The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [60]
“No, you won’t.” Ramses lifted Nefret and stood up. “You will follow us, leading Moonlight. You”—he looked down at his wife—“are coming with me, on Risha.”
“All right,” Nefret said meekly.
His heavy black brows drew together. “You are hurt!”
“Mostly in places I wouldn’t care to mention.” She raised one hand to his cheek. “Riding astride, sans trousers, is something I won’t try again for a while.”
5
Emerson and I and Sennia were halfway through breakfast when the children made their appearance, followed by the kitten. I observed immediately that Nefret was walking without her usual grace—not limping, but trying not to. Sennia bounced up out of her chair and ran to them; before she could give Nefret one of her fierce hugs, Ramses snatched her up and swung her round and round until she squealed with pleasure.
“Has something happened?” I asked.
Nefret subsided, very carefully, into the chair Emerson held for her, and gave me a warning look. “Just a fall. Good morning, Little Bird. You had better hurry and finish breakfast, or you will be late for your lessons.”
“I think I will not go to them today,” Sennia announced. “I think I will stay and take care of Aunt Nefret.” She sat down on the floor and began stroking the kitten.
“I think you will not,” I said. “Don’t dawdle. You must not keep Mrs. Vandergelt waiting.”
We got Sennia off after the usual argument; it was not so much the lessons, which she had proclaimed “only somewhat boring,” as her desire to be with us. Emerson caved in, as she had known he would, and promised she could come with us to Deir el Medina next day.
“We must go,” he declared. “Where is Jumana? Good Gad, the girl is always late.”
“I told her not to join us until after Sennia had left,” Ramses said. “That must be she now.”
When she crept in I understood why Ramses had not wanted Sennia to see her. The girl had no self-control; every emotion she felt showed on her face and in her movements. Just now she looked like a little old woman, her head bowed and her movements slow.
“Did she suffer a fall too?” I inquired.
“No!” Jumana raised her head. Her brown eyes were pools of tragedy. “I have done wrong. Very wrong. I wanted to run away, but I did not, because I knew I should be punished. Do to me whatever you—”
“Stop carrying on and sit down,” I said impatiently. “Something to do with Jamil, I suppose. No, Jumana, I do not want any more theatrics. Emerson, be quiet. Ramses?”
He gave us a bare outline of what had transpired; and the sympathy for Jumana that had softened Emerson’s keen blue eyes turned to wrath.
“Good God,” he shouted. “He might have killed you! Nefret—Ramses—why didn’t you wake me?”
“There wasn’t time, Father,” Ramses said. He was certainly correct about that; it takes Emerson at least ten minutes to get his wits together when he has been suddenly aroused. Ramses went on in the same quiet voice, “I miscalculated. I ought to have sent Nefret round to flush him out instead of leaving her there alone.”
“Let us not have any further beating of breasts,” I said, for I knew his tendency to blame himself for anything that went wrong, whether it was his fault or not. To be sure, it often was his fault, but in this case anyone might have done the same.
Emerson had gone to stand by Nefret. He put out his hand, and then drew it back. “The stone struck your shoulder?”
“Yes.” She turned her head to look up at him and winced even as she smiled. “I have a few bruises, but that’s all the damage.”
I cleared my throat. “Your medical expertise is far beyond mine, of course, but if you would like me—”
“Thank you, Mother, but there is no need. It’s all right. Everything is all right,” she added softly.
“Ah,” I said. “Good. Well. What are we going to do about Jamil?”
That produced another outburst from Jumana, in the course of which she swore she would never trust Jamil again, and proposed that we beat her and lock her up on bread and water, or marry her off to disgusting old Nuri Said, who had often asked her father for her.