The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [28]
We were not alone. A troop of curious villagers trailed us. Whenever we stopped they stopped, squatted on the ground and stared with all their might. Emerson always attracts admirers and I had become more or less used to it, though I did not like it.
“I hope Ramses is all right,” I said, turning to look at the rapidly dimming outline of the tent where he slept. “He was most unlike his normal self. Hardly a word out of him.”
“You said he was not feverish,” Emerson reminded me. “Stop fussing, Amelia; the train ride was tiring, and even a gritty little chap like Ramses must feel its effects.”
The sun dropped below the horizon and night came on with startling suddenness, as it does in those climes. Stars sprang out in the cobalt vault of the heavens, and Emerson’s arm stole around my waist.
It had been a long time since we had enjoyed an opportunity for connubial exchanges of even a modest nature, but I felt bound to protest. “They are watching us, Emerson. I feel like some poor animal in a cage; I decline to perform for an audience.”
“Bah,” Emerson replied, leading me to a large boulder. “Sit down, my dear Peabody, and forget our audience. It is too dark for them to observe our actions, and if they should, they could hardly fail to find them edifying—inspiring, even. For instance, this…”
It certainly inspired me. I forgot the staring spectators until a strengthening glow of silvery light illumined the beloved features so close to mine. The moon had risen. “Oh, curse it,” I said, removing Emerson’s hand from a particularly sensitive area of my person.
“It was a refreshing interlude, though,” Emerson said with a chuckle. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his pipe. “Do you mind if I smoke, Peabody?”
I really did not approve of it, but the soft moonlight and the stench of tobacco smoke recalled tender memories of the days of our courtship, when we faced the sinister Mummy in the abandoned tombs of Amarna. * “No, I don’t mind. Do you remember Amarna, and the—”
“The time I set my—er—myself on fire by neglecting to knock the ashes out of my pipe before I put it in my pocket? And you let me do it even though you knew perfectly well…” Emerson burst out laughing. “Do you remember the first time I ever kissed you—lying flat on the floor of that cursed tomb, with a maniac shooting at us? It was only the expectation of imminent death that gave me the courage to do it. I thought you detested me.”
“I remember that moment and many others,” I replied with considerable emotion. “Believe me, my darling Emerson, that I am fully cognizant of the fact that I am the most fortunate of women. From first to last, it has been outstanding.”
“And the best is yet to come, my dearest Peabody.”
His strong brown hand closed over mine. We sat in silence watching the moonlight spread silvery ripples across the dark surface of the river. So clear and bright was the illumination that one could see for a considerable distance. “The rock formations are extremely regular,” I remarked. “So much so that one might wonder whether they are not in fact the ruins of ancient structures.”
“They may well be, Peabody. So little has been done in the way of excavation here, so much needs to be done.… My colleagues—curse them—are more interested in mummies and treasure and impressive monuments than in the slow, tedious acquisition of knowledge. Yet this region is of vital importance, not only for its own sake, but for the understanding of Egyptian culture.