The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [148]
“I would be extremely surprised to discover that Sahin Bey—Pasha, I should say—acted out of kindness,” Ramses said. “He had an ulterior motive, and I doubt it was finding a husband for his daughter.”
“Why, then?” Emerson grunted. “If he wants to turn his coat and come over to us—unlikely on the face of it—he wouldn’t need a good word from you. The War Office would sell their souls and those of all their mothers and grandmothers to get the head of the Turkish secret service on our side.”
Ramses scratched absently at the scraped flesh on his jaw. “I agree, Father.”
“All the same, HQ must be notified.”
“I’ve already done so. Why do you suppose I’m wearing this bloody damned uniform? I was in the water long enough to wash the dye off my skin, but I hadn’t any clothes except the bare necessities, and I’d never have got to General Chetwode looking the way I did.” Ramses added, “I expect the officer I waylaid holds a bit of a grudge; I had to borrow his uniform without his consent. He oughtn’t wander so far from camp.”
Emerson knew his son too well to misinterpret his lighthearted manner. “What did General Chetwode say?”
Ramses shrugged. “What could he say but ‘Bad luck, old boy, glad you made it back after all’? Our Chetwode had already left for Cairo to make his report.”
“He was in something of a hurry to get out of town, wasn’t he?” Emerson mused. “How much did you tell the general?”
“I am not telling anyone any more than I have to,” Ramses said tightly. “Nobody is telling me anything. I’ll be damned if I can understand who is actually running this stunt. Apparently General Chetwode didn’t know what his nephew intended to do, he was only told we were going to investigate and reconnoiter. I didn’t mention the girl, or Sahin’s proposition. The general is under the impression that I cleverly escaped all by my little self. I’m sorry, I ought to have come here straightaway, but—”
“Bah,” said Emerson gruffly. “You did what you had to do. I still say the girl couldn’t have managed it on her own. The young, spoiled daughter of an aristocrat, raised in the harem—”
“She’d been exposed to Western ideas and Western schooling,” Ramses interrupted. “Your basic point is well taken, however. Someone helped her, but it need not have been her father.”
“Ah,” said Emerson.
“I’m sorry, Father. I ought to have made a greater effort to find him.”
“Don’t be absurd,” I said forcibly. “You could not have eluded recapture for long, and if you had not turned up, your father would have gone into Gaza looking for you.”
“Perhaps I ought to have let him go in my place.” Ramses leaned back against the cushions and closed his eyes. The dark stains of exhaustion under his eyes were very visible. “I made a thorough muckup of the whole business. I’m sorry . . .”
Nefret was sitting cross-legged on the divan next to him. She stood up, the bracelets on her ankles and wrists jingling musically. “Stop saying you’re sorry!”
“Quite right,” Emerson exclaimed. “I am the one who should apologize, my boy, for badgering you. Go and get some rest.”
Ramses sat up, propping his heavy head with his hands. “It might have been him. There wasn’t time to get a good look. I couldn’t determine whether the soldiers were guarding a prisoner or protecting a holy man. But the mere fact that I am here, and not in Sahin’s cell, is a strong indication that Sethos is in Gaza. Unless that is what we are meant to believe . . . Sorry. I seem to be adding to the deadwood instead of clearing it away.”
“You didn’t have time to question the girl, I suppose,” I said. “And don’t say you’re sorry again!”
Ramses summoned up a feeble grin. “Yes, Mother. I did ask who had helped her. She claimed no one had, that it was all her doing.”
“She lied,” I said. “Quite understandable; she wanted the credit and your—er—gratitude.”
Ramses shook his head. “I don’t think so. Her fear was genuine. You know how Sethos operates. If it was he who arranged my escape, he’d have found