The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [164]
So far there had been no sound except a few soft, interested whickers from the intrigued equines. Now they had to move fast and noisily. Nefret scrambled onto one of the horses while Selim gave Sir Edward a hand up and mounted another. Except for Nefret’s mount, the animals were stirring uneasily. One of the sleeping men sat up. Ramses tossed the dangling reins over the lead horse’s neck and vaulted onto its back. It turned its head to give him an astonished stare.
“Wrong man, I know,” Ramses said in a conversational voice. “Think of it as a temporary inconvenience.”
There wasn’t time to adjust the stirrups. He dug his bare heels into the animal’s flanks and urged it into a trot. It responded to the touch or the English voice, or both. The entire camp was now awake; shouts and curses echoed through the night, and someone fired a rifle. Someone else let out a stream of oaths directed at the idiot who had fired it. By that time the entire group of horses was in motion, following their leader and urged on by Nefret, who brought up the rear yelling and smacking assorted equine rumps with a leafy branch. Her hair had come loose from its scarf; it streamed out behind her, silvered by starlight. Sir Edward was hanging on, though he didn’t look happy. Selim looked very happy. This was the sort of adventure he had had in mind all along, a wild ride with the enemy in hot pursuit.
The pursuit consisted of one trooper, running as fast as his long legs would carry him, waving his arms and calling out. The horses broke into a gallop and the plaintive cries of “Mary! Mary, love, come back!” faded into the night.
A real and vindictive pursuit would not be long delayed, however. They did not slacken speed until they were near the ruins where the others were ready and waiting. None of them wasted time in conversation, though Ramses saw the look of resignation on his mother’s face. She was not an enthusiastic horsewoman, and was accustomed to the smooth gait of their Arabians.
“Sorry, Mother,” he said, offering his hands to help her mount. “Will you be all right?”
“Certainly.” It was the answer he had expected.
Esin couldn’t manage it, though. She had ridden only in England, with a proper lady’s saddle. Declining Selim’s eager offer of assistance, Nefret mounted the girl in front of her.
“We’re leaving a trail a blind man could follow,” Sir Edward said, as they started off two by two. “And now we’ve got the Australians after us.”
“This was your idea,” Ramses pointed out.
“So it was. I hope I’ll live long enough to regret it.”
The clipped accent sounded odd from that vagabond figure. There hadn’t been time for Ramses to assimilate Sir Edward’s sudden reappearance, and there were a hundred questions he wanted to ask.
“What are you doing here? I was under the impression that you had given up a life of crime.”
“I can’t imagine what gave you that impression” was Sir Edward’s bland reply. “But my present job isn’t criminal in nature. People give other people medals for doing it.”
“Usually after the ‘other people’ are dead.”
Sir Edward let that one pass. Ramses tried another tack.
“Why is Sethos in Gaza? He’s no traitor, I’m certain of that now, but what the hell is he after?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.”
* * *
They reached their destination just before dawn. Ramses had expected a tumbledown ruin or a mean little house; instead he saw high walls rising up against the paling sky like those of a castle or a fortress. The heavy gates were closed. Sir Edward called out and after an interval one of the leaves of the gate opened and a man peered out. He let out an exclamation when he saw the group.
“They are