Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [82]
“At this time of day?” Ramses’s head lifted. The sound was not repeated, but he must have heard something, for he turned in the saddle and spoke to her. “Stay with them.”
He dug his heels into the black’s sides and urged him into a trot, bending low over his neck and guiding him with hands and voice. Nefret swore under her breath. He’d been too quick for her. Jackals prowled and hunted by night. The cry must have been a signal. It had certainly not been a shout of welcome.
Jumana and Jamil were also familiar with the habits of jackals. Both of them looked hopefully at her. Jamil was not interested in archaeology, but he would probably love a fight. Nefret felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for her mother-in-law. Was this what she had had to deal with all those years—young people who didn’t have sense enough to be afraid?
Someone had to stay with them. Of course it would have to be me, Nefret thought. She acknowledged the logic behind Ramses’s decision; he was a better rider, and better equipped by size and strength to handle a thief if he caught one. If there was only one . . . Ramses was already out of sight, behind a spur of rock, when she reached her decision.
“Stay close behind me,” she ordered, and started forward.
After a short distance the wadi opened up into a wider gorge, walled by cliffs like the ruined ramparts of a giant’s fortress. The sun was high enough to paint the rock walls with a bewildering mixture of light and shadow, where deep clefts and ragged apertures broke the surface. There was no sign of life, and no sign of her husband. Nefret went on. She was afraid to let the mare go faster than a walk, the surface was bad and the uneven contours of the rock face offered concealment for any number of men.
The tomb they’d come to see was about halfway between the entrance and the far end of the valley. They were almost upon it before she saw Ramses’s horse. The saddle was empty.
She heard the rattle of loose rock and he came into sight, halfway down the cliff next to the tomb entrance, and she realized that the sharp line of shadow above him was a fissure or chimney. He was a skilled climber, but she always hated watching him; even an expert could miscalculate, and the cliff face below him was practically sheer. Bits of rock broke away from under his feet as he lowered himself from one hold to the next. She dismounted and handed the reins to Jamil. “Stay here,” she said again.
By the time she got to him he was on the ground. “Damn it!” he said furiously. “I was too slow. He got away. So did the others, I suppose. I could only follow one of them.”
His narrowed eyes scanned the surroundings. There was no one else in sight and no sound of movement. The futility of pursuit was obvious; there were hundreds of hiding places in the cliffs and probably a dozen ways out of the Valley for those who knew the paths.
His hands were scraped and bleeding. He’d lost or removed his hat; perspiration trickled down his face from under his hair. “Come and have a drink,” Nefret said, torn between brushing the damp curls off his forehead and shaking him. “Why the devil couldn’t you have waited for me before you went off like that? Following someone when he is climbing above you is asking for a kick in the head.”
“I never got that close to the bastard,” Ramses said sourly. “I take it none of them passed you on their way out?”
“No.”
In emulation of her mother-in-law she had taken to carrying first-aid supplies and a few other useful “accoutrements.” He let her bathe his hands and apply alcohol to the open cuts while he talked.
“They heard the signal and were out of the tomb and running in all directions by the time I got here. It was quite an orderly retreat, almost as if they had rehearsed it beforehand. I never imagined they’d have the bloody gall to operate in broad daylight.”
“Why not?” Nefret said. “Nobody ever comes here. They did have enough common sense to post a lookout.”
“Yes.” He took a long drink and passed the water bottle to Jamil, who was squatting on the ground