove his manhood. Now he’s done it, and that will be the end of it. He’s quite a gentle soul, really.”
I said, “How did he find out it was you?”
“Ha!” Emerson cried. “Just what I was about to ask. The official story was that Wardani was arrested at the same time as his lieutenants and exiled to India—where, in fact, he had been all along. The others were sent to prison or to one of the oases, so that there would be no chance of their communicating with Wardani. That’s another thing. This fellow Asad was supposed to be locked up. How did he escape?”
There are five major oases in the Western Desert: Siwa, the northernmost; Bahriya, Farafra, Kharga, and Dakhla. Except for Farafra, they are each large enough and fertile enough to support a population of several thousand, but I would not have cared to endure a long exile in any of them. Sanitation was virtually nonexistent and diseases of various kinds were endemic. They served as quite effective prisons, since they were separated from the Nile by miles of barren waterless country, and were accessible only by camel caravan. All of them except . . .
“Oh, good Gad,” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me they sent him to Kharga!”
“Right as always, Mother,” said my son. “The fellow bought him a nice new suit and a ticket and put him on the train.”
“It isn’t funny,” Nefret said, but the corners of her mouth curved up in sympathy with his amusement. It was nice to see him smile as often as he did these days, even if, as in the present case, the situation was really too serious for laughter.
“But it’s so wonderfully humdrum,” Ramses explained. “Escape from the oasis—doesn’t it conjure up an image of a wild dash for freedom on camelback, under the desert stars, with the enemy in hot pursuit, and all that rot? The train from Kharga only takes nine hours to the junction, and from there he could catch the express to Cairo.”
“Damned fools,” muttered Emerson.
“That is a trifle harsh, Emerson,” I said. “Even if he had had the initiative and the means to escape on his own, what harm could he do, alone and leaderless? Someone supplied him with both means and incentive—and, I expect, encouragement. We hold Kharga, don’t we?”
“Only a token force,” said Emerson. “The Senussi undoubtedly have emissaries—or spies, if you prefer the word—at Kharga and the other oases. Everyone knows an attack on the Egyptian-Libyan border is imminent. The Turks have been training and arming the Senussi for years, and the tribesmen of the Western Desert support them. We haven’t the manpower to defend the oases. We are spread thin enough as it is.”
“Weren’t you able to get any more information out of Mr. Asad?” I inquired, attempting against all odds to stick to the point.
“Not really,” Nefret admitted. “He said his benefactor was a man he’d never seen before; he was dressed like a Bedouin and his Arabic, though fluent, was not that of an Egyptian.”
“Not that of a Cairene,” Ramses corrected. “Local dialects