The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [47]
As we prepared for bed I awaited with considerable interest Emerson’s comments. He said nothing, however; so after he had put out the light and reclined at my side, I ventured to introduce the subject myself.
“Reggie’s assistance will be helpful, don’t you think?”
“No,” said Emerson.
“We should have realized that Mr. Budge would put the worst possible interpretation on his presence in Nubia. I thought his reasons for coming were both sensible and admirable.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson.
“Who do you suppose it was who threw the rock at him?”
“It could not have been a rock that struck him.”
“I agree. You were quite right, my dear. A knife, a spear, an arrow—”
“Oh, an arrow, by all means,” said Emerson, goaded at last into sarcasm. “The Bowmen of Cush formed one of the crack units of the Egyptian Army; no doubt the ghost of one of them mistook Forthright for an ancient Nubian. The bow has not been employed in this region for over a thousand years.”
“A knife or a spear, then.”
“Piffle, Peabody. He probably fainted—it seems to be a habit of his—fell off the camel, and landed on his head. Naturally he would be embarrassed to admit it.”
“But then there would have been a bruise, Emerson.”
Emerson requested that we end the discussion, and reinforced the request by a series of gestures that rendered further conversation on my part inappropriate, if not impossible.
Despite a somewhat disturbed night Emerson was up betimes the following morning. I was awakened by his precipitate departure from our tent, and by his stentorian voice summoning the men to work. Knowing full well that his primary aim was to rouse Reggie and test that unfortunate young man’s powers of endurance to the limit, I lingered over my cup of tea, enjoying the exquisite blush of the eastern sky as the stars faded, yielding their lesser light to the glorious lord of day.
The morning air was cool enough to make a wool shirt welcome, but by early afternoon, when Emerson called a temporary halt, we had all shed as many garments as modesty permitted. Reggie had held up better than I expected. To be sure, he had very little to show for his morning’s work.
“It will take a while to familiarize yourself with the terrain and with our methods,” I said.
Reggie laughed. “You are too kind, Mrs. Emerson. The truth is, I was too fascinated by what you and the professor are doing to concentrate on my own tasks. Tell me… ” And he went on to pepper me with questions. What did we hope to find? Why were we digging so slowly and laboriously by hand instead of battering our way into the pyramids?
If he really wanted information, he got more than he bargained for. Emerson simply rolled his eyes and shrugged, in indication that he found Reggie’s state of ignorance too abysmal to be capable of improvement, but Ramses was always ready to lecture.
“The goal of proper excavation, Mr. Forthright, is not treasure but knowledge. Any scrap of material, no matter how insignificant, may supply an essential clue to our understanding of the past. Our primary purpose here is to establish the original plan and, if possible, the relative chronology.…”
Und so weiter, as the Germans say. After a while Reggie threw up his hands, laughing heartily. “That’s enough for one day, Master Ramses. I don’t think I am cut out for archaeology after all. But I am ready to resume work whenever you say, Professor.”
“We don’t work during the hottest part of the day,” I informed him. “You had better rest while you can. If you are ready to retire to your tent, I will accompany you; I may be able to make a few suggestions that will render your situation more comfortable.”
My real aim was to meet his servants and ascertain how they were getting on with the other men, and to inspect his camels. I took it for granted that they would be in need of attention. The campsite was some distance from ours, to the north of the ruins of the largest pyramid. Compared to