The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [24]
Ramses had lived, to the age often at least, and his suicidal tendencies seemed to have decreased. I could therefore contemplate his accompanying us with resignation if not enthusiasm, especially since I had little choice in the matter. Emerson refused to join me in bringing pressure to bear on the headmaster of the Academy for Young Gentlemen; he had always wanted to take Ramses with us to the Sudan.
I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Well, Ramses, I hope you appreciate the kindness of your parents in providing you with such an opportunity. Impressive, is it not?”
Ramses’s prominent nose quivered critically. “Ostentatious and grandiose. Compared with the temple of Deir el-Bahri—”
“What a dreadful little snob you are,” I exclaimed. “I do hope the antiquities of Napata will measure up to your exacting standards.”
“He is quite right, though,” said Emerson. “There is no architectural subtlety or mystery in a temple like that—only size. The temples of Gebel Barkal, on the other hand—”
“Temples, Emerson? You promised me pyramids.”
Emerson’s eyes remained fixed on the facade of the temple, now fully illumined by the risen sun and presenting a picture of great majesty. “Er—to be sure, Peabody. But we are limited in our choice of sites, not only by the cursed military authorities but by… by… by a certain individual whose name I have sworn not to pronounce.”
It was I who had requested he abstain from referring to Mr. Budge if he could not do so without swearing. (He could not.) Unfortunately I could not prevent others from referring to Budge. He had preceded us, and everyone we met mentioned him, hoping, I suppose, to please us by claiming an acquaintance in common.
Ramses distracted Emerson by climbing up on the rail, thus prompting a stern lecture on the dangers of falling overboard. I rewarded my son with an approving smile; there had never been any danger of his falling, he could climb like a monkey. With such distractions and a few animated arguments about archaeological matters, the time passed pleasantly enough until we disembarked at Wadi Haifa.
Haifa, as it is now commonly termed, was once a small cluster of mud huts; but in 1885, after the withdrawal of our forces from Khartoum, it was established as the southern frontier of Egypt. It had now become a bustling depot of supplies and arms for the forces farther south. Following the advice of the young military officer whom I consulted, I purchased quantities of tinned food, tents, netting, and other equipment. Emerson and Ramses had wandered off on some expedition of their own. On this occasion I did not complain of their dereliction, for Emerson does not get on well with military persons, and Captain Buckman was a type of young Englishman who particularly annoyed him—prominent teeth, no chin to speak of, and a habit of tossing his head when he laughed in a high-pitched whinny. He was a great help to me, though, and full of admiration for Mr. Budge, whom he had met in September. “Quite a regular chap, not like your usual archaeologist, if you take my meaning, ma’am.”
I took his meaning. I also took my leave, with appropriate thanks, and went in search of my errant family. As I had come to expect, Emerson had a number of “old acquaintances” in Haifa; it was at the home of one of them, Sheikh Mahmud al-Araba, that we were to meet. The house was palatial by Nubian standards, built of mud brick around a high-walled central courtyard. I had braced myself for an argument with the doorkeeper, for these persons often tried to take me to the harîm instead of into the presence of the master of the house, but on this occasion